The Weenies’ second hike was somewhat more successful than the first. For one thing, we didn’t get lost in the parking lot. As a warmup we decided to take what the brochure called an “easy” jaunt up to a mountain lake. Note: “Easy” in Colorado is not the same as “Easy” in south Austin. I told Bill we needed more than one bottle of water, but he was convinced our little walk wouldn’t take more than 45 minutes or so. An hour and a half later we shared our last rationed sip of water as we watched the mud under our feet (and paws) turn to snow. To be fair, we did have a lovely lunch by a mountain lake, although considering the water situation, my choice of peanut butter and jelly was not very well thought out. ********** Over the next few days we chose much easier hikes (for real this time). Other than when I almost fell into a giant crevasse (which turned out to be one in a series of very cool ice cave fissures), the hiking was fairly uneventful. We climbed up ridges to gorgeous waterfalls, while resident fecal expert, Bill Haddad, kept us apprised of…

One of the top items on the Pagosa Springs “must do” list is soaking in the healing waters of the hot springs. While the sulphuric smell of rotten eggs is a bit of a turnoff, the nose quickly adjusts once the soaking has begun. The Weenies decided to splurge on a spa that offered massages in addition to the springs. Our only problem was a certain small fuzzball who also happened to smell like rotten eggs. While taking a two week vacation in the Colorado Rockies with your toy poodle may sound like a good idea in theory, I encourage you to think long and hard before doing so. There were very few things we missed along the way due to poodle intolerance—we even managed to slip him into a few restaurants here and there—but sneaking him into a spa seemed a bit optimistic. After setting up a voice recorder while Bill and I were out one morning, we discovered Dexter had a severe case of separation anxiety (you would have thought we’d left him with Cruella DeVille), so we called the spa to get special permission to bring him along. How naive we were to think he’d just sleep…

After a wonderful week of hiking, the Weenies said goodbye to Pagosa Springs and turned their sights westward toward Durango and beyond. Sadly, the Durango Railroad didn’t allow poodles, so we continued on up past Silverton to the heart-pounding twists and turns of the “Million Dollar Highway” (named, I assume, for the amount of money you promise God you’ll donate to starving orphans if you survive). Clark Griswold had us on a tight schedule, so after a quick lunch in the sleepy mining town of Ouray, we headed out for our next destination. The highlight of the day was definitely the Black Canyon of Gunnison National Park. The Royal Gorge seemed comically small compared to this rugged masterpiece of solid rock. We saw lots of wildlife there, including some sort of chicken-like creature we initially thought was a hawk. (Clearly the Weenies’ birding skills are not very well developed.) We drove all the way down to the riverbed, 2000 feet below, then tried getting back up to the top before sunset. Have you ever tried outrunning the rotation of the earth? Not as easy as Superman made it appear, but sort of fun in a Lucy and Ethel kind of…

Exactly 20 years ago I graduated from The University of Texas, sold my car and bought a one-way ticket to Vail, Colorado. Burned out after college, the last thing I wanted to be was a practicing graphic designer, so I packed up a few things and headed off for life as a ski bum. “Weenie’s Vail Years” is a saga in and of itself, and maybe I’ll tell it someday. For now though, it’s just a bit of back story. Let me start by saying, I love this town. Vail took me in during a difficult time in my life, and while there were some rough patches along the way, the fact that I could wake up to such beauty each day and ski to work made everything seem alright. Also, I was in my 20s and there were lots of boys there. But I digress. Coming back to Vail after so long was like going to someone else’s high school reunion; I didn’t know anyone and spent a lot of time trying to find a restroom. As we first drove into town, I had Mr. Weenie take me by the condo where I used to live. Hardly anything had…

We decided to spend the last week of our Colorado vacation in the secluded town of Alma, just south of Breckenridge. Alma had everything we were looking for in a quiet hideaway—snowcapped mountains, a winding creek, wildlife to watch, trails to explore and seven whole days take it all in. We couldn’t wait to get started doing nothing. What we were about to learn however, was just how much nothing there was in Alma—and how much of it we could bear. DAY 1: The altitude has gotten to us again. We drop our suitcases and pass out for twelve hours. Technically, this doesn’t really count as a day. DAY 2: Our anniversary! We sleep, read, eat and generally enjoy each other’s company. Bill gives me a nice gift. I have no gift for Bill. I thought the trip to Colorado was a gift. I am an asshole. DAY 3: Bill sleeps like a drugged toddler, while I read futuristic porn on my iPad. He later accuses me of secretly texting. Has he seen me sneak out during his naps to stand in a field with my arm reaching skyward, waving my phone like a lighter at a Bon Jovi concert? I’ve given thought to climbing up on the roof to get a connection,…

With a tattered map in the back seat and muddy footprints along the floorboards of our rental car, the Weenie family said farewell to the majestic Rocky Mountains and headed back home. Curiously, we left Austin with three bags and returned with four. It’s as if our luggage went on the same high-carb diet we did while on vacation We arrived home to discover that Casa Weenie was busy while we were away: 1. The garden and all indoor plants committed suicide. 2. Our house almost caught on fire. 3. Something died in the refrigerator. 4. Gary the Home Gnome forgot to do the dishes and make the bed while we were out. As I sprawl out on the kitchen floor, waiting for the house to cool down, it occurs to me that other than my husband and a 12-year-old boy panning for gold, I haven’t spoken to another human being in over two weeks. I’m a little nervous about going back to reality and the necessity for human contact—and a bit worried that everyone I know has forgotten who I am. As far as Twitter and Facebook are concerned, I no longer exist. Will I remember how to brush…