TICKE MY FANCY

Boque of flowers Bursts into the room, the Dad Feels the scent too San Berdo’ Freeway D&G Blue and warm wind Her dark eyes, Friday’s Huevos Rancheros Paper and a cigarette Glowing this morning Circular saw stops Ringing in the autumn air Amid fresh saw dust Sweet syrup goes down Under pemex skies orange Over brown beauties A.T.V..s, city streets, A kid’s dreams are everywhere In that sand pussy Dull steel water Empty beach in the distance I am nothing there

Though laconic and somewhat inarticulate, Boudreaux revealed to me his story in bite-sized pieces, over several short trysts between our two houses. This was all under the watchful gaze of Pa, of course, who would be out smoking his pipe and clipping the shrubs to the low murmur of Perry Como or Bing Crosby. Ma was more encouraging. “Who’s your new boyfriend, Fancy?” she would tease in a tone that was as merry as a cricket’s, having spotted us in the shadows beside the house. Indeed, those first trysts were electric. So much so that my whispy white Maltese hair would hover above my head. But, as these things go, I have learned, electricity in love needs a source of energy, like a surfer needs the moon, as Pa would say, and without these, loses its charge. Fleeing the scheming and unkind streets of the Big Easy, Boudreaux would become accustomed to life at sea. It was a second chance, and the sea seemed to beckon with hope and a lulling whisper. Stray and hungry on the docks

I first heard the bark when Ma and Pa brought me home to the house on 4th and Annunciation for the first time. It was a wheezy, tired bark, which made me pause at first. “That’s odd, I thought. He sounds quite old, but there’s something in that bark that is dreamy and worldly.” In fact, even today, the yard still carries traces of that dreaminess. I’ll hear his bark now and think little of it, but occasionally a cool breeze will waft a trace of it in through the back door or the cracks in the old cypress floor, and, without even thinking, I will leap up and cry to Pa and Ma to let me go out and meet that bark. Last time this happened Pa yelled at me as I leapt up. I was curled up around his head like a Russian fur hat, as he lay in bed reading a crime novel, and I hadn’t realized that I pranced across his face in such a frantic rush of barking that I pulled his earphones right out of his ears. “Ahhh, Fancy!” yelled Pa in a shrill voice, scrambling in a befuddled heap groping for h

Places on the fringe have always attracted me. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't pass on a high rise hotel over looking a squeaky clean beach at Waikiki! It's just that, there's something about the places on the fringe that exhilarate me; there's an edginess to the Mexico Cities, the Kievs, the Jakartas, and the Jeddahs. I'm enthralled with the places that instill in me a very real sense that I may not make it out of this place tomorrow.And don't get me wrong, this perspective has nothing to do with adventure in the conventional, Men's Journal sense. When I travel, I'm not looking to ride Elephants or Skydive, Zip-line or Jet Ski. But I don't mind eating bugs, drinking home made liquor in the home where it's made, or following a vague invitation down a dark alley. I get a thrill from suddenly realizing that I'm sitting in some halogen lit kitchen with people I barely know shooting that home-made liquor or drinking there crazy-ass Tea that gi

Blue and orange morning Joshua Trees, no shadows To hide inside of

A dollop of Lemon icing perched at the end of a peppermint stick. That's the image that popped into my mind when I first noticed the street lights glowing along the streets of East Sacramento, we maneuvered our truck filled with everything we owned to our new home. And I still conjure that image every time Fancy and I head out the door of our two-bedroom rental in the heart of East Sac for her late night pee.You see, I like places to inspire fantasy, even if time reveals some jagged edges and other undesirable features, as it surely will. But it's the details of the natural and architectural aesthetic beauty that provide inspiration that is lasting and can often overcome the disappointment that comes when novelty wears away. Places that are adorned with a multitude of these details are so much more exciting to me and seem to promise more. The streetlights in our neighborhood are commonplace in older neighborhoods in cities across the country, but those of East Sac are the

Good Vietnamese sandwiches, or Bánh Mì, have always demanded a bit of a journey from us. There's Dong Phuong Oriental Bakery off Chef Manteur Highway in New Orleans East, about a twenty-five minute drive--yes this is a long drive for someone living in New Orleans where one could bike across the city in less than an hour--from our house in the Irish Channel when all was said and done. It also sits in the middle of an area that was uprooted and drowned by Hurricane Katrina; and it still hasn't bounced back, except for a few enclaves like those rebuilt by the resilient Vietnamese. We tended to stop in on our way to the beach at Mississippi. On the other side of the country, there's the Orange County chain of cafes/bakeries called Lee's Sandwiches, which, for those of us living in the Inland Empire of southern California, was a bit of a schlep, to say the least, in notorious Orange County gridlock. And now there's the bakery at Vinh Phat Supermarket in Sacramento'

I guess I'm not the most social dog around, which is a glaring attribute in a culture that seems more and more inclined to group-think and that seems to fear solitude as much as the day of reckoning. When I was about 6 months old, Ma and Pa started bringing me to my favorite store, Petco, for these things called "play time." These particular play times were exclusively for us toy breeds, so each play time was a circus of small exotic breeds prancing and wrestling as if the stuffed animal section of FAO Schwartz had suddenly come alive. Our parents gathered around the cordon beaming with the confidence that their little dog was hands down the cutest of the pack. The thing about play time is it generally evolves into a cluster of small dogs nipping and pouncing on one another with a couple of us pattering about the periphery, appearing to be lost or searching for an escape. Pa had a hard time watching play time. I could hear him say things to Ma like, "Ahhhh, look

Pa likes to smile and say, "If you only knew, " when people tell him how adorable I am. I know Pa loves me, but I guess he's right. I have a few bad habits that people blinded by my cuteness just don't see. I just give them a couple of winks of my brown sugar eyelashes, grin, and shift ever so slightly to let the sun glint off of my silky white Maltese coat, and they forget any scruples they might have had with life. They might as well have jumped inside of a Disney movie starring yours truly. I remember one time when Pa and I were walking in the Garden District, just across from the mid century modern furniture shop Pa always likes to look through the windows into. Pa and I had just rounded the corner from behind a squared hedge when we encountered an elegantly dressed older woman. I heard Pa say "shit" and he pulled on my leash as if to flee in the other direction. But it was too late. I say she was elegant, because she had this jacket with fur the sa

For me, Plastic Pink Flamingoes are a symbol of so much that is good in life that it is impossible to pass by them, gracefully strutting across a sunny lawn, and not feel good. They are always a splash of color on an otherwise dreary canvas. They are something David Hockney might have intended to include in many of his paintings from the late sixties. I'm guessing they are just out of frame in such works as A Bigger Splash or A Lawn Sprinkler. When I walk up to the house passed Ping and Ming, our two original Don Featherstone Plastic Pink Flamingoes, there are a few thoughts that always pop into mind. One is that it's time to loosen the tie. And another is that it's time to mix some martinis and throw on some Les Baxter or some Art Pepper on the record player. Plastic Pink Flamingoes evoke something special. They are a symbol of leisure, of hot climates and a tropical way of life. They tap into the brilliance of Mid Century Modern design, which is so often infused with

Pa always jokes about how he sees more stars in New Orleans than he ever saw in Los Angeles. One time, Ma, Pa and I were walking along Magazine Street, enjoying the Spring evening air, buzzing with all kinds of smells--so many, in fact, that my nose was sore from all the sniffing that night. Fried seafood, a half eaten cupcake on the sidewalk, the sweet musk of incense wafting from somewhere in the Channel, a freshly laid cat poop, newly blooming flowers, some sweet perfume. God there were a lot of smells that night! My little nose was on overdrive. Pa compares it to a hovering moist blackberry. Pa loves me. Anyway, it was the perfume that was coming from the couple that approached us on our walk that I really noticed. It was so strong, something of a bygone era. Maybe White Diamonds by Liz Taylor. Just a guess (Ma's perfume is much nicer smelling). As the couple approached, I noticed the woman's eyes settle on mine. We all stopped as she said something to Ma and Pa, sipping in

In the one year since I was adopted, I have noticed that there is one big difference between my ma and pa. Pa can't say no! Need to peepee in the backyard at 4am? Simple, just stand beside the bed and growl real low in that way that makes Pa chuckle and smile at how cute I am as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. Want to go out and sniff around by the neighbor's side of the house? No problem: low growl and bright big eyes aimed right at old pa. Works every time, even if it does take him a minute to find his rubber sandals in the dark of the early morning. I'm getting ready to work my magic on him in a minute so I can go play with my ball outside. I won't even look at Ma, cause she would just ignore me. There's no fooling Ma.

Woof! My name is Fancy. I'm half Maltese, half Chihuahua. I'm one, and I weigh almost ten pounds! My Pa calls me pom pom head because I have whispy fur as white as snow that hovers over my head like Einstein's hair. That's from my Maltese side. I love taking walks with Pa in our neighborhood, especially across Magazine street in the Garden District, where there are lots of dense shrubs to sniff. I have a friend up there that is a giant black Bernese Mountain Dog. He always says hi to me, and we rub noses through the old iron fence. One of my favorite things to do is play catch with Pa. When he gets tired I like to jump on top of him and try to stuff the ball into his hand, so he will keep throwing it. He always gives me this look then just smiles...When I want to nap, I curl up with Ma. Sometimes I curl into a crescent around her head on the pillow. Her hair keeps me warm and comforted, and she has a robe that I love to snuggle in. My favorite food is Sweet Potatoes and