Southfork during the Isabelle years

Southfork

Many moons ago, Mr. G. came home and said: "Pack your bags. We're going to Southfork." OK, he didn't actually say that. What he said was: "Mike and Cathy have invited us to Dallas, and they said Isabelle can come."

Isabelle the Great

Isabelle was our beloved springer spaniel. Like so many spaniels, she went blind and pretty much bulldozed her way through life after that. Nothing stopped Isabelle. As she aged, I started fearing that she would die if we left her. All vacations turned into dog-friendly road trips. Then she turned 13 and 14 and 15 and 16 and 17. Finally, Mr. G. suggested we take a cruise. We'd take a relaxing trip to Mexico. We'd cruise the ocean for several days. We'd play bingo and shuffleboard. We'd read books and dress for dinner. We'd be removed from phone calls and emails. We wouldn't know for days if Isabelle needed us. We'd be sitting poolside, sipping margaritas, while Isabelle was rushed to the emergency vet. We'd be playing volleyball while they strapped her to a gurney. We wouldn't be able to hold her paw because we'd be in the middle of the dang ocean. We'd get back to port and find out she died, alone and without her mommy there. The cruise idea fizzled. All these years later, I'm still unclear on why we didn't go. Glenn just abruptly announced the cruise was off. Then he spoke to me in soothing tones.

Cathy and Mike

Anyway, getting back to Southfork and Texas. Mike and Cathy - being the wonderful people they are - invited us to come visit and insisted we bring the dog. OK, insisted may be too strong a word. Glenn probably pleaded with them. Regardless, we carefully put Isabelle in the car and headed to Dallas.

Dallas!

There are lots of things to do in Dallas. There's an aquarium, an arboretum, amusement park, symphony ... the list goes on and on. And, I've always wanted to visit the book depository where Lee Harvey Oswald did his part (aha!) to help assassinate the president. So we went to Southfork, which isn't actually in Dallas. We don't let little details like that bother us.

J.R.'s handprints and shoeprints

To get our crew - Mr. G., me, Mike and Cathy's kids and our friend Wilma (Isabelle had some reading to do. In Braille.) - into the right frame of mind, we stopped by the Southfork museum on our way to the actual mansion.

Mr. G. gives direction to the crew at the museum

The museum is all about "Dallas" - the series, not the town. You can watch vintage clips, look at pictures of the cast and try on cowboy hats. Obviously, the cowboy hats grabbed us. Southfork's owners would prefer that their employees take a photograph of you in the hat and sell the image to you. The employees mentioned this to us after we whipped out our own camera and started snapping photos. We nodded politely and continued snapping photos. Then they asked us to leave (but to stop in the gift shop on our way out). Just kidding. They were very nice. The house looked just like it did on the series, from the outside. The inside was totally different without a zillion bedrooms for J.R., Bobby and the other Ewings.

This is not Mr. G.

We had a great time and came away with a photo of Glenn wearing a cowboy hat. He hates that picture so naturally I've framed it and put on the wall inside our house. It's going to be his obituary photo when he dies in a million years. I'd show it to you, but he'd divorce me.

Isabelle in the snow

By the way, Isabelle did die, just a few months shy of her 18th birthday. The vet called and said "She's suffering. She's dying. You need to put her to sleep. Take a few days, spend some time with her and let her go." I put her down that day because I couldn't bear the thought of letting her linger in pain for a week while I came to terms with releasing her. Then I crawled into bed and cried for seven days. Months later, we finally took that cruise. It was fabulous.