I think pets are life-enhancing. My doctors at the Mayo Clinic say that sleeping with an animal enables you to get a better night’s rest and that petting an animal lowers your blood pressure. Pets are great companions. They give you unconditional love. They are fascinating on so many levels; I find them fun and amusing, especially when they do silly things.
At the moment, I have five dogs in residence: Siegfried and Roy, who are Pomeranians; Monty, the truffle dog; Smoochy, Whitney’s boxer; and Chauncey, our baby pug. As Whitney says, life here is “a little of Downton Abbey and a lot of Animal House.” Thank God that Michael adores the dogs and treats them like beloved children. They are the heart and soul of the house and each one has a personality—and a story—all his/her (Smoochy’s a girl) own.
There are dogs I have loved and lost. Jaws, of course, still lives in legend because he was always getting into one kind of crazy trouble or another. When we lived in Washington, a friend of mine started a high-end jewelry line. I invited other friends to come for lunch and to see her collection and do some private shopping. When we were finished with our lovely meal, we went to the living room—and it looked as if the house had been robbed! Leather pouches were strewn all over the place and, shockingly, a valuable sapphire-and-diamond ring was missing. There, in the middle of the mess, was a very guilty dog—Jaws, the jewel thief!
I rushed him to the vet to see what we could do. An X-ray confirmed that he had swallowed the ring and, unfortunately, there was only one way to get it back. I had to feed him mountains of Wonder Bread, walk him every four hours, and use a plastic fork to search through his output for the ring. I always wondered what the neighbors were thinking. It took three days for it to work its way through his system. I was disgusted by the whole process and a little worried about the condition of the ring. But after we dipped it in jewelry cleaner it looked as good as ever.
Jaws would eat anything, and that proved to be his downfall. Years after the ring incident, Whitney and I were summering in Malibu when Jaws swallowed a golf ball. We tried everything, including surgery, but the poor pup didn’t make it.
Lily was my first pug, and she came into my life in an unexpected way. When I was living in New York, I made the mistake of stopping into a pet store (aka a puppy mill, which I didn’t know at the time) with a friend of mine. While we were playing with the puppies, I spotted a mischievous little pug racing all over the place, creating havoc. I had to buy her—she was that cute—and that was Lily. She was the sweetest dog, and I adored her. But because she came from a puppy mill, she was plagued with all kinds of medical problems and she ultimately went blind.
Eventually I had to carry Lily everywhere. She was so heavy that one day I almost fell down the stairs with her in my arms. After she passed away in 2013, I decided that the next addition to my dog menagerie would be small and portable. Ordinarily, I rescue my pets—over the years, I’ve rescued at least twenty, including dogs, cats, and horses. But this time I set out to find a breeder and my research led me to Florida, where the person who had been named breeder of the year maintained a kennel. Soon I was off on a road trip to the Tampa area to pick up an adorable Pomeranian puppy. Actually, make that two adorable Pomeranian puppies. I heard from the breeder that two brothers—one black, one white—had bonded, and I didn’t think it would be right to separate them. That’s how I ended up with Siegfried and Roy.
Once I was in the state of Florida, I had to stop to visit an animal from my childhood. The South Florida Museum in Bradenton is home to Snooty the Manatee, the world’s oldest manatee living in captivity. Snooty came to the museum in 1949 and was quite an attraction, so not long after he arrived, my parents brought me to see him. What an impression he made on me when I was a child! Now, all these years later, I was touched to see him again, because he brought back memories of my mother and father and the wonderful times we shared in Florida. I feel a real connection to Snooty, who celebrated his sixty-eighth birthday not long ago.
Our dog family expanded with the arrival of sweet Smoochy, who lived with Whitney in Los Angeles, and Toby, a rescue dog who was found tied up in a back yard, loaded with buckshot. Toby was such a love. I adopted him, had the buckshot removed, and gave him his very first toy and, I hope, a happy life, though he’s sadly passed away now. We also had Nyla, Michael’s dog. In 2013, we welcomed Monty, the Lagotto, a breed that specializes in hunting truffles, although I haven’t trained Monty to do that. It’s probably a waste of a great talent.
When Lily died, I really missed having a pug, so that’s when Chauncey came into our lives. Chauncey has won everyone’s heart; one look at his little face makes the day better. We dress him in outfits (which are always a little snug), and watch him play sidekick to Monty, who is three times his size.
While we were going to the dogs, we also had cats. My Siamese cats Kitty Kelly and Rambo moved to New York with me when I married Arthur, and I had two rescue cats, Rhett and Ashley. Then there was Rocky, a beautiful Himalayan, who passed away last year. He was the last animal Arthur and I picked out together—he was advertised in a local newspaper in Connecticut—and he was devoted to Arthur. When Arthur got sick, Rocky stayed on his bed all the time.
It was only after Arthur died that Rocky started sleeping with me—I miss him because he always made me think of Arthur. I have a little pet cemetery by the side of the house where many of our dogs and cats are buried.
Growing up, I always had dogs, cats, and horses. I believe animals enhance your life in every way and I cannot imagine life without them. When we tape the show sometimes one of my dogs runs into a scene, and I just pick him up and sit him on the chair next to me. It’s fun to watch their antics. For example, last year we wanted to decorate Easter eggs. We boiled a dozen, set them out on a tea towel to cool, and walked away for a few minutes. Monty, with the help of several of his four-legged coconspirators, pounced. He pulled the towel from the table and ate all the eggs—shells on!
When I was growing up, our pets were happy with table scraps and never once went to a vet. Now, of course, my dogs are on high-end diets and they see their vet so often that he’s become a family friend. I remember taking Jaws to a vet in Beverly Hills who was in a big facility with other animal physicians with esoteric[1] specialties. There were signs for everything from canine reproduction to bird orthodontia. I’ve always said that if I ever needed a hysterectomy this is where I would go—the pet hospital in Beverly Hills was the biggest and the best I’ve ever seen.
There’s no end to the treatments my pets need. Siegfried and Roy tried acupuncture for their knees. Rocky received daily dialysis until he died. Can a pet psychiatrist be far behind? My animals are expensive, but I regard them as my children and I’m happy to indulge them.
Or, as Whitney points out, “Mom takes her pets very seriously—she grew up with cats, dogs, parrots—and I think she compensates for not having grandkids by surrounding herself with tons of animals. Her house is like a Southern Grey Gardens.” I’m not sure he meant it as a compliment, but I’ll take it that way.
Bravo launched Southern Charm with an appealing cast and an atmospheric location—beautiful, historic Charleston, the city everyone wants to see. My participation in the show was impromptu. Whitney decided that he wanted me to appear in one of the early episodes. The sound man mic’ed me up and I walked into my son’s room while he was playing the guitar—something he does every day—and asked him to turn down his amplifier—something I do every day. There are times when the vibrations are so loud I can’t hear myself think!
I noticed a pile of cheap clothes on the floor and learned that they belonged to Whitney’s most recent “Southern sleepover.” Instantly, my acerbic[2] sense of humor kicked in. I forgot that the camera was there and said whatever popped into my head, and it was fun. It came as quite a surprise to me that I felt so at home on the show, because I’ve never enjoyed public speaking. When I received the woman of the year award for philanthropy, I got up and said only, “Thank you for this lovely award.” That was it. People loved that my speech was so short.
Like Alice falling through the rabbit hole, I entered the surreal world of Bravo reality television. Not that I knew much about reality shows. I watched Bravo for the first time when Whitney started producing Southern Charm. I gave all the Housewives a shot and found the Beverly Hills group the most amusing. I watched Million Dollar Listing New York, and it made me sad that I sold my New York apartment and house too soon, before the incredible real estate boom. And I watched the Kardashians, until one of them had her rear end lasered on television. That was the end for me—yes, pun intended.
I enjoy Below Deck because I spent two years on the “upper deck,” when I was married to Ed Fleming. I know firsthand that there is ample drama below. We lost a deckhand who couldn’t get along with the captain, and we were in Demopolis, Alabama, when we lost our cook—believe me, you’re not going to find a new cook in Demopolis, Alabama. I had to prepare our meals until a replacement arrived. It was a nightmare.
I’m probably the last person who should be on a reality show but, gradually, I became a regular on Southern Charm. During the first season, it seemed that the more the Charmers misbehaved, the more I was asked to comment on their bad behavior. Then, and now, the “kids” use me as a sounding board. They tell me what they did and said, and I tell them what they did wrong, and what they should have said. I’m like a surrogate mother, but the fun kind. I make snarky comments. I tease and chide them when they need it—which is frequently. I never fail to call them out when the opportunity arises, because I want them to be better. And I give them advice, whether or not they ask for it. I also serve the best cocktails in town.
I represent a more civilized way of life. Yes, I have standards, but I’m not a snob. And people seem to be genuinely interested in the way I live—the manners I take for granted, the clothes I wear, the way my home is decorated, and especially how I entertain.
People always ask me if the show is scripted. The answer is no. There’s nothing that says “Charleston should get hit with a hurricane” or “Patricia should get a new dog.” I like to have fun on camera. If appearing on a reality show meant that I had to take it seriously, I wouldn’t do it. I am always my outspoken (and some would say outrageous) self, and I never lose sleep about how I’m portrayed. I just don’t want them putting up any ugly pictures of me!
On a practical note, it’s never a good idea to have your home invaded by a camera crew. All of that heavy equipment is difficult to control. On one occasion, a camera went through an eighteenth-century pane of glass. Then there was the time when a distracted camera operator backed up and broke an antique Irish decanter that belonged to my father. And I don’t know who dropped what on my antique chair in the foyer, but it left a nasty impression. That said, the Bravo crew is always pleasant, polite, and considerate. In this house, of all places, it is hard not to be a bull in the china shop.
I find it interesting that so many different kinds of people watch Southern Charm. Men often tell me that they never, ever, saw a reality show until their wives got them hooked on this one. In my experience, Southern Charm fans are very friendly. They’re always pleasant and respectful when I run into them. Tourists come to see the house because it is so recognizable, and they wave to me when I’m sitting on my piazza. I walked into a hotel elevator the other day and an elderly couple screamed “It’s you!” They had actually come to Charleston hoping for a spontaneous encounter, and they left with a selfie of the three of us.
Bumping into someone in Charleston is one thing, but I was on the other side of the world, in a gift shop in Jaipur, India, of all places, when I met a fan from San Francisco. People are surprised because they are just as likely to find me at Costco as at the Polo Bar in the Beverly Hills Hotel. I get around! It is a little embarrassing when you are trying to do something personal, like pick up a prescription, or when you don’t look your best. Still, so far everyone has been lovely. I’ve never had anyone say “you’re a cranky old bitch” (though I’m sure that day will come).
Initially, I think Michael was horrified by the thought of opening the house (and our lives, for that matter) to the outside world. He maintains that one of the advantages of being wealthy is having privacy. But he’s the first to admit that “every domestic has a touch of the actor,” and now he’s performing on a very big stage! He jokes about getting his own agent.
Michael has quite a following and loves interacting with his fans. They greet him wherever he goes, and he’s incredibly good-humored about it, especially if he has one of the dogs with him. He says that people want to know if I’m nice. They’re probably disappointed when he answers yes.
We set up a “Have a question for Michael?” button on my website PatriciaAltschul.com, and it is so amusing to see the questions and comments that come in. There are the predictable inquiries about the best way to remove a stain from carpeting, or the brand of Michael’s favorite silver polish. But there are also questions from left field, such as the time a fellow Charleston resident asked Michael about a random car that had been parked on our street for a few days. Apparently, Michael is supposed to know everything.
I have Southern Charm to thank for my expertise with the internet and social media. Before the show, I knew the basics—how to email and navigate Google—and believe me, I have friends who can’t do either. Now, my desire to interact with fans has catapulted me into the unexplored worlds of Twitter and Instagram. The world is moving so fast that it is very important to be conversant in the latest modes of communication. I think it keeps me young, smart, and connected to pop culture.
Sometimes I look at my followers on Instagram and Twitter, and I can see from their pictures that they’re all over the map. There are young girls, older men, couples, even dogs and cats. And some are hardcore fans who are devoted to the show and fiercely protective of the cast members they like. If someone posts something objectionable, they react instantly.
During the season, I get as many as five hundred tweets a night. I recognize all the regulars. Total engagement is important, so I often spend a few hours each day reading and responding. That’s when it feels like a full-time job. What makes a good tweet? I try to say something personal. I thank people who are nice. And I retweet ones I enjoy, especially if they have to do with animals.
Instagram is more fun, in my opinion. The process of posting is straightforward, and we all know that a picture—or a video—is worth a thousand words. I have a good time putting up images of the dogs, Whitney, my Christmas tree, or the cast of Southern Charm (not necessarily in that order). And I enjoy my glimpses into other people’s lives via their Instagram accounts.
Being me, I do have a few rules regarding proper behavior on social media and the internet:
I’m generally pretty good about letting internet insults roll off my back, except when bloggers insist that I am not Southern because I was born in Florida. Hmmm. Geography definitely needs to be revived in schools. The last time I looked at a map of the United States, Florida was in the South. And if we’re talking about the antebellum[3] South, Florida was the third of the seven states to secede from the Union and form the Confederacy. On top of that, I grew up in Virginia. So, who still wants to say I’m not from the South?
I consider myself Southern from head to toe, but I’ll let you decide whether or not I’m charming. I certainly am happy.
I’ve been working hard on the show, this book, and the caftan line I’m launching with Georgette. There’s also Whitney (and the family I hope he will have one day), the dogs, the house, and my friends. It takes a lot of effort to have a so-called charmed life, but if you get it right, it’s worth every bit of time and trouble you put into it.
And, when it works, it truly is an art!
[1] Esoteric: intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people with a specialized knowledge or interest.
[2] Acerbic: sharp and forthright.
[3] Antebellum: occurring or existing before a particular war, especially the American Civil War.