I have a confession to make. I lied about Loren’s breed when checking in last night, writing down “boxer/pit bull mix.” Why? I was afraid they wouldn’t let us in a fancy place if I stated pit bull. I’m kind of ashamed of myself, really. Next time, I’ll be 100% honest and proud to write pit bull, damn the consequences.

It’s so humid. We got up and went for a walk at 7:30 a.m. and it just hits you like a steam room. Within 30 seconds, my hair starts to curl.

After taking advantage of the free breakfast here, I set up Loren for a flea bath appointment. She’s been scratching a lot - this is bug country, for all creatures apparently. Beforehand, I was determined for us to see the ocean, so we headed for the one dog-friendly stretch of this 27-mile long beach I could find online, near the Dan Russell City Pier, set smack dab in the heart of Panama Beach City.



While finding a parking spot, my friend Liz called to tell me she had walked my dogs and how well they were doing. Having to parallel park, I asked her to hold and threw the phone in the back cab. It fell into Loren’s water dish. It died. A classic Michelle move.

We hit the beach and Loren was panting within five minutes, way more interested in the nasty kelp beds than the pristine blue-green water. She ran from the waves, as gentle as they were. Thankfully, the fine white sand wasn’t hot or we wouldn’t have made it five feet. (I found one area that Florida kicks California’s ass. Their beaches are more Caribbean than toxic wasteland).


"See, you don't have to actually walk in the water..."


"I laugh in the face of danger...ha ha ha ha ha..."


"Hey there...come here often?"


"Thanks for bringing me here, Aunt Michelle."

On our way up the shore, a young black Great Dane with floppy ears ran over to meet Loren. Unlike my civic-minded self, his owner didn’t have the dog leashed. Though he seemed friendly enough, I panicked, yanking Loren away and hoping he’d get distracted. No such luck.

He made contact and I lamely pulled out my air horn, which gave a funky fizzing sound since I hadn’t used it in months. The Great Dane’s owner retrieved him in time - she must have thought I was nuts! I felt bad for not giving Loren a chance to interact with him. She didn’t seem aggressive. just startled. Next time I will give her the choice of whether she wants to meet a new dog and act accordingly, instead of freaking out and setting her up for failure. I am not yet a pack leader, even with just one dog, but am learning.

I dropped Loren off at the Barks and Bubbles salon. She ran off with Matthew the groomer with nary a glance backward. Yeah. Three hours to myself. Too bad 1.5 of them were spent tracking down a non-existent AT&T store (thanks, Gidget!) and getting my oil changed.

The remainder was spent at Sharkey’s, a tourist trap (think Pappas and Beer in Florida) with mediocre food and the most bitchen ocean views. Like real estate, this restaurant was all about location, location, location. They had a “Lobster Zone” game, like the toy retrieval version found at restaurants everywhere, only with live crustaceans they’ll cook up for $2 a try. I passed.


Good times, Florida style...except for the lobsters!

Armed with a great book (“Me Talk Pretty One Day” by David Sedaris), watching over the leathery brown people basking in the sunlight as I ate my dry fish tacos, I had an epiphany. I, like Loren, am not a beach girl. I used to be a faithful sun worshipper, lavishing on the baby oil and sizzling for hours, but now I’d much rather be somewhere cool, like the mountains where I live. The heat is too much for me. I, too, am a delicate flower.


Nice view...wish I could say the same for my hair!

For that reason, I’ve decided to reroute away from some of the beach campgrounds and head into the country. We are spending an extra night in Savannah and going to Asheville, North Carolina (which I heard is a really cool place), and Wytheville, Virginia, before resuming our route to Baltimore. This will also break up some of the mileage-heavy legs of the trip.

Also, no camping - unless we can upgrade to cabins. As much as I’d like to be a handy, rough-it kind of girl, I have to admit - it’s just not my nature. I like having a roof over my head - preferably plaster, not nylon, which is prone to, say, gators. I’m not a wimp - I live in bear country and have been within 100 yards of a mountain lion, only to hike the same trail the next day. I just like my comforts. I’m getting old…I deserve it…and so does Loren. She spends enough time outside in her kennel.

Loren got a perfect report card from Matthew, the groomer, who said she was sweet throughout the whole process, including getting her nails clipped. So far, she has proven to be a wonderful dog - loves to travel and snuggle, no potty accidents, fine at the groomer, great with people, including little kids. (Anyone in Southern California ready to adopt her?)


"I feel pretty, oh so pretty..."

We ended our night with dinner at Barnacle Bruce’s - fresh Dungeness crab, steamed with a side of butter, steamed corn and potatoes, and a healthy dinner salad to round things out. If you’re gonna hang out at the ocean and not go in the water, one should at least enjoy the fruits of the sea.

Just could not rouse myself out of bed in a hurry this morning. The Big Easy pace seems to agree with me and with Loren (new nicknames: Miss Thang and Divalicious). We got up around 8 and were working on the blog when my cell rang. It was Ken. I had asked him to breakfast the day before and he was confirming. Yeah! Good conversation to look forward to.

We packed up our stuff and bid goodbye to Jezzie, the groundskeeper at Rathbone Mansion, thanking her for making our stay so pleasant. The woman is amazing - taking care of the whole place while taking care of a 4-month old baby. I would catch her cooing to her daughter as she worked, sounding much like I did with Loren.


"Come on, lagger, let's get going!"

At 10:30, I made it to Surrey’s, this little, tiny breakfast and lunch place on Magazine Street. While Ken wasn’t there, I ran into a lady I met while having coffee on Sunday named Susie. She joined me and we soon were off and running, talking about dogs.

Turns out Susie was a pit lover and a rescuer when she lived in Atlanta a few years back. “I would see my neighbors hanging pit puppies from trees to teach them how to lock their jaws,” she recalled. “Then there were the ones that were chained up. Some were 12 or 13 years old.”

Susie would often take these outcasts and was soon up to 15 dogs. “It was crazy,” she said.

Ordering breakfast was a challenge - so much good stuff. I was pretty determined to order homemade bagels and lox, which I did, with avocado mash instead of cream cheese. The plate was beautiful and its contents delicious - the lox salty and luscious, the avocado a perfect accompaniment atop the toasted bagel. I piled on capers, red onion, and tomato, and was a happy diner.

As good as promised...

Except when I got up to use the bathroom. The uneven floors and tiny space of Surrey’s made me feel intoxicated. Still, it’s got a way cool vibe. Very funky, eclectic, and arty, complete with hip young servers.

Ken told us about a hoarder in California who had 30 pit bulls they were trying to place at rescue groups throughout the country. His board of directors at The Sula Foundation (www.sulafoundation.org) were seriously considering taking one in. 

We pondered the plight of pit bulls in general and determined it was a socio-economic rather than racial problem, that it was all in the way a person was raised to consider their dogs - as guard dogs, protection, or pets - and whether they had the means to properly take care of them.

Sometimes, however, a seismic shift of consciousness can occur later on, as Ken illustrated.

“I worked with this guy that had a big dog that he kept outside and barely interacted with. His girlfriend got a little dog that they kept inside and treated like a pet. It hit him then that the big dog was a family member, too,” Ken said. “He started volunteering with the SPCA after this realization.”

Ken and Susie walked me over to my car. Loren immediately ran to Ken and greeted him with her trademark sloppy kisses. Susie squatted down and was soon the center of Loren’s attention. “Pretty girl,” Susie said as she hugged Loren tight. “I wish I could take you home with me.”


"I Heart Susie!"

Under deadline, Ken left and Susie and I took a brief walk so Loren could take her final pee before we hit the road to Mobile.

“Those hoarders…” she said. “I can really relate. I wanted so much to help and thought every one I took in would be the last one. But it never was. It never ends.”

I sighed in empathy. “You know, all we can do is what we can do. If I look at the situation in a macro sense, I become immobile,” I said. “So, I volunteer where I can and try to make a difference in my own small way. Maybe you could help Ken. Maybe you could become a foster home.”

Susie smiled and gave me a hug, heading on her own journey to South Carolina to watch her niece graduate from high school. Another friend made.

The lush highways to Alabama were a breeze to navigate, only 133 miles, which was a jaunt compared to the 350 to 400 mile trips we took through Arizona and Texas. It was like a trip to the grocery store

We checked into our free motel - again, no problems - and were happy to see the hardwood floors and subdued linens, giving the place a retro feel rather than a hyper-tropical one. They even had some fruit, crackers, and water waiting for us. Very nice.

Loren was really excited most of the afternoon - there were lots of kids playing around the pool and her ears would perk up as they screamed and played. As usual, she wanted to be part of the scene, but I had errands to do.

While doing laundry, I saw two pit puppies in parking lot, tied to fence. Was this my worst fear coming true, finding strays and not knowing what to do? When I came closer, I saw they both had tags and collars. Their mom, a young brunette, came out and looked at me suspiciously.

“I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to make sure someone didn’t dump them,” I said.

She smiled. “No, I don’t mind, but we would never dump them, they are our babies,” came the reply with a sweet Southern accent.

Angel and her husband T.J. got their pit bulls, one who looks a lot like a baby Loren, from a breeder and plans to breed them. I told her she really shouldn’t as there are so many in shelters who need homes and she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Where?,” she asked. “Shelters won’t adopt pit bulls out around here. I’ve checked.”

I didn’t know how to reply.

When I took Loren for bathroom run, we met the maintenance guys in the parking lot. “Pretty girl,” they exclaimed and rushed to pet her. When I told them what we were doing, they revealed they were involved in rescue, either indirectly through a relative or taking a more active role.

“I live at the end of a dirt road, so I don’t need to look for animals. They find me when their owners dump them on my property,” one of them said. He currently has a Chihuahua, an Australian Shepherd and another purebred. “All beautiful animals,” he said.

They also substantiated Angel’s claim about shelters and pit bulls. “They won’t adopt them out. They’ve had too many problems with fighting,” they said.

Loren seems to like smells of the south, taking her sweet time on walks, and she doesn’t seem to mind the humidity as much as the desert’s dry heat. It was getting late. Hungry for dinner, I consulted my handy “Roadfood” book and programmed Gidget for “The Brick Pit.”

Subdued but superb.

The smell hits you as soon as you enter the parking lot, delicious, tantalizing smoke. We pulled into a shady spot in the back and I went in to order. With a camera around my neck. Like a total geek tourist. The order placed, I started perusing all the reviews hanging on the walls when a man poked his head out from the kitchen.

“Someone got a dog out there?”

Oh, God. “Yeah…what’s wrong?”

He smiled. “Your dogs done up to jump out the window. She’s setting off the alarm,” he said. I started panicking about the exit and he directed me to the employee area. “You can come out this way.”

I ran out to greet my nemesis, Miss Thang, who was sitting upright in the driver’s seat. I clicked off the alarm and sighed.

“It’s great to travel with a dog and it’s a pain to travel with a dog,” I told the nice man. “You got dogs?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Two pits.”

I smiled.

“She a pit?” he asked me.

“Yeah. You want to meet her?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

Loren jumped out and promptly jumped all over him. His name was Keyon and he agreed to let me take his photo with Loren, after I told him what we were doing. This is a gift. I’m sure Keyon and I would have never struck up a conversation had Loren not been with me. Crazy as she makes me sometimes, she is a catalyst for making friends.

"Yum...smells like pit bull and BBQ!"

Keyon went back in to work and I sat in the parking lot with Loren, unwrapping the sandwich which, surprisingly, was served on thick, white bread. It smelled like smoke, which permeated the incredibly soft meat, enhanced with a spicy, vinegar based sauce. Delish.

I gave Loren a few pieces without sauce, which she gratefully accepted. Still, she’s no pig, like the Labs I’ve had over the year who were relentless beggars once they smelled food. Loren waits patiently, never lowering herself to beg, never pushing me. She is just about the least food motivated go I’ve met. She’s all about the love.


"See, I'm not tempted..."

We drove through the ritzy part of Mobile, on Government Road, looking at all the mansions. Huge brick estates with pillars and mammoth wrought iron fences. Beautiful.



On Government Street

Intrigued by a cannon in the middle of an intersection, we stopped and went for a 15-minute walk at Memorial Park, with a plaque dedication to mothers of soldiers in the south. So historical this place is.

"Let's check this out..."


"Proud to be an American!"

It hit me as we were driving back to the hotel and I saw a sign for Montgomery - we are in the deep f’ing South! This is the place I read about as a kid, about Martin Luther King, about segregation, about police dogs and sit ins. This is the real deal. Incredible.

TJ was in the parking lot with his puppy when we got back. He’s a landscaper and she cleans charter buses for a living. They are staying here until they get an apartment. Earlier in the day, I had seen a tiny white kitten with a collar, then turned around for a second, and it was gone. It was theirs. And it got along just fine with the pit bull puppies, according to TJ.

“They all sleep together,” he said.

When I asked him what it was he loved about pits, he smiled.

“I can’t put it in fine print, but I just love their personalities,” he said.

“Is it because they’re funny?” I asked.

“That’s it!” he said. “They’re like little clowns! They crack me up!”

(Fuzzy Rescue in California is desperately looking for foster homes for the pits rescued from a hoarding situation. If you can help in any way, please contact sheila_choi@fuzzyrescue.org)

Loren was feeling mighty frisky on our last night in New Orleans, chasing after a milk bone and sliding all over the hardwood floors. I, on the other hand, was in the midst of a food coma. Ate I came to do here and ate I did.

This morning started with a trip to Café Du Monde for beignets and café au lait. As we waited at a red light, a woman, looking intently at our magnets, walked over and asked me if I had a card. I handed her a postcard and she briefly pet Loren. “He was homeless before we rescued him,” she said, nodding at her rust colored fluffy dog. “That’s awesome,” I said. The light turned green and we waved goodbye.

At Café Du Monde, the scene was much quieter than the 5o to 100 deep line I had witnessed the afternoon before. There were only a few people waiting, though it still took a long time. Things are not super efficient in New Orleans and it’s a nice change when you’re on vacation, to not rush around like a madwoman, like I do in So. Cal.

Four dollars later, I had my beignets and coffee. The former were a little greasy and doused in powdered sugar. There was a ½ inch of powder at the bottom of the paper bag and about a ½ ton spilled on the floor in the small dining room. The coffee was alright. All in all, not the must-experience taste sensation I anticipated.

Doughnuts & coffee, New Orleans style

The lemon mango iced tea at Mojo Coffeehouse on Magazine Street, however, is fantastic. I had one yesterday and had to go back. It’s too warm and muggy for coffee, anyway. Or so I thought.

The morning cooled way down and rain started to pour as we came back to our room. I received a return email from Ken Foster, the author of “Dogs Who Found Me,” who lives in New Orleans. He agreed to meet us for lunch! How cool!

We originally scheduled to meet at Willie Mae’s Scotch Kitchen, which the Food Network hailed as having the best fried chicken in America, but they were not open for business. The Praline Connection was our backup plan and it was a pleasant surprise. Crisp white linen on both the tables and the servers, who also donned snappy black hats.


Talking dog & enjoying sweet potato pie with awesome author Ken Foster

The chicken was great, as Ken had assured me it would be - crisp, succulent, slightly spicy. He often stops here on the way back from his local teaching gig.

We mostly talked dogs. Ken has four now, two males and two females, which started with Sula, his beautiful pit bull. He named his non-profit organization after her - The Sula Foundation. They have an active foster network and regularly hold educational/fundraising events in New Orleans to fund their rescue efforts.

I told Ken the curious reaction I was getting from people when I walked Loren, especially some tough-looking characters I thought would never be afraid of her. They actually crossed the street as we approached them, even though I assured them she was friendly.

“You have to remember, people from these neighborhoods usually know pit bulls one of two ways - either through dog fighting or as a drug dealer’s enforcement,” he said.

Like Los Angeles, the New Orleans shelter system is overrun with pit bulls, many from backyard breeders who think they can make a quick buck.

“I ask them how much they think they’ll get for a puppy and they say, $1,000,” Ken said incredulously.

I laughed. “Really? Are they on crack?”  (This is one of my favorite sayings...probably hits a little close to home around here).

These unscrupulous breeders are lucky to get $100 for a pit bull pup. Most of them end up in the shelter, like a little white, deaf girl whom Ken is boarding at the Animal Clinic on Magazine Street. One of 13 pups, her breeder immediately took the dog to the shelter when he realized she was deaf, refusing to pay the $10 owner surrender fee. He drove off in a brand new SUV.

We went to pick her up puppy food at the Canine Connection on Magazine Street, a really cool doggy day care and boarding facility. Their canine greeter, Wendy, a shepherd mix of a certain age, was rescued by their owner. She was scheduled for euthanasia for being too old and unadoptable. She looked about seven or eight and was certainly spry enough to come over to every visitor and lean against their legs until she was pet. They were also boarding an adorable black terrier mix of some kind who was rescued from a neglect situation.

Since the vet wasn’t open until 2 p.m., Ken and I took Loren for a walk. She took a shine to him instantly, showering him with kisses and minding him quite well. Loren’s a puller when walking and she kept poking her head into every store and bar we came across, trying to introduce herself. She loves the people. Sure enough, the hardcore guys with beanie caps and baggie jeans avoided Loren at all costs.

"Yum...tastes like pit bull!"


"Gives good kisses, too!"



"Ken, there's a much better deal down the street!"



"Aunt Michelle, I don't want to sit!"

Loren settled back into the truck so I could meet the cutie with one blue eye and one green eye. Is there anything more adorable than a puppy, especially a white pit bull puppy? She ran to and from everyone, a little white blur, still awkward like a foal, making us all laugh.

"I am cute..."


"I am sweet..."


"I am Super Puppy!"

We tossed around names, with my clever mind coming up with Scampi (because she likes to scamper about) and Praline.

“Ugh,” Ken said of the latter. “I don’t like anything that sounds too New Orleans.”

Antoine, the vet, was very loving toward the little girl as she ran to and fro, taking an especially keen interest in the bags of dog food near the floor. He told us of a local man who crops pit bull ears and dispenses fake medications and vaccinations. All with no license, of course.

“I must have to clean up his mess at least once a month,” he sighed. “I’m getting tired of it.”

Loren & I headed back to our hotel, where we played in the courtyard for a few minutes before she had dinner. I took a shower to get ready for my big meal at Commander’s Palace. After blow drying my hair, which looked really good, we stepped outside for a brief walk. By the time we got back, boom, my hair had poofed up into a cloud around my head, like a bad 80s perm. This humidity does not agree with me.

It was a certain thrill going to Commander’s Palace, which is located in the upscale garden district, where mansions are aplenty. I have seen this place on the Food Network and read about it a thousand times. As I was led to an upstairs table, I watched in awe as a corps of waiters simultaneously served a table of eight, as beautiful as a synchronized swimming routine.

I ordered the three-course chef’s dinner with shrimp & char chili soup, soft shell crab atop a bed of greens and blue crab, and pecan pie for dessert, as well as my favorite mocktail, a cranberry and club soda with lime. The soup was amazing - just the right amount of heat against the tender shrimp - and the crab even more so, crispy fried perfection, it’s creamy interior cut with an acidic tang from the tomatoes and vinaigrette. I was so full, I took the pecan pie back to the room, where it remains untouched.


Big hair & a big appetite.

This feels a little bit like home now, so I‘m sad to leave. Rathbone Mansions has been especially accommodating to us - it’s so nice for Loren to be able to run free and act like a silly dog once in a while. I hope there are more places like this in store for us.


"Parting is such sweet sorrow."

We’re heading to Surrey’s on Magazine Street for a breakfast of homemade bagels and lox (another Food Network favorite) before heading to Mobile, Alabama…and some BBQ!

(Thanks Ken Foster, for making our last day in New Orleans so memorable. To learn more about Ken and the fantastic work he’s doing, visit www.dogswhofoundme.com)

Slept in today. Got up around 7:45 a.m. Loren (new nicknames: Sophia Loren, Loren Bacall and Lorenzo Lamas) is not much of a morning dog. She prefers to lay in bed indefinitely, getting belly rubs and giving kisses, until I clearly indicate it’s time to get up. Then she stretches languidly and looks at me for direction, which is usually a morning potty break walk followed by breakfast.

I’ve grown used to this area. It’s quite cool, actually. People here really seem to be a community - they hang out on their porches and barbeque, drink, or just chat. Lots of dog walkers. Thankfully, no stray dogs have approached us. I saw a dog roaming around on its own yesterday (from the safety of my truck), a golden shepherd mix, but he seemed to be heading somewhere, so I’m praying it was a case of cruising the neighborhood rather than being homeless.

 Three very different scenes, all within 100 yards of each other

I went to a recovery meeting at a coffee shop a few miles away. The streets are endless here and they are usually one way, so if you miss a turn, it’s a loop until you can get back on course. Though unintentional, getting a little off track has given me an opportunity to see some of the extreme poverty here, that the rebuilding is still an ongoing effort, that many people in this country really do without a lot of the things I take for granted - a middle-class lifestyle and the promise of opportunity.

After the meeting, we came back to our room and as Loren settled in for a snooze, I couldn’t resist. We took a three-hour nap in air-conditioned comfort, getting up at 2 p.m. to go for lunch.

The French Quarter was particularly lively today, being a holiday weekend and all. It was hard to find a parking spot amongst the throngs of people intent on having a good time. Fortunately, we found one in front of a restaurant called Oceana, which had a convenient patio where I could keep an eye on my girl, who rested in her comfy cab in the shade. They were playing Bon Jovi’s “Dead or Alive” when I came in, so it wasn’t the most authentic place in town. Down the street, a live band was wailing out “Bobby McGee” with a passion close to Janis Joplin & The Big Brother Holding Company. The streets were a party and it wasn’t even close to dark.

Scene on the street

I went tourist and ordered “A Taste of New Orleans,” a combo plate of jambalaya, red beans, rice, sausage, and crawfish etoufee. The latter was the best, though my good friend Michelle Vincent makes a better version. I’m not much of a jambalaya person, I’ve discovered - it’s too reminiscent of Italian red sauce, which never floated my boat. The red beans and rice were delish, smoky, rich, and the sausage was excellent (you can never go wrong with sausage). The waiter was nice, supplying me with an endless stream of Arnold Palmers.

A taste of New Orleans, indeed.

Loren & I hit the streets briefly afterwards. She’s a big hit wherever we go. “ She’s beautiful” I heard three times. “Wow, she’s really built” was another common theme. Loren just sniffed along the trail, intent on rolling around on some mysterious cloudy liquid before I could pull “Her Stubbornness” away from the scene. “She must have found some dead bodies,” someone cracked.


"The French Quarter? I bet there's some good leftovers around here!"

No, but she did find some chicken bones on the floor of a daiquiri bar I made an ill-intended shortcut through. These are like Icees for adults, with a dozen flavors swirling around and waiting to be dispensed. I pulled her quickly out of there - not exactly the best place for either of us. She hacked up the bones and we were on our way.

In the mood for some reading beyond my travel guides and local newspapers, I found the Fauborg Marigny Arts Books & Music Store on 600 Frenchman. This place is about as far from Barnes & Noble as you can get - scattered subjects, some gay porn, lots of characters mingling in and out. The owner was great - led me to Ken Foster’s “Dogs I Have Met” (he also wrote the awesome “Dogs That Have Found Me,” which I devoured on vacation in Homer, Alaska. He’s a pit lover/owner, and animal activist that lives here in New Orleans). I also selected “Me Talk Pretty One Day” by David Sedaris and “America Anonymous” by Benoit Denizet-Lewis. Should keep me occupied for a while.

Our hotel is really growing on me. It’s a 10-room “mansion” built in 1846. Besides our room, which is unique and beautiful, we have the courtyard practically to ourselves - no other guest have dogs so Loren is running around having a good old time. We lounged by the pool for a while, but it started to rain, so we headed inside. I am currently writing this blog from the covered patio. It’s overcast, a little muggy, but a damn fine Sunday evening nonetheless.

"Must inspect perimeter!"


"Time for a break!"


"No, must romp!"


"My work is never done!"

Tomorrow we’re going to be more ambitious - beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde, followed by an early meeting, then a nice long walk, then off to the upscale area for taking photos, and finally, an elegant dinner for one at Commander’s Palace or some equally extraordinary restaurant to bid this city the proper culinary farewell.

You know you’re in Louisiana when billboards start saying things like “Gator Country!” and “Got Hurricane Claims?” We were happy to cross the border from Texas, having hightailed it out of Houston at 6:45 a.m.

Around 11:30, lunch was calling my name. I used my handy GPS, aka Gidget, to find a Cajun or Creole place in Lafayette and was directed to the Creole Café. The vibe reminded me too much of Yo Momma, so I looked in my Roadfood book and went to Prejean’s instead. It was off the freeway, but it was worth it, especially when I saw that they had shaded kennels for dogs while diners enjoyed their meals. How cool is that?

They were kind of small, though, so I left Loren in the truck under a large shade tree, watched over by their handyman named Marco. She must have liked it alright, because she didn’t set the alarm off once.

Inside Prejean’s, it was pure Cajun camp. Lots of gator décor, a live Zydeco band, and OMG, awesome food! I had a cup of the chicken and sausage gumbo and an ala carte crawfish enchilada. The gumbo was rich, yet smoky and spicy, the enchilada a medley of cream, cajun spices, and tender crawfish. As good as I had hoped for, even more so. Incredible.

Mouthwatering cajun food at Prejean's in Lafayette

I told my waiter Matthew so and that this was my first stop in Louisiana.

“You picked a good place to start,” he said. We got to talking. Turns out he had a pit bull once, which he rehomed when his homeowner’s insurance wouldn’t cover the dog. (Tip for everyone - Farmer’s doesn’t have breed restrictions).

On the way out, I picked up a homemade praline, which is basically a huge disc of butter, brown sugar, cream, and nuts. It’s so good, it momentarily makes me forget about chocolate. I ate about half of it on the way to New Orleans.

The scenery is a trip…long freeway stretches over miles of swampland, green, lush, and forbidding. I wondered how many bodies have been dumped over the side of the highway, to disappear forever without a trace? (Is that sick?).

Bridge over troubled water...



Like a really big erector set

It was overcast, then turned into full blown rain, with huge drops splotching on the windshield. Thoughts of Hurricane Katrina soon followed.

Now that I’ve seen New Orleans and the surrounding areas, I can understand how it got to be under water - it‘s a city built on stilts around sea level. Kind of crazy, but beautiful nonetheless. It has a sort of mysterious vibe that I’ve never seen anywhere else. It must have been hard for people who have lived here for generations to relocate.

I felt like I was driving through history as we approached the downtown area, including the infamous Superdome where people were evacuated to during the storm. Pretty surreal.


Deja vu

Our hotel is about a half mile from the French Quarter, which is a bit seedier than I expected. You’ll walk down the street and some of the homes are kept up nice, then right next door is a squatter which is still boarded up and spray painted.

It’s another big city and I’m coming to the realization that I’m not real comfortable in big cities. The hallmark of a suburban childhood, I suppose. I’m trying to overcome it and enjoy what these places have to offer, but I have to be honest…it’s a little scary.

Loren & I drove down to Decatur Street so I could pick up a muffuletta sandwich from Central Grocery. I bid her a short adieu and walked up the street, holding my camera around my neck, trying to affect a somewhat tough stance.


"Hurry up with that muffuletta, will ya?"

Most people just ignored me, caught up in their own drama. The junkie sleeping against his crutches in the street. Men b.s.ing on stools outside their favorite bars, which are so steeped with the stench of beer and cigarettes, it wafts outside to the street. Foodies lined up at their favorite restaurants. Carriage drivers making their rounds. Tourists shopping.


Just in case you were looking for one...


Second story diners



Satchmo forever blowing his horn

They were out of muffulettas at Central Grocery, so I went to Frank’s a few doors down. Rushing back to Loren, I saw two men on the street, one tapping a olive or brown substance from a plastic bag into a folding paper. I couldn’t help it, my eyes got wide, though I didn’t miss a step. Just kept walking, in awe of the craziness that goes on in the world. Especially noticeable when you’re sober.

After I fed Loren and ate my sandwich, we went for our second to last potty break of the night across the street, where there’s a big field. An older man, probably in his late 50s, was walking his elderly Border Collie, which reminded me of my beloved Willy (RIP). We smiled and waved at one another in what I thought was an act of dog lover camaraderie.

A few minutes later, about 100 feet away, he took off his headphones and yelled over. “Hey sweetie. Great butt!”

I was shocked. At first, I thought, me or Loren? I’m wearing big old baggy khaki capris for Christ’s sake and I haven’t even taken a shower today. I shook my head in disbelief and walked quickly in the opposite direction. Maybe he thought it was a compliment. I just thought it was creepy.

The night is winding down and Loren is happy to snooze on the bed, aka Mission Control. They have a lovely pool, hot tub, and shaded patio here. Perhaps we’ll watch the sun go down tonight after our final potty break. Our room is really cool, too - hardwood floors, poster bed, art deco style - nicest one we've had so far.

"Aren't you done blogging yet?"

I’m getting a little lonely and missing my boyfriend, friends, and beautiful mountain home. I’m also a little hormonal, which doesn’t help. Sigh. This trip is a trip. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking to do this and we’re only eight days in. At other times, I feel so lucky and alive and engaged. What an opportunity to see this incredibly country we live in. Then the minutiae or fear gets in the way.

Having Loren by my side helps. All I have to do is pat her hairless belly or get one of her famous sloppy kisses and I’m back on board with everything. This trip is about her and the millions of dogs like her that need help and homes. Hopefully, we’re making a difference in our own weird little way.

As I’ve learned, I just need to take things a day at a time and even an hour at a time when necessary. Tomorrow is another day.

True to Anita’s word, Terrell has some very pretty sunsets.


The view from Anita's porch

She and her husband were kind enough to make dinner for me. Loren wasn’t very pleased, she kept setting the alarm off in my truck as if to hurry me along. We still hung out for a while, with a nice long walk break for Loren. Zach, Anita’s son, really seems to enjoy his life on their little ranch, running and playing with Jaxson. He’s got a lot of energy. Was I ever really that young once?

Me & Zach

We left Terrell for Houston bright and early, making it here by 1:30 p.m. No problems checking into the hotel this time - the manager had been notified in advance. They booked me in a room close to the office - it’s a bit rough out here. At least for this Simi Valley girl. And I have no hot water, but I don’t have the heart to switch rooms. Tomorrow will come soon enough…I’ll just be a little pungent. Loren doesn’t mind.

Loren & I took a walk at TC Jester Park, then headed to Yo Momma’s Soul Food for takeout. It was like that scene in “Animal House” when the frat boys walked into the nightclub where Otis Day & The Knights were playing . Food was great, though. Savory smothered pork chops, creamy macaroni & cheese with just the right spicy kick, awesome collared greens and so-so corn. The real deal and a bargain for $7.95.

I was up for a healthy dinner, which was just what my cousin Elizabeth “Eddy” made for us.


My cousin Eddy - awesome cook!

She lives about 15 miles from the hotel, so once again I sucked it up to go over those wild overpasses. Woo-wee!

Eddy has two sweet dogs, Simon and Sarah, both ten or so, both with a few health problems. I just met Eddy a few months back, when our Uncle Roger got married to Lydia in California. She’s way cool - likes alternative music, does media relations for a living, is into animal rescue, etc. Of course, we hit it off right quick.

She put her dogs outside and let Loren hang in with us. Loren was curious, as always, especially when she spotted Simon and Sarah outside. Wagging tail. Slightly ruffled fur. Maybe they would have gotten along…I didn’t want to chance it, though. It wouldn’t have been a fair fight had things gone awry.

"Do you need some help - I'm a great taste tester!"

We had a fantastic dinner of broiled snapper, homemade salsa (!), and a very beautiful salad with fresh peppers, cherry tomatoes, and homemade vinaigrette (!). Eddy is quite the cook, which I suspected when I saw her collection of Penzy spices on the counter. Anyone with bouquet garni isn’t messing around.

Delicious and healthy! Wow!

I
"Did someone say dessert?"

t’s so nice to have familiar human interaction along our stops, friends and family who have really supported us on this trip. The hardest thing about traveling, minus the annoying inconveniences, is being alone. I mean, I have Loren, and she’s awesome company for sure, and I’m kind of a lone wolf anyway, but it’s still nice to see a friendly face here and there. Some of the strangers we meet are cool, too - the dog lovers who feel compelled to share their stories. Then you have the idiots like Pepe the Chihuahua’s family. Thankfully, it’s been more good than bad. Which is what I think the world is like in general.

Tomorrow we are heading out to the Big Easy. I can’t wait. This is the destination I’ve been looking forward to most - I’m a huge Cajun food lover and that is the Mecca for it. I checked on dog friendly.com and it seems New Orleans has quite a few dog-friendly patios, so Loren can join me and we can kick the Styrofoam habit. Yeah!

Loren’s sweetheart streak has ended. She does not love Jaxson, Anita’s usually friendly Cattle dog. As a matter of fact, they kind of hated each other on sight, snarling through the fence and coming close to a fight when we tried to walk them. I was very disappointed as I had envisioned our next blog headline as “Loren in Love” with cute photos of her and Jaxson playing in the yard.

Oh, well. We’re flexible, I thought. We’ll just check into a pet-friendly motel located nearby, at the chain who had so kindly provided us with 20 one night gift certificates to help with our trip.

Before doing so, Anita, Zach, her 4 year old son, Loren and I decided to go to Subway for sandwiches to take to the park.


"Hey Zach, got any snacks?"

It was utter chaos - the sandwiches took forever to make, the cashier was drawing a total blank when I gave her gift cards, they mixed everyone’s orders up. The cashier, who appeared to be all of 19 and pregnant with a bright red and black weave, simply walked away from the scene.

The sandwich maker took over and apologized. “She’s in a bad way. Her house burned down, she’s pregnant, and she doesn‘t know what she‘s going to do. She’s in a bad way.” (Remember that the next time you’re in contact with a cashier or clerk who doesn’t seem to care. Maybe it’s bigger than you. Very sad).

We went to the park, enjoying our sandwiches as the clouds gathered and added a heavy layer of humidity to the air. “Let’s go for a
walk around the lake,” Anita suggested.


What lurks in this seemingly innocent lake?

As we trudged through the grass, Anita casually mentioned there are snakes near the lake. Black mambas or something poisonous, she added. Now I may not be afraid of pit bulls or even spiders, but say snake and I’m ready to run back to the car and drive far, far away to snakeless safety. "Oh, we're not going anywhere close to them," Anita reassured me.

I spent the majority of our meant-to-be peaceful walk with an anxious eye out for slithering creatures, Anita laughing at my paranoia. Loren the hot dog was panting, taking breaks in the shade whenever she could, which upped my fear of her getting bit by a snake. Good times.

Still, it was beautiful. Texas has some mighty big sky and pretty country. I was lost in the scenery until I heard a sound coming out of the water’s edge. “That’s a snapping turtle,” Anita said matter of factly. OK, are there any nice reptiles in Texas? Ones that don’t bite or snap or kill you? Yikes.


"Aunt Anita will keep me safe from snakes."


"She's smiling, but I can smell her fear."

During the walk, Anita and I caught up. We were super tight in high school, along with our other best friend Jill. Anita moved to Texas a few years ago, with husband James and a young Zach, who is now a chatty little fellow. “He thinks he’s the mayor of Terrell,” Anita said. She loves the freedom here, but misses her friendships in California.

It’s good to see an old friend, someone who knows you and appreciate the stupid quotes you can cite verbatim from “Sid and Nancy,” which you’ve both seen 920 times, but no one else seems to get. It’s like putting on a comfy old leather jacket that still fits.

She and Zach came to the motel with us to check in. The clerk took my gift certificate, which wouldn’t go through, and gave me a key until she could process the transaction.


"No snakes here, Aunt Michelle...I checked!"

Moments later, I got a phone call in the room.

“I need to see you up front,” she said. Uh-oh. I grabbed my purse and went to the desk.

“These certificates are coming up invalid or stolen,” she said.

Visions of languishing away in a Texas jail, poor Loren in the pound, went streaming through my head as I struggled to recount the names and info of the people who issued them to me. I did so and we straightened the situation out with corporate, but it was scary for a minute.

It’s stuff like this that makes me crazy. Not the elephant in the living room, but the ants in the kitchen. Plans going awry. Dogs not getting along. Being tired and missing the sympathy and warm, loving arms of my boyfriend. It’s day six and I’m beginning to wonder…am I insane for taking this trip? Or is it just Texas?

“When I read your blog comment about Texas, I thought, ‘Uh oh. I hope she didn’t jinx herself,’” Anita told me. (I hope so, too. Texas, give me another chance and I’ll do the same for you. Let’s wipe the slate clean!)

We’re going back to Anita’s for BBQ later on this evening. There are supposed to be some bitchen sunsets around here. I’ll have my camera ready. Loren will be waiting in the car - I’ll take her for a long walk first. What else can I do? Crazy girl. Sometimes you have to be nice to boys!

Went to Dyer’s BBQ on Tuesday night. It was great…and cheap! For $6.95, I got the “light” dinner with two ribs, potato salad, onion rings, coleslaw, beans, and bread. Yes, it comes with all that. Unreal. Very tender meat and delicious, tangy sauce. It was nice to have a quiet meal in a dining room and read a magazine, rather than the usual Styrofoam situation in the confines of a hotel room. Loren waited patiently in the car for me.


Everything's bigger in Texas, except the prices...$6.95 for all this!

We headed to Flower Mound on Wednesday morning. Flat fields of wheat gave way to lush greenery the closer we got. We passed what I thought was an airport - turned out to be the Texas Motor Speedway, which I’ve seen on NASCAR (my boyfriend’s a fan). It’s unreal how big that place is. It’s true, everything’s bigger in Texas - including some insanely gnarly freeway overpasses. As for the friendly driving they espouse on their state sign, well, I’m not convinced of that - these people are more aggressive than Californians, and that’s saying something!

My cousin Stacey greeted us at her lovely brick two-story home as if we were long lost buddies when, in reality, it’s the first time we met. Her husband, Pat, is my cousin and we became fast friends after meeting 15 or so years ago, when my father was reunited with his biological father (which is Pat’s and my grandfather). I must give this woman a lot of credit, welcoming me and a strange dog, a pit bull no less, with open arms. She even boarded the family cat at the vet’s for the night.

Loren & I walked with Stacey to pick up Leslie, 10, and Sean, 8, from school. Flower Mound is definitely a family place - tons of kids riding scooters, walking with their parents, enjoying life. Leslie and Sean were very excited to meet Loren and Loren was very calm around them, even with all the after-school commotion going on. I was very proud of her.

Girl Scout Troop 1604 met us immediately afterwards so we could drop off donations to Operation Kindness, a no-kill shelter in Carrollton. They had a donation drive on May 9 at a local Pet Smart, collecting over $500 in items and gift cards in less than two hours as part of the “Journey Award” service project.


 
Troop 1604 unloads donations for Operation Kindness

Posing with just some of the incredible donations they raised

Operation Kindness is an incredible place. They have over 200 dogs and cats, 42 paid staff members, and more than 500 volunteers. Most of the cats are kept in a large open area, where they can climb carpeted posts and interact with one another. They had dogs of all ages and sizes - including a pen of adorable puppies the girls gravitated to.


Puppy resistance is futile...

Volunteers and staff take out each dog to play or walk every day. Nancy, the volunteer who accepted our donations, told me that the most common breed of dog at Operation Kindness is lab mixes. Fortunately, Operation Kindness has an incredible adoption rate of 90% or more and as a no-kill facility, the animals have a home for life if they don’t find a home.

After our tour, the Operation Kindness ladies were kind enough to come out, meet Loren, and pose for a photo. They were extremely grateful for the donations, which they rely on to operate. I am so impressed with these Girl Scouts for what they did - it’s great to see young people becoming aware and involved in the plight of homeless animals.

"Troop 1604 & Operation Kindness rule!"

We got some time to catch up after that. Loren hung out in the backyard while Pat, Stacey, Leslie, Sean and I went out for a fabulous meal at Patrizio’s. Set in an upscale lifestyle center, we sat in the patio, enjoying the pleasant Texas night and some fantastic pasta. I had the open-faced ravioli with garlic cream sauce, roasted artichokes, mushrooms, and peppers. We all agreed - you could cover just about anything in garlic cream sauce and it would be good.

Loren loves this family and their house. She had a field day sniffing after the cat scent and an odd fixation with a cast-iron buffalo stationed on a coffee room table. Pat got to practice his latent “Dog Whisperer” skills with Loren and she responded well to him, though she seems especially fond of Stacey and the kids. Loren spends more time with them here than with me, which is good, I think. I don’t want her growing too dependent on me. I want her to bond with a family of her own eventually.


"Michelle who?"

Everyone signed a paw print magnet this morning and put it on the truck. It’ll be nice to have this wonderful family with us on the rest of our trip.

Next stop - Terrell, Texas - to visit with my good friend Anita, who I’ve known since high school and haven’t seen in years. Hopefully, Loren will get along with their Aussie Jaxson and get to play dog for a while.