A knock on the apartment door at Lake Ivanhoe Shores. 2:05 on a Sunday afternoon is a strange time for visitors. Anne Davis opened the door to a TDS delivery service employee on the doorstep clutching her red leather purse.

“You left it on the plane,” he explained.

Thanking the man and signing for the delivery, Anne took her bag and checked through it. Checkbook. Notebook. Scarf. Press pass. It was all there. The life of Anne Davis, journalist and reporter for the newly syndicated ThE-Voice.

Thirty minutes later, the phone rings. It was Alice Brown, administrative assistant to, James “Hack” Hackman, the news director who had secured the new syndication of Anne’s column. Her assignment: cover the Orlando Daschund Races, taking place at Downey Dog Park.

* Alice gives Anne her assignment *


Talking wiener dogs? Not exactly hard-hitting news, but it was her first syndication piece, and that was a good feeling.

Anne looked out the window. Bright blue sky and uninterrupted sun. She grabbed her
Jackie O sunglasses and headed out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Anne pulled her Jeep Liberty into the Downey Park parking lot. She made it all the way to the end of the lot without an empty spot in sight. She checked her clock. 3:05. No time to waste. She pulled the Jeep right up onto the grass – isn’t that what Jeeps are for anyway? – and jumped out. She could see the crowd forming through the chain-link fence. She quickened her step, striding down the sidewalk with a purpose.

The black gate clanked behind her, throwing her into a true dog day afternoon. In the air, the rustle of leaves and the cacophony of clinking dog tags, yapping Dachshunds and dozens of owners shouting names and commands. “Bennie, come here!” “No, Cupid!” “PEPPER!!!”

The sun beat down on her fiery red hair as she surveyed the scene. The ground was a sea of strutting, squirming and scampering Dachshunds. Anne stayed on the outskirts for a little while, watching the crowd of owners as they talked to each other—and to their dogs. She pulled out her notepad. It’s not exactly the kind of empowering community piece that she aspires to, but it doesn’t have to be fluff.

Crossing the park, Anne picked a few dog owners to talk to. Among them –a group of three with a handicapped dog wearing an American flag t-shirt. She noted that not only did all the owners talk to their dogs, but according to all reports, the dogs talked back. After a few interviews, she got down on her knees to snap some close-ups of the dogs. None of them said a word.

At 3:30 sharp, the crowd rushed to line up along the 20-foot racetrack. The excited owners crowded the finish line, screaming encouragement, squeaking balls and waving toys. Anne took some shots of the crowd, then moved closer to the action for the third race. She planted herself right in the middle of the racetrack, and squatted down with her camera. She snapped away as the dogs took off.

Inevitably, only half of them made it to the finish line. One well-intentioned owner threw a tennis ball into the track, only to have his little racer dutifully retrieve it and bring it back to the starting line. Anne stood up and brushed off her knees.

So this is news? she thought, Anne Davis, reporting from down in the dirt with the dogs?

As the three to five-year-old dogs lined up for the next race, Anne checked her watch. It was 3:45. She had an hour and fifteen minutes to get home, and crank out this piece of journalistic history. She made her way back to the Jeep, armed with a pad full of notes, a camera full of photos, and a handful of testaments about talking wiener dogs. She pulled a U-turn on Colonial Drive and headed back home to write her story.