• A Pet Sitter Says Good Bye

Teddy

It's never easy. Dogs are "mine" for a week or two, or a month, as in this case. With Rena and Teddy I've hiked, ridden in the car, eaten dinner, watched TV, and snored (I snore; they breathe softly and when Teddy dreams, he whines). My clock has been attuned to them for a month.

Their mom returns within the hour. They are no longer "mine." I am a guest. Thank you, you did a great job, good bye.

Rena

I moved Rena's dog bed and her stuffed penguin to her mom's room. Teddy's fuzzy tan blankie lies on his mom's bed, stained by saliva and clouds of dog hair. Rena and Teddy are resting in her room now.

I feel the loss already. I signed up for this—I love pet sitting—but right now there's a hole in my heart.

• Two Dogs Bark About Art and Cheese

Rena: Emmy had lunch at the cafe at the Museum of International Folk Art. I can smell it on her shirt—nachos with cheese and beef. We should have been invited.

Teddy: I love cheese!

Rena: All she brought back was a bunch of pictures of dogs and cats. It's no surprise to me that artists include pets; after all, we're family.

Teddy: I love beef!

Rena: Dogs are included in serious art, like the dog mourning its owner, and in ridiculous pieces, like the poor dog lifting its leg at the Last Supper.

Teddy:  That reminds me, I sort of have to go. Why does that yellow dog look so sad?

Rena: I told you, he's in mourning for his owner.

Teddy: We hike in the morning, but that's not sad. Doesn't the yellow dog like to hike?

Rena: Never mind. Look at that cat! I'd love to wipe that smirk off his face.

Teddy: Did Emmy say what kind of cheese?

Rena: For heaven's sake! Ask her yourself.

Teddy: OK! Um, mirror, mirror on the wall, have you any cheese at all?

Rena: I can't believe you're begging a photograph for cheese.

Teddy: OK, I'll try beef. Mirror, mirror . . . .

• Two Houses

Two Hounds, Two Horses, and Two Houses: that was the title of the first post of this blog. It made me sound both responsible and overburdened, so people wouldn't give me grief about a monthlong "vacation" in Santa Fe.

I exaggerated. Caring for Rena and Teddy, the two dogs, requires about 90% of my time. The dogs' mom hired two women to care for her horses, so I have no real responsibilities for them.

But at last I've been needed for one of the houses. The dogs' mom had a kitchen fire late last year, so bad that nearly everything had to be replaced. (I'm living with the dogs in a house she rented while her home is under renovation.) The last job was delivering and installing kitchen cabinets.

Delivery went fine. Jill, a friend of the dogs' mom who has experience with home renovation, stopped by. Everything looked good. Installation was scheduled for last Thursday. Except . . . the designer at the big box store that sold the dogs' mom the cabinets was off work, so the subcontractor called the dogs' mom, who was in Africa and unable to take calls, to tell her he couldn't do the job Thursday, and the only way Jill—who was at the house to let the guys in because it was her day off—knew the job wouldn't be done Thursday was that she called the big box store and talked to someone who works with the designer who told her to call the subcontractor, who told Jill the cabinets would go in Friday, at which point Jill gave the subcontractor my number since I'd be on call Friday.

Come Friday, the subcontractor was confused. There were too many people in the equation. So I didn't learn that he couldn't install on Friday till I called him.  Monday was the new date. "Call me on Monday," I said. But on Monday the subcontractor called Jill, not me, because he was still confused, and said they couldn't do the job till Tuesday; they'd be there between 8 and 9 a.m. I was tempted to say I was too confused to show up that early.

Look how sweet Teddy is, snuggling me
 as cabinets are being installed!

The sub-subcontractor, who years ago sliced off part of his left thumb in a baluster accident, was at the house at 8 a.m. He sees that the dogs' mom installed laminate flooring in the kitchen, which the big box store didn't know. Their policy is not to place cabinets on laminate flooring. (Don't ask me why; I'm just the messenger.) The sub-subcontractor talked to the subcontractor, another designer at the big box store, and a few other folks. Meanwhile I called the stone guys, who were supposed to measure for the countertop today. Emails were sent to the dogs' mom.

The good news is that the upper cabinets were installed before noon. The bad news is that I misplaced the dogs' water bowl from the car and learned that they do not drink water after a walk—they drink water only from that bowl after a walk.

Jill, thank goodness, is making sure the big box store contacts the dogs' mom in a timely manner so the bottom cabinets can go in before she returns next week. I hope no one finds that confusing.

• A Gem of a Day

Today on our morning walk we started out with fog and a cry of pain from Rena, who was out of sight at the time. But when she emerged from the trees, she was her usual self. I called her and she took a treat. She didn't limp or favor a leg. She ran at a fast clip. In the car she let me run my hands over her body but when I got to her legs the mini-exam was over. She hates having her feet or legs touched.

Driving home, I mentally practiced muzzling a dog, as I learned in pet first aid, in case I needed to take a closer look. But Rena didn't scratch, bite, or lick herself, as she might from a bite or a thorn. An hour later, after I showered, I checked Rena one more time: breathing OK, heart rate seems OK, eyes bright, no marks (that I could see) on her body. With someone trepidation, I decided to go ahead with my plans. "I'll be right back," I said cheerfully. Oh, I was a lying, lying pet sitter. But that's what their mom says, so I didn't feel too guilty.

I was bound for the Albuquerque Gem and Mineral Club Spring Show. Cruising at 75 means Santa Fe to Albuquerque takes an hour. Yowzah.

I was so gaga that I forgot to take pictures! Fossils, stones to be made into jewelry (cabochons), fine gems, rings, necklaces, bracelets, beading materials, and crystals, crystals growing out of other crystals, and crystals I'd never heard of. I bought the kyanite in quartz from Brazil. It's supposed to contribute to a peaceful home.

I tried on a necklace that wasn't my style, a long, heavy strand of pearls and other stones. I put it back. And then the weirdest thing happened. The back of my neck felt cold. Spooky . . . . did it mean something? I recently took classes on crystals. My teacher and other students got physical feelings from stones: heat, cold, reverberations. I did not. Until now. I bought the necklace.

Rena and Teddy jumped up and down for joy when I got home. You would have thought I'd been gone four weeks, not four hours. Bright-eyed Rena had her usual enthusiasm on our afternoon walk. She and Teddy gobbled a dinner of kibble, frozen beef medallions, and a dash of grated cheese. Now we're in the living room, listening to the wind. I'm watching CNN, which is focused on the mystery of the missing Malaysian plane. Teddy is sacked out of the couch. With teeth and tongue, Rena is performing a slurpy pedicure, which is usual for her. Thank God, she seems to fine.

I took the necklace off three hours ago to take its picture. Three hours . . . and the back of my neck still feels cold.

• Pet Sit? Vacation? Or Both?

I'm at the halfway point of my pet sit. Thanks to the dry climate and daily hikes with Rena and Teddy, I've gained a confident new stride. My knees and right foot rarely hurt.

"Enjoy your rest," friends have said. Or "Have a good vacation!" At first it seemed I wasn't resting or seeing much of Santa Fe, what with morning hikes with the dogs, a prolonged campaign to find Internet, afternoon walks, an occasional visit to the horses, and adjusting to the dogs' schedule and needs.

But Santa Fe is gradually soaking into my bones.

Every morning the dogs and I drive what Siri calls, "the old PEE-kss trail," and along a road that follows the original Santa Fe Trail. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains lie on our left. We crest over a hill, the sunny, grassy landscape of the Galisteo Basin before us, the snow-capped Jemez Mountains in the distance. When I open the car door the dogs go nuts, running and tussling. The air is crisp and dry, the sky bright blue. One day snow poured down like confectioner's sugar.

Doodlets, on the Santa Fe Plaza

After our walk I sometimes stop by Café Fina for a Mexican Mocha and a bacon-date scone. When it's warmer the dogs and I sit on the patio.

I've walked Rena and Teddy on The Plaza and Canyon Road and visited dog-friendly stores. We drove to quirky Madrid, a small village of artists. In nearby Eldorado we bought dog treats and homemade quiche and New Mexican coffee for me. Belly rubs, nuzzles, and snuggling with the dogs fills the time at home. The house is typical Santa Fe: adobe, viga ceilings, saltillo tile floor. Every afternoon the three of us nap.

So I'm resting. I'm having a good vacation. And I'm sharing this special time with two of the nicest hairy companions a girl could want.

• "It's Pronounced MAD-rid"

Teddy, me, and Rena at The Hollar, in Madrid

MAD-rid. I'm talking about one of the artsy little towns on the Turquoise Trail. They know you're a tourist, but if you pronounce it like the town in Spain they'll think you're a stupid tourist.

The dogs and I deserved a day trip. After our usual morning hike, I fortified myself with Café Fina's Mexican Mocha and bacon-date scone. (I'm not going home unless I find a place that makes bacon-date scones.)

Tomato caprese salad

And we were on our way. Evidently Teddy and Rena's mom takes them to exercise somewhere along the way to Madrid, because Teddy started his curious yodeling a few miles down State Road 14. It's annoying, but it's the only annoying thing he does, so I can forgive him.

Drive into Madrid and you've turned on the wayback machine. Hippies in their 60s and 70s who never got the memo that it's OK to bathe, man, stand around. For hours. Bow-legged bikers in studded black boots straddle sparkling purple bikes. You know some of these people have done time, just not which ones. The shops along the main drag are almost literally falling apart. It's part of the caché of the town. Then there are we tourists in our SUVs and Lesus's, all white bread Midwest folk.

Worth $98?

Teddy and Rena and I got our picture taken by Connie at Connie's Photo Park. Connie did all the artwork herself and she's got costumes for kids. No cost, but donations appreciated. The dogs stayed in the car when I went in a few stores, including Heaven Boutique, where the saleswoman convinced me I need a $98 slinky kimono. "Don't you go to the theater? The opera?" she asked. "I'm a pet sitter," I laughed. I bought a slinky black T-shirt.

Lunch! Lunch was highlight of the day. The Hollar has an extremely dog-friendly patio, so much so that one family ate inside while its portly Jack Russell-mix wandered the patio unsupervised. I only wanted a Diet Coke but worried that might seem rude, so I ordered the tomato caprese salad. I don't know what Anthony Bourdain would say, but I loved it! (You might want to get the baslamic dressing on the side.) Rena and Teddy were very well behaved. The waiter brought them a big bowl of water and took our picture. Don't let the fact that The Hollar looks like a hole-in-the-wall scare you. Go.

Me heap big brave buffalo-riding woman

It's five o-clock the new time (we sprung forward today) and the dogs are dozing. If I'm lucky, all the action today might be enough for them to skip the afternoon walk.

• Lessons from the Snow

Rena (left) and Teddy

The forecast called for snow in the mountains. The dogs would enjoy snow, I thought; maybe we should drive up. But in the morning the trees and ground were frosted in white. I had forgotten—Santa Fe is in the mountains!

Rena and Teddy yelped joyously as they exploded from the SUV into the forest. Every day I let them out, then gather the stuff I think I need for our walk. This morning I lagged more than usual, what with zipping up two coats and struggling into gloves. As she does every morning, Rena stood in the distance waiting for me, without judgment. Her patience touches me.

"Hey! You can eat this!"

I walked through a Christmas card. Snow fell silently. The dogs scampered up and down the hills, occasionally racing each other. We shared the forest with no one.

On our walks, the only thing I've concentrated on is the distance we cover. Today that wasn't an option. The dirt path was slick. I dug my cane into the snow, stepping purposefully. As long as I stuck to the big dirt road and took my time I would be all right.

Forced into slowness, I felt the peacefulness of the forest. Rena ran in and out of view on her daily surveillance duties. When Teddy tired of following his "sister"—he is 7 years older than 2-year old Rena—he sniffed low growth for P-mail and dribbled what he could for the next fellow. Every time I reached into my bag for my camera Teddy thought it was treat time.

Teddy's treat face

I should practice recall on the walk, giving the dogs a treat when they come, but I've slacked off. In the distance I heard a yelp, which meant Rena had met another dog. "Teddy, Rena, come!" Nothing. Teddy is shy around other dogs while Rena may initially snarl, although her bark is the worst of it. Luckily, dog owners in Santa Fe take in stride a kerfluffle between off-leash dogs. A man and three shaggy dogs appeared on the trail, Border Collie Rena diligently sniffing their heels. "Come, guys." They came. Treats were dispensed.

Lessons learned: Stop and smell the cedar. Remind the dogs more often that I'm in charge—not a bad thing, since it means more treats for Teddy.

• Pretty (Enough) Woman

I won't mention the name of the olive oil store, but don't go there.

If you saw the movie Pretty Woman, you remember how hurt Julia Roberts' character was when the staff at a Beverly Hills dress shop refused to wait on her. Julia and I have a lot in common.

I was taking a break from the dogs I was pet sitting, walking around the Santa Fe Plaza. I realized I was a tad hungry. I spotted an olive oil store doing tastings. A hunk of bread dunked in oil would be just the thing,

The store was dark. Casks lined the walls. A glass bowl was filled with bread squares smaller than dice. The saleswoman, a 30-something blonde, was helping a customer. She turned to look at me. She drew her eyes downward from my windblown hair to my fleece vest adorned by a dog hair or two, to my well-traveled Healthy Back bag and orthopedic shoes caked with dirt from hiking with the dogs. Silently, she turned back to her customer.

Oh, no she di'int!

Oh, yes, she did. She didn't just ignore me—she dismissed me.

In the nice store

I didn't know what to do. Should I wait? The customer was another 30-something woman dressed tastefully in low-key Santa Fe style. She drank from a tiny paper cup and nodded. "Yes, this one is much better." She had money, and I have no problem with a salesperson who first takes care of a customer who's going to buy something. But to dismiss me? I left the store.

I couldn't get the insult off my mind. Hesitantly, I told the saleswomen in a nearby shop. "Well, we're glad you're here!" one said.

As I tried on clothes, I got a crazy idea. I could do like Julia Roberts, buy bags of clothes and scarves and purses from the nice store and waltz into the olive oil store. "Do you work on commission?" I would ask the blonde saleswoman. "Big mistake. Big. You wouldn't wait on me yesterday, so I spent all the money I would have spent on olive oil.'" I would hoist the bags triumphantly and turn on my heel.

Of course, the best part would be that afterward I would have sex with Richard Gere.

• Hiking and Miracles

Can you see Teddy?

My first hike with the dogs that I'm pet sitting was a week ago. The dogs' mom was showing me the ropes. Every morning she hikes briskly for an hour with Rena, a border collie mix, and Teddy, a Lab mix. For our first walk together the dogs' mom chose a narrow, up-and-down trail. Santa Fe is 7,000 feet above sea level. I live at sea level and am not in shape. After a few steps I gasped for air. I worried about falling and hurting my arthritic knees on the bumpy path. Those poor dogs, I thought. How in the hell am I going to pull this off? Their mom was kind. Do what you're comfortable doing, she said. There are easier paths.

On a flat dirt road the next morning I dragged myself a hundred yards or so, then stood, out of breath, my legs quivering. Rena and Teddy scampered up and down hills. Their mom, almost out of sight, looked back at me. I felt ashamed. I knew I could do better, but when? That afternoon the dogs' mom left on her trip. I dutifully woke at six every morning and drove to the flat road. Every day I walked a little farther, a little longer.

Rena and Teddy drink after our hike.

Today was the first day I haven't had a refrigerator on my chest on our morning hike. Today Rena branched off from that flat dirt road and expectantly looked back at me. What the heck, I thought. The dogs led the way up a dirt-and-rock path to a peak overlooking a valley. In their crunchy -granola style, Santa Feans placed a handmade meditation chair at the overlook. I sat, drank lukewarm coffee and gave the dogs treats. The three of us took another path back—which I chose!—that wound up and around hills. I didn't know where that path would lead, and therein is the miracle: I was willing to venture into the unknown.

I carried a cane, I sweated, but I did it. Can I get a fist pump, a chest bump, a Wahoo? Because it's just a hike, but it feels like a miracle.

• Ants

The house that Teddy and Rena's mom is renting has ants, tiny helpless black spots that clamber across the kitchen countertop every morning. I have to kill them. I have to. As I wield a paper towel I apologize and wish them well on their journey. And I feel like shit.

The only thing palatable about this task is cleaning the counter afterward. This orange scented eco-conscious cleanser makes me want to take home a bottle in my luggage. Would that be weird?

• Canyon Road and Teca Tu

Dog sculpture with dogs

Dog sculpture

Santa  Fe's Canyon Road has caché, but that's not why Teddy, Rena, and I took an afternoon walk there. On a chilly Monday in March it was virtually deserted.

The only thing that took away from the experience was the dogs' leashes. They're long and squishy, perfect for open areas but not good for control, even with a "handle" at the halfway point. But the real problem is that my hands aren't always free because I carry too much crap! That's my happy face (left) but nervous posture.

Teddy (left) and Rena sniff out Teca Tu

Nearby we scoped out completely awesome Teca Tu, the biggest boutique-type store for pets I've ever been in. Good quality, variety, unique finds, and tempting smells the height of a dog's nose! Between the leashes and making sure we didn't knock anything over, I got a bit flummoxed. One of the sales staff volunteered to pick up things I wanted so I could stand still and breathe. She was also happy to take our picture. And that is why you should go to Teca Tu: outstanding customer service!

I hope I don't make Rena and Teddy sound like little devils. They are some of the best behaved, most sensitive dogs I've ever cared for. Rena pulls a little on the leash and may growl at another dog if they don't see eye to eye, but that's it. They are a dream to care for. Unfortunately, somebody (OK, me) forgot to put on Rena's harness for this trip, and I don't have the hang of those darn leashes. And can I use altitude adjustment as an excuse? No, since I've been in Sante Fe 7 days and they say it takes one day to adjust for every 1,000 feet.

Nope, it's me. I need to chill, get on board with the relaxed vibe here. Rena and Teddy are masters of it. As I sit here writing, I hear one of them snoring.

• Two Horses

Odie (left) and Dr. Humby

The dogs' mom owns two horses, Odie, a full-blooded Arabia,n and Humby. In truth, I have almost no responsibility for the horses, but complete access, the best of both worlds.

This month was my chance to fully live the life with horses and dogs that I had imagined for myself. Without having to feed the horses, it's not a real trial run. I am not, however, upset. I accompanied the dogs' mom enough to get a sense of horse chores: a back breaking labor of love.

Dr. Humby and me

My job is to keep the horses company. Groom. There's a currie comb for Odie and a metal round "brush" for Humby. Rub mane and tail conditioner with bare hands; comb out. If I want Brownie points in heaven (or with the woman who is feeding the horses) I can rake poop.

So far I haven't had the emotional connection with the horses that I often do. My mind is on dozens of things: gate code, barn number, crotchety barn door, opening and closing gates, apportioning horse cookies, making sure horses don't escape.

Maybe my lesson, here in Santa Fe, is to relax my mind.

• Other Than the Dogs . . .

Mexican Mocha

Aventurine, maybe jasper, agate?

French roast

The trip hasn't been all about the dogs. During a four-hour layover in Dallas, I was given a half-hour tour in one of the carts that gives old ladies a ride from gate to gate. The driver kept picking up (other) old ladies until finally he took me to C-24, where I got a manicure. I think he was milking me for a bigger tip but I didn't mind. When I told him I was getting a manicure he fell over laughing. "You going to a party?" he asked.


I found 3 stone bracelets and an angel-dog pin in a second hand store for $17. I love a bargain.

And I love coffee. Café Fina, named for the gas station the building used to be, serves a killer Mexican Mocha. Not a bargain; I make an exception.

My client's daughter has a coffee machine from another planet that hisses out a French roast fit for the gods. I may have found this year's Christmas gift to myself.

• Rain, Rain, Come to Stay

Before she left, the dogs' mom was excited over a few drops of rain on the windshield. She would have loved yesterday. The most rain in nearly a month fell in Santa Fe. Being from Virginia, I don't fear drought the way people in this part of the country do. The rain was preceded by what I call a Holy shit sunrise. Sorry about the profanity, but that's what I said. I guess this is another blog not suited for children. :)

Yesterday was my first time taking Teddy and Rena on their morning walk by myself. I was nervous, without reason. The dogs are incredibly easy. Put them in the back of the SUV, let them out in a park to run free, call them back in. I threw a couple of checklists in the equation: things to do before I left, things to take. After all, was early. Really early.

The dogs' owner told me the name of the mountains, but I forgot.

I'm more comfortable setting my own pace and being alone. With my cane, I walked farther than the day before. Teddy and Rena bound in and out (mostly out) of sight, sniffing the bushes for p-mail and rabbits. As a test, I call them. They come, which means treats. Rena trotted off and Teddy hung around. How about another treat for me? I even followed Rena up a side trail. Their owner walks them for an hour every morning; I managed 45 minutes. Pretty good, for me.

Rena in the front courtyard

The rain held off till we got back to the house and then it let loose. All day. I did laundry, puttered around the kitchen. The dogs snoozed. Their dinner was freshly cooked hamburger mixed by hand with kibble. Last night they ate it all; tonight they didn't, which was nothing to worry about. I was more worried about Teddy. He seemed miffed, distant. Even when we climbed into bed, he on his fuzzy soft blanket and I under the covers, he turned his head. It wasn't till the next morning that I realized I forgot to remove their collars, a bedtime ritual. Ay yi yi.

Tomorrow I'll do better, guys.

• Two Hounds, Two Horses, Two Houses

Teddy (left) and Rena in the "way back" of their car.

Two hounds, two horses, and two houses:  that's my responsibility in Santa Fe, The City Different. I'm pet sitting through House Carers, an unpaid gig, a bit of a vacation.

But. I have a penchant for exaggeration. Rena and Teddy are my full-time responsibility, but other women will feed the horses. I'm living in a rental; the other house is my client's, damaged by a fire and under repair.

Rena is a rescued Border Collie, skittish and shy. She just hopped up on the couch, as if she knew if was writing about her! She incessantly licks a quarter-sized piece of pink skin  on her right leg, which her owner said is like an earlier spot that healed naturally. So I watch, wait, and worry, which I'm not supposed to do. They don't seem to worry in The City Different. Maybe I can catch a little of that.

What kind of dog is Teddy, I asked. "He's a black dog," said his owner. She sent his DNA for testing and found Lab, Schnauzer, and a couple other breeds. Also a rescue, he's grown in confidence over the years, his owner says. Teddy sleeps on my bed on a favorite fuzzy blanket.

We're not yet 24 hours in to being on our own, so it's too early for patting ourselves on the back. But. Both ate all their dinner last night (kibble and fresh ground beef) and I got up before 5:00 a.m. today so they can have their morning walk at the usual time. *pat pat pat*