Where I Explain My Dogs

They weigh 35 pounds each. One has a blue and a brown eye and all the markings of a border collie. I have been asked if they are giant shih tzus, giant bischons, or giant lhasa apsos. For awhile we told people they were giant tibetan terriers, until we found out there is such a thing. So now I say, "Just mutts." But there's a story attached to them that I have never told until now.

My dogs are Border Collie and Shih Tzu. Just so you know, the owner thinks the female was standing on a chair when the mating happened. I won't go into the preferences of the little bitch, however, let's just say, their mother has seen an irresistible swagger in those hounds from Australia on three occasions.

Chester and Louie are territorial and have herding instincts, but they also want to curl up in my lap. Each morning I awaken to their shrill bark when other dogs walk by. Two seconds later, my mutts are curled up on my pillow. When I'm home, they're right by my heel, making sure I'm going where I'm going. The mating of two dogs whose size difference and breed instincts has resulted in offspring with cross-wired brains. Today, Louie got his collar stuck on a throw rug. Rather than yelp, he simply walked around the house and the yard, not paying too much attention to this new cape he was dragging around.

My ownership of these dogs is a prime example of 'helping out friends' that has ended up altering my life. Not unpleasant, just unexpected and longterm (for the life of the dogs). Chantal and her mother live on a plot of land. All around them, it used to be country, but now it's suburbs, except for their little patch. Their place one of those places you love to visit because it exudes both impulsiveness and creativity. To wit: tiny cowboy boots collected over the years nailed onto fence posts, corrals decorated with easter egg leis, fountains tucked into corners, a three-story tree house, several sheds hauled onto the land and decorated as though they were miniature houses and later used as kennels for an assortment of animals and storage space for tack. Their most recent addition is a wishing well made from river rock with silk flowers poked in the middle, rows and rows of stained glass windows along a patio deck.

These are all things that they've found at an assortment of flea markets, swap meets, thrift stores and garage sales. This bric-a-brac collection is worthy of being called a historical monument someday. They just don't allow houses like this anymore, with all the rows upon rows of beigeness creeping in around them. This collection actually started inside and grew to the outer boundaries of the property. In the house are furnishings from different centuries, blue and white ware, cranberry glass, in short --decades of antiquing, selling, and hording. Don't forget the 9 llamas, dogs, parakeets, canaries, horses, chickens and geese in the yard. There's nothing they don't collect.

And that includes me. I'm lucky to have them as friends. They're the kind you don't find too much here in L.A. where people now are crippled by the need to be acceptable. The two live off selling things and know the price of each treasure in their trove. They're not rich, and what they have mostly goes to feeding the animals.

Chantal, her mother and even Chantal's son are naturally eccentric (indeed, when her son was a child he communicated through the fence by barking like dog). But they're also consistent, kind, truthful and don't get fussed if you don't keep in touch but come back into their lives years later. They are always happy to see me. Their interests --llama shows, horse show, gardens, antique collecting, makes them both amusing and interesting. And if they happen to have a litter of pups, Chantal might ask, "Want a puppy?" And of course because friends like this are hard to resist, you'll take two.