Talk Talk Talk--does it ever stop?

Today the Wednesday Walkie Talkies came over to my house to start their walk. The idea was that they would take their walk, then come in to inspect Mary and Lewis’ newly completed screen porch.

For nearly an hour, Mary pointed out Terrell Hills houses of interest—such as that of actor Tommy Lee Jones—as they walked. There were six walkers and I’ve never heard such talking. These women simply never quit except when drawing a breath.

Afterward the ladies came back to my mistress’ house, ascended the stacked stone steps, passed through the impossibly high (10 foot) Spanish cedar door and into the elevated, stained cement slab floored space with thrusting ceilings. (Did I mention that the architect is so excited he has entered the porch in two national contests?)

Just as they had last week at the Toilet Seat Museum, the ladies nattered about everything—the rain chains leading down into ong jars for water collection, the hand crafted copper light fixtures, the custom made Spanish cedar harvest table, etc. They also oohed and ahhed over the nearly completed back yard landscape, which features an Oklahoma stone terrace lined with a serpentine brick wall.

As they checked out Mary’s photographs from Ethiopia the ladies took tea and snacked on cranberry scones (neither of which was offered to me). So I retired to my bed to rest from the too-brisk walk and to escape the incessant talking. I don’t want to sound bitchy here, but perhaps the ladies should rename themselves the Wednesday Talkie Walkies.

P.S. Breaking news: Mary got a letter from cousin Amelia today that her Sadie will be competing at Madison Square Garden. You will remember that Sadie, a Scottish terrier, has swept the country's dog shows and is now rated top dog. The competition will be televised live on USA channel on Feb. 15 and 16. As far as I'm concerned it's a no miss.

Toilet Seat Museum--a real gas

This week, seven of the Wednesday Walkie Talkies came to walk (and talk)-- a record. Perhaps that is because my mistress had arranged for them to visit the world famous Toilet Seat Museum. Really. Featured on the Today Show and listed as one of Texas’ ten top offbeat museums, this garage full of toilet seats adorned with everything from wild turkey feathers to vintage marbles sits behind a modest cottage in Alamo Heights.

There, resident artist and curator Barney Smith has hung more than 900 of his oval creations celebrating everything from beehives to Boy Scouts, snakes to swizzle sticks, even performers such as Michael Jackson (That one has a gloved hand projecting from the seat). Although all but one of the WWT’s had been at one time or another, they reveled in revisiting Smith’s far out vision.

“You see something different every time,” noted one of the ladies, eyeing a seat adorned with dentistry tools. Always looking ahead to the next throne, the king of toilet seats told that ladies that if they devise a logo, he'll create one in their honor that they can sign. More than one of them suggested that I be part of that logo. Hope they follow through. ’twould be fun.

After visiting the museum, the ladies walked to the Alamo Heights Swimming Pool and from there drove back to Carol’s house in Olmos Park, their usual starting point. On our way home, Mary found me a fine pink sweater at Pet Supplies “Plus,” near where we live. Turns out she knew the assistant manager, Mary Marsh, who made sure it fit right.

I rewarded her with a doggy kiss before we left, which she accepted without flinching. (I really hate it when folks turn their heads away when I’m trying to lick their faces. It’s not like my mistress doesn’t brush my teeth). Unfortunately today turned out sunny and warm, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty of chances to show off my new threads.

Back from Addis: Free at last

Finally, on Monday, my mistress sprung me from the vet’s, where I languished for two weeks. There are dog psychologists who say that we don’t have any concept of time, but don’t you believe it. I was counting the days—and there were 14. Just before she picked my up I had my usual spa treatment—bath and nail trim—so I knew it was almost time.

Anyway, as soon as I got home and jumped onto the feather quilt on Mary’s bed, I started hearing her and my master carrying on about their trip to Ethiopia. It sounded like it was no kind of place for the likes of me, as animals there are expected to work like--shall I say it?-- dogs. They saw horses threshing wheat, donkeys carrying all kinds of loads and oxen plowing fields. What dogs they saw were mangy street survivors.

Mary and Lewis crossed paths with a group of Gelada baboons in a national park, where they learned that harems of lady baboons choose their shared mate in what is known as a matrilineal society. Being of the female persuasion I can see the logic in that. As I do for the way hyenas sort out gender roles.

My master and mistress interacted with a pack of spotted hyenas in Harrar, an ancient walled city to the east of Addis Abbaba. Legend says that men have been feeding the beasts outside those walls at night for 500 years. When Mary mentioned to the guide that a big male grabbed all the food, leaving the females cowering behind, he pointed out that the piggy eater was in fact, female. Turns out that in the hyena hierarchy females are larger and more aggressive than the males. You go, girls.

On Wednesday, Mary and I met with the Wednesday Walkie Talkies for the first walk of the New Year after a holiday break. Partway through their walk through Olmos Park, it started misting, then raining. So as soon as I got home, I jumped back into my favorite warm, dry spot: the feather quilt on Mary’s bed.

Entertaining the Grandchildren

Since the WWTs won’t be walking together until January, I thought I’d keep you posted on my doings anyway. At least until my masters leave for--are you ready?--Ethiopia.

Much of my time has been spent entertaining my masters' grandchildren. Their father is definitely not a dog person, though at least he no longer totally ignores me and says I smell of dog (as if I’m supposed to smell of say, cat ). To their credit, the little ones adore me. Christina, who is now four, takes me on walks with her “Nana.” And Maxwell, one and a half, chases after me and calls me “tee-kee.” He’s very cute but I try to avoid him since he doesn’t know yet how to behave around a dog, especially one who's a princess. (Whenever I lick his face he makes a commotion, which is sooo wrong, given that a kiss from royalty like me is SUCH an honor honor.)

Last Saturday night, Christina spent the night at our house. Her only request was that I not sleep with her (which I wouldn’t do anyway since I have a regular spot under the covers of my mistress’ bed). Yesterday, she took me over to help entertain grandson Maxwell--who was sick with asthma-like symptoms --while his mother, Mariana, was at work. Now Mexican medical folklore says that Chihuahuas help asthma sufferers, but Maxwell’s mother, who is a family practice doctor, seemed unimpressed when told that by her mother-in-law. All I can say is Mary didn’t have to administer any medicine on her shift, as Mariana had feared.

On Mondays, Mary and Lewis usually abandon me for their weekly workout at a gym. This time, Jordan, their trainer, came to our house since the gym had been flooded. I spent the entire hour watching my mistress lifting weights and doing stretches. My master was busy dealing with the landscaper, so he came in only at the end. And that brings up another story, which I will relate another day.

Thanksgiving--not my Favorite Day

The WWTs didn’t walk the day before Thanksgiving. Speaking of Thanksgiving, it wasn’t my favorite day since my masters left me locked in the house with their son Maverick’s dog, Chigurh, and his buddy, Townes, while they went to lunch at Maverick's brother's house. They didn’t even bring us leftover turkey since that wasn’t on the menu. (Instead, the hosts served Cornish game hens they had won at a tennis tournament.)

Things got better the next day, however, when they took us up to the country place in Tarpley. Now the food wasn’t any better (just the usual dry dog stuff), but the scene--and scents--definitely were. We took an extended walk up and down Hondo creek, which is filled bank to bank, and I was lucky enough to find a bone of who-knows-what wild dead thing to gnaw on.

Back home, Townes, Chigurh and I lounged on the front porch, which is now completely screened in, and barked at passing dogs. I expect that’s why the white squirrel that’s been visiting the yard most mornings has been making itself scarce. My mistress thinks it only comes in the early morning because the light hurts its albino eyes when the sun comes out. Whatever. I’m really tired of hearing her rave about it. Aren’t I enough of a wonder to hold her attention?

Mansions, Trifecta, Tarpley and Number One Dog

The weather was perfect this morning and the ladies selected the perfect place to walk: downtown along the San Antonio River in the King William neighborhood. No sooner had we gotten started than Mary ran into a friend, Maria Pfeiffer, who lives in her historic family home, which backs up to the river. She was being pulled by her lab, Bruno (who had me on edge until I determined that he is an OK fellow if a bit rambunctious).

We walked briskly so as to get back to our ’hood—about a 15 minute drive—by 9:30. Leaving the river, we passed through the garden of the Steves Homestead, a house museum operated by the San Antonio Conservation Society. It is one of countless mansions built by prosperous German families before the turn of the century.

We passed numerous other stately homes along the shaded streets. But the ladies took the most interest in a small house. To it, architect Daryl Ohlenbusch has added a rustic two-story tall screen porch (which was the inspiration for my mistress's new screened porch) on one side and a two-story techno metal-clad apartment on the other. The effect is stunning.

Throughout the hour-long jaunt I saw no other dogs. Nor did I see any chickens, although a number of King Williamites raise them. (One of them, Mike Casey, even has a turkey). Which reminds me: Mary got an email from son Maverick this week that there was a trifecta. When he checked the rolling coop the other morning, all three ladies had laid him an egg in the same nest!

Returning to the subject of walks, the one I enjoyed most this week was near Tarpley, Texas where Mary and Lewis have a country place. The scents there are not to be believed and the weather was perfect—clear and cool. Thankfully, Hondo Creek is running again and the sinkhole (used as a Saturday night bathtub by a neighbor in years past) is full again. When the water’s up in Texas, there's no room for complaints.

Breaking News! Mary just got a letter from her cousin Amelia, owner of Sadie, the nations's number one dog. (Her full name is Round Town Mercedes of Mary Scot—can you imagine?). Sadie just finished winning best in show in Philadelphia, taking the total up to 102. She can be seen on NBC winning that show on Thanksgiving Day at noon, right after the parade. All I can say is I knew (of) her when.