• 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.