• 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.