Please vote for Susan and Trixie

Today it was bitching cold (Why does it bother me to use a word that denotes a female dog? Should I allow people to co-opt what I am into something pejorative?). But the sun was shining.

The five ladies who showed up walked about Olmos Park again this week, which was fitting given that one of the members, Susan Gragg (she of the ski poles) has put her hat in the ring for OP mayor. All of us—along with WWT Pat Semmes--who is also on the OP Council--are behind Susan 100 percent.

But Susan’s not the only one to put her hat in the ring. This week Mary got an email from a former co-worker, Anita Flores, offering to support me in a run for El Rey Fido. The contest is a fund-raiser for the Humane Society of San Antonio and the dog who raises the most money is crowned El Rey Fido, meaning the dog king. Of course in my case, I would be La Reina Fido, meaning the dog queen. It has a nice ring don’t you think?

Given that I was a rescue dog I can certainly get behind the Humane Society, which benefits orphaned dogs and cats. (Well I’m not as keen on saving cats but I guess they shouldn’t have to scavenge on the streets either.) If you would like to show your support both for the Humane Society and yours truly, the web page address where you can donate in my name is http://www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1.

Please donate. I’d love to one-up my famous cousin Sadie, who just won the Westminster Dog Show at Madison Square Garden. (When Mary talked to her cousin, Sadie’s owner, she said that in addition to opening the stock market, Sadie got to meet Donald Trump the day after she won. Given Sadie’s incredibly glossy coat—cited by the judge—maybe she shared some hair tips with The Donald. He could certainly use some).

After the walk, Mary’s ran by her grandchildren’s school to give almost-two-year-old Maxwell a dose of antibiotic for an ear infection while I waited in the car. He looked jaunty wearing a baseball hat backwards just like his uncle Maverick did at that age.

Me and my Cousins

There is nothing to report about the WWT walk today other than it was in Olmos Park and that five ladies came, including our newest member, Lyn Belisle.

But there’s big news nonetheless: my “cousin” Sadie just won best-in-show at the Westminster Dog Show in Madison Square Garden. You will remember that she’s the Scottish Terrier owned by Mary’s first cousin that’s been winning best-in-show throughout the country.

My mistress went to a different cousin’s house to see the victory on TV last night Unfortunately, I couldn’t go since the hostess has five dogs of her own. But I heard all about it when Mary and Lewis got back.

Unlike last year when Sadie had what a news article referred to as a “carpet accident” at the Garden, this year she was the picture of grace and decorum. The judge who awarded her the honor told the New York Times that “She’s pleasing to the eye at every angle.” And he went on to say that a dog of that caliber comes up only once in a decade.

This morning—celebrity that she now is—Sadie opened the New York Stock Exchange. And with her handler, Gabriel Rangel, she made the rounds of media outlets and basked in her glory.

But hey-- enough about her. What about me?

I had my own moment of glory this week when yet another cousin sent Mary a gorgeous watercolor portrait. It seems that Joan Dilworth so admired me when they came to visit recently that when she got home she painted my likeness.

And guess what? Mary is going to hang it next to the line drawing and pastel portraits of me that Mary’s friend Karen Condit has done. The grouping will hang on a wall above the computer where I scribble this blog. So I guess you could say that I will be my own muse as they inspire me from above.

Sleet, Stray Dogs and Sticking to my Story

I couldn’t believe it when my mistress started putting my sweater on me at the crack of dawn yesterday. It was crazy cold--36 degrees--with a prediction of sleet. Amazingly, six stalwarts turned up for a too-brisk walk in the too-brisk weather too early in the morning. After an hour on the streets I started feeling something hitting me from above-- it was the sleet, so we headed back.

Since one WWT was sick, Mary dropped by her house afterwards with some soup. I like J.D., Pat’s dog, but he is SO possessive. Every time Pat tried to be friendly with me, he would do something passive aggressive, like lick me. Why didn’t he just be honest and growl like I do when Maverick’s dog Chigurh moves in on Mary?

Pat, a member of the Olmos Park City Council, gave Mary some pointers on her dog petition. She suggested that instead of focussing on a leash law (which is very divisive) my mistress should zero in on stray dogs. She has a point. Both times we've had problems it's been strays that either attacked or menaced me.

Later in the day the Wednesday Walkie Talkies voted on their logo online. You’ll remember that they needed one so that they have their own entry in the Toilet Seat Museum. (When they visited the quirky museum on a walk a while ago, its owner said he would decorate a seat in their honor if they would give him a logo.)

A new member, Lyn Belisle, offered to design one. My mistress sent her a line drawing of me at the suggestion of the WWTs. Lyn submitted three suggestions, only one of which had my portrait. Of course the one with my face in the center was by far the best, but not everyone saw that—some did, some didn’t. When I counted the ballots guess what? I won hands down. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Leash Law: a Necessity in our Neighborhood

It was raining on Wednesday so the WWT ladies neither walked nor talked. I lazed on the bed all day, rising only when I heard Mary open the refrigerator. I can always make her feel guilty when she’s sneaking a treat. To salve her conscience she usually shares, and as often as not it's Vermont sharp cheese and melba toast--which I love.

Yesterday I had a scare: my mistress took me to the vet. I'm always afraid she is going to leave me there in one of those horrid little cages, which she does when she and Lewis go out of town. All it was this time was two inoculations, which I didn't even feel. And when it was over, Dr. Kothmann posed for a picture with me.

Today the skies finally cleared so I badgered my mistress into taking me out for a walk. The minute we stepped outside, a big collarless dog approached us. My mistress picked me up, but it kept circling. Neither Mary nor I wanted a repeat of the time last year when we were both bitten by a big stray dog in front of the house.

We slipped onto the porch and she set me down. But a moment later the dog pushed the heavy ten-foot door open and entered. Mary grabbed me and in a smooth maneuver, slipped out and pushed the door to. She then called the police, who, noting that the offending animal looked to be part pit bull, ushered it off the porch and into their car.

This time Mary has had enough. After the first incident, she discussed the issue with the mayor, a councilwoman and the police chief of Terrell Hills. All assured her the city was considering a leash law. The neighboring suburban cities of Alamo Heights and Olmos Park have one. Why not Terrell Hills? To that end my mistress is writing a petition and plans to get plenty of signatures to take to the next council meeting. Here’s hoping they get one so I can feel safe leaving the house.

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.