I’d say hello, but as you can see, my mouth is full … My name is Natasha (“Tasha”) and I’m Kate’s first guest blogger.
I’m also her dog.
We just arrived at my favorite canine-friendly beach in Santa Barbara, right in front of my preferred hotel, the Biltmore (Four Seasons). Unfortunately, we’re not staying here this time and the surf is so high today there’s no beach:
It’s a good thing I know how to swim.
By now you’ve heard an awful lot about my mom’s birthday (December 21). I don’t get what the big deal is … Sure, it’s the purported End-of-the-World as well as Jane Fonda’s birthday, but my own birthday (January 27) is just as special — I share it with Mozart, Baryshnikov, and Bridget Fonda.
Why does Kate want to take another trip on 12/21 anyway? Frankly, I don’t understand why my parents ever insist on going anyplace without me … I’m an EXCELLENT travel companion.
Like on this trip. As you can see, I am extremely useful as a navigator:
I don’t know why Kate keeps strapping me into the back seat with that harness, as I’m obviously a much better co-pilot than she is. Besides, sitting in the back deprives me of the view:
My parents don’t fully appreciate my talents as a tour guide. I swear if I didn’t alert them with my LOUDEST BARK every time I see a cow, horse, or motorcycle, they wouldn’t notice anything.
In case you can’t tell from the picture, we’re driving through the Santa Ynez Valley wine country. Right now we’re passing through the town where my parents adopted me in 2009:
Dad keeps joking about dropping me off at the breeder’s, but I don’t find this funny at all. We finally reach our destination – a little Danish town called Solvang. Mom calls it “kitschy” but I love it because most of the restaurants and hotels welcome dogs.
Mom still tries to feed me dog food every morning though … can you imagine? Of course I refuse to touch it, and hold out for omelettes, sausage, and those wine country cheese plates.
Our hotel, the Royal Copenhagen Inn, is not quite the Four Seasons. They don’t have dog beds or toys here, and they don’t serve filet mignon for breakfast either. But I guess not many dogs have the discriminating taste I do. (I do live in Newport Beach, after all ...) I think it’s funny this place has a “Secret Garden” for dogs to run around in:
The garden isn’t bad, but they don’t let dogs in the pool. So much for “dog friendly” — I wonder where I can file a complaint for false advertising? They also won’t let me into the breakfast room where all those Danish pastries are. So when Mom isn’t looking, I let myself in and run eight laps around the diners before she can catch me.
Overall I’m having fun, but I still don’t understand why they call it “wine tasting.” Even though they let me into a couple of tasting rooms, no one offers me any wine.
But even so, it’s been a pretty okay weekend. More importantly, I think I can solve Kate’s problem of where to celebrate 12/21/12: With ME, of course.
At the Biltmore Four Seasons in Santa Barbara.
Where they know how to treat a dog well. Plus, I’ll be sticking with this blog’s “B” theme … from Barcelona to the Biltmore?
What do YOU think? Please tell Kate she really should be with her dog for the end-of-the-world. (I would NEVER abandon HER on such an important date!)