Live from Anna Maria Island!

it's the Dancing Pig Road Show!
That's right folks, we've slunk off to the Gulf Coast of Florida to lick our wounds in sunnier climes. We're bruised, burnt out and heartsore but we're still trying to carry on.
We'd planned this sojourn in early September, when both of our beloved dogs were still alive and well and we couldn't back out. How does the song go? "Can't turn back and you can't stand still and if the thunder don't get you the lightning will" Well, we decided to run away from the thunder and lightning. At least for two weeks.
We came down here to do the Sarasota Medieval Faire. It's a two weekend, 2nd year show that we knew practically nothing about other than it was in Florida & we had been pre-approved as crafters. It was pretty cheap fee wise and came at a time when we could use a vacation, so we went for it.

We booked ourselves into a great hotel that we'd found when we crashed a family reunion two years ago (long story condensed: my brother in law's family live down here, we came down and stayed with sis, bro-in-law, niece and nephew when they were down for Grandpa's 60th or 70th birthday). The hotel is only a block from the beach on an awesome island and best of all, they welcome pets. So, we figured, hey, tax deductible vacation. Come down, do the show on the weekends, lounge on the beach during the week, what's not to like?!

Then, dog tragedy stuck, twice in 6 weeks. We were stunned and numb, but carried on. We loaded ourselves and our new and now only dog up and hit the road, in search of money and healing on the beach.

Lucky for us, our new dog, Budgth, is very much a road hound. Here she is, the queen of our caravan:







Not so much with the money. The show was full of great folks and we made some new friends and good contacts, but not very much money. No alcohol at the show made for lots of "Looky Lous" and not so much with the "wrap it up i'll take its"

The first weekend, we set up under some beautiful trees, covered in spanish moss. It was very picturesque, but also very much out of the way. Here's a snap of the booth on the first weekend:

Great neighbors. Beautiful scenery. No customers. Or at least, hardly any foot traffic.
We moved our tent from the back end of the faire into a more central spot for the 2nd weekend and that helped, but it was still a marginal show for us money wise.

Still, we've had a conversion experience and are currently-- not sure if you'd call it brainstorming or daydreaming, but either way, spending alot of time scheming about ways to become snowbirds & spend most of February and March down here on the gulf coast, selling pottery and leather and hiding out from the cold and rain. We even went window shopping for a new trailer: a 'toy box' which is basically an RV and cargo trailer combined. We figure it would save us on the hotel bills... that's our story anyway. Wouldn't it be cool to have all the comforts of an RV and still be able to haul our stock and setup with us?!? And the one we looked at was only 23K! A bargain at half the price! OK, so it'll be awhile before we can afford one of those suckers, but it was fun to dream...

I think we're a little young to become snowbirds, but heck, if youth is wasted on the young i guess the opposite applies: retirement is wasted on the old. We're thinking you don't have to be 70 and wealthy to be a snowbird. I'm even toying with the idea of taking up a supplemental craft that i can do 'on the road' so i don't have to come back to the studio and kilns to make more stock. I'm thinking either knitted wool socks &/or maybe funky painted chairs and tables and beaded jewelry... or cool/ funky dog leashes and collars-- that would combine D's leatherwork and my general weirdness... anyway, that's what happens to me when i spend the better part of two weeks goofing off in the sub-tropical sun.

When i got here last week, i was all mocking about the folks down here: "They're either old or drunk or both. And litterbugs. These people are filthy!" (there is alot more trash down here than i see in either WVa or Maryland). "And weather wimps! Everyone has their panties in a bunch and their winter woollies on because it's going down to 50 degrees tonight!"

In my defense, it did get colder this second week. And downright windy. There were even some respectable waves. Here's a cool pic of the sunset on a very blustery day:


Well, you can guess what happened. This week i'm in Walmart looking for long sleeved shirts and warm socks cause it's getting COLD at night. Heck, it's gonna be 50 tonight! How quickly we adjust. I just hope i can adjust back, cause we're going home to my valley tomorrow morning and the projected high for Thursday is 43 degrees. That's the HIGH! Wailee, wailee wailee! How will i manage?!

In loving memory of Barnaby
June 2001 to November 3, 2006

He was a great dog, a good friend and a gentle, loving soul.
The world is a sadder place for me, without him.

I am still grief stricken, stunned and numb.

Just after dark on Friday evening November 3 when Darrell was walking our newest dog on the leash-- so she wouldn't run into the road-- he saw and heard Barnaby get hit by a truck, driving too fast on our road. The truck didn't even stop.

Barnaby died that night, three hours later at the emergency vet in Charleston.

I don't think he was ever really in pain-- he was in shock for the first 2 hours and then, once he started showing signs of distress we were at the vets and they gave him painkillers.

We had begun to hope that we might have gotten away with something by then: there was never any blood, he couldn't walk, but he could move the front half of his body... the vet and her staff were so very competent and compassionate, it was a blessing to have such caring people surround us in our hour of crisis.

Even the vet said that she had begun to hope that Barnaby might get out of there with 'only' a bruised or broken pelvis. They had done extensive x-rays and hadn't seen any damage, and they were moving him into a kennel to stabilize him and then come and give us the relatively good news.

However, as they began to move him into the kennel, he crashed.

He stopped breathing and his heartbeat became erratic & faint. They put a tube down his throat and manually breathed for him and gave him an ephedrine injection to try to get his heart going, but it was no use. A tech came and got us and we were with him at the end, which was peaceful and natural... his heart simply stopped beating.

When they took the tube out, it was covered in blood. The vet said this confirmed that he had suffered massive internal soft tissue damage-- it didn't show up on the x-rays. His insides got pulped and his lungs filled with blood and his heart couldn't take the strain.

The good news is that he probably didn't suffer. He was in shock at first which blocks the pain, then he was sedated.

In the hour long drive to the vet, he was breathing a bit heavily occasionally but he didn't seem to be in pain. He slipped in and out of consciousness, but i'm sure he knew i was there with him. He was surrounded by love and compassion throughout his ordeal.

Here's what was going through my head as we drove home from the vet:

In the house of long life
I will wander.
In the house of happiness
I will wander.
With beauty before me
I will wander.
With beauty behind me
I will wander.
With beauty above me
I will wander.
With beauty below me
I will wander.
In old age traveling
On the trail of beauty
I will wander.
It shall be finished in beauty.
--NIGHT CHANT OF THE NAVAJO

And his death did have a beauty and dignity to it. Not what i would have chosen. Or maybe-- not WHEN i would have chosen, but beauty nonetheless.

Barnaby was a sweet, gentle giant. He was my nap buddy and a boon companion.

He hated water. I used to say that he was allergic to it. He was horrified if he saw me swimming-- he just couldn't comprehend voluntarily getting wet.

Yet he was stoic when being bathed, simply resigned to his fate. It was humbling to see such a large, powerful dog so miserable yet so resigned. He was both dignified and silly all at once.

He was a 130 lb lap dog.

He had a rough start in life. When we met him at the Montgomery County Humane Society, he was 4 months old, a 40 lb skinny pup with scary big paws. He'd lived outside all of his life, in a kennel with his mom and littermates. Yet, when we brought him into our house for the first time, he walked calmly around the kitchen and living room, then headed directly into the bedroom and hopped up onto the bed and laid himself down for a nap. He knew he was home.

I was so lucky to have him in my life.

He was my first truly big dog, and his bulk was a wonderful, calming physical grounding gift, especially when i was in distress. When my life was falling apart, in the midst of my separation and divorce, he was a gentle, peaceful companion who grounded me. Simply having his bulk sleeping in the bed next to me through those lonely nights made it possible for me to get through to the next sunrise.

And, once i'd found Darrell and we moved to Hearth Hill, the four of us: me, Darrell, Lucie and Barnaby, he was delighted to be home here. He ran free, especially in the early evenings, just after dark. He'd chase deer out of the yard or just bound about in the moonlight, delighting in movement and freedom.

B. napped alot and he was good at it. Once Lucie died, in September of 05, Barnaby became a champion napper. He seemed to get older and slower. Always a skittish boy, his fear of thunderstorms and sudden noises and of just being alone, seemed to increase.

He was at first a bit taken aback by Animosh's arrival. Ani was so small and so ALIVE that B. didn't seem to know what to do with her, how to respond to her. But Ani knew what to do, and within a month, Ani was in charge: pulling at B's tail when she wanted to play or distract him, inciting him to riot in the house by hauling a squeaky toy up onto the bed and then squeaking it at a napping B till he couldn't take it anymore, and with a sigh B would haul himself to his feet and set about chasing and playing with her.


Barnaby was with Ani when Ani died a little more than a month ago. They were about 1/4 mile down the road together, and B came back alone, more quietly freaked out than i'd ever seen him. B. looked at Darrell-- just one simple, silent, intense moment of eye contact and Darrell knew something was really wrong. Darrell got into our little car and went down the road to find Ani's body.

Barnaby once more was with me through my mourning. It was a sudden, intense grief-- that small life ripped so quickly from us on a sunny autumn day. B. was with me as i wailed and cried, and slept by my side when i finally surrendered to a healing sleep.

And, it seems, B. kept sleeping. After Ani's death, more even than before. He slept all night at the foot of our bed, on his own dog bed. In the morning, Darrell would get up before me and B. would haul himself up onto the bed and flop down into Darrell's vacated spot. He stayed there, often all day, only getting off the bed to eat breakfast, and maybe go outside to pee. Then it was back to bed and only after he was awakened and fed dinner was he interested in going outside for a few hours of night roaming. Then inside, to sleep on the sofa with us if there was TV watching, or back on the bed if we had other things happening.

That was the shape of his days for the last month of his life. We specualted about doggie Prozac. Was he depressed? It was had to tell. So, instead, we got him another dog.

Three days before he died, the new dog came home. She was an unexpected arrival, a gift of fate and healing.

We've named her Bug and she and B. got along quite well. She is less bossy than Ani, but at least once or twice a day she incited Barnaby to riot, and we had doggie chase scenes in our living room again. Bug also was determined to sleep in the puppy pile with the rest of us. Barnaby accepted her, and even seemed happier and more lively with Bug's arrival.

Then, as i said above, it ended. Darrell was out, walking Bug after dinner. It was dark, and B. was running as usual. I think he might have even been showing off for Bug, a sort of big brotherly "nah nah, i can go where i want & you can't" sort of thing.

Then, the trucks headlights, D calling out a warning to Barnaby to "keep his happy ass out da road" and that sickening thud and B's one yelp.

That was the beginning of the end. However, at least we got a chance to say goodbye, to tell him how much he was loved.

I know that he is playing with Ani and Lucie and Blaze. I hope and trust that Mike Lea and Barry Morley are organizing walks and snuggles. It's a good pack that's waiting for me on the other side, and since i don't think time matters over there, i guess i'm already there with them. But that doesn't stop me from missing them here. All of them, but most intently, my big, gentle, huge galumphing mutt. My Mr. B.

Pass to thy Rendezvous of Light,
Pangless except for us---
Who slowly ford the Mystery
Which thou hast leaped across!
--Emily Dickinson



This is the last picture we have of him. We were napping, maybe a week ago:

It's the end of the Renn Fest as we know it....
(but, actually, i don't feel fine)
I feel tired.
It was a good season. Mostly. But i'm worn out. Usually i get a few weeks off once MDRenn Fest is over, but this year, we're going down to Florida (almost 1,000 miles each way) for two weeks to check out the Sarasota Medieval Faire. No rest for the wicked, i tell you what!

The Sarasota Faire should be fun, but i seriously messed up on my timing: i thought i had TWO weeks between the end of MDRF and the start of Sarasota. And, technically, i guess i did. But i didn't include details like, oh, the time it takes to clean and close the booth at Maryland. And the time it takes to drive down to sunny Florida. You know, stuff like that. So, i've been busier than the proverbial one legged man in an arse kicking contest. But i'm still hopping around, doing my best to kick some butt, and make some pots in the process. I'm gonna manage to have some stuff for Florida. I *hope*. Gods willing and the creek don't rise. Further, i mean.

Here are a few pics from the past season at MDRF:
Pumpkins. I made alot of clay pumpkins. Here's a pic of some of them drying in the studio:
And here's what they looked like in front of our booth at Faire:



Since i'm writing this on Halloween, i'm done with the whole pumpking thing for this year. Phew! I made at least 200 of the suckers this year. That's alot of pumpkins. I had 40 to 50 a weekend at the Faire from mid September till closing weekend, and i sold out almost every weekend, often on Saturday even... Now that Halloween's done, you'd think i could catch a break, right?! Nope. Now, i'm making pirate mugs for Florida. Gotta have something to put on the shelves down there, so we can justify our week of lounging on the beach in between weekends of selling. Speaking of which, i need to go check the kiln. And then, hopefully, to bed for my very tired self. Will try to post more soon.

No, really.

Well, it's been a month, but we're still really missing our Ani. In fact, our pain is "fresh" in some ways, because D & I got tattoos last week, in honor of Ani. Our friend Jill (an amazing, aspiring tattoo artist) designed the butterflies for us-- we told her we wanted black and white butterflies with attitude.
Black and white, cause those where Ani's colors. Butterflies because a) Ani loved to chase them b) they are beautiful but short lived, just like her c) At quote from Philip Pullman's beautiful novel, The Golden Compass that resonates with me so much. It's a witch (who lives much longer than humans do) explaining to a girl about why witches fall in love with men even though they know they'll die very quickly..."men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually racked with pain. "

We put a bit of her ashes in the ink, so she'll always be with us.
This is what they look like...
this is mine:
















and the hairy back on the right is Darrells:

In loving memory
Animosh aka little girl aka Monkey Girl aka Poopie Head
February 1 2006-- September 27 2006
"Such a long long time to be gone and a short time to be there"

The newest member of the Dancing Pig family left us on a sunny late September weekday. She ran out onto the road, on her way home from the bone stash (a spot about 1/4 mile from our house that folks have dumped deer carcases for years-- our dogs head down there, grab some leg or rib bones and bring them back to the house for an afternoon snack... this is life in rural WVa). She was hit by a passing car and died instantly. Her head was crushed, and our hearts feel as though they were crushed as well.

Ani had a brief life with us, but it was a very full one. She went about everything full tilt. She was full of energy, piss and vinegar and she was the boss of our house. It was fun to watch her torment our big dog into playing with her. She weighed 25 lbs. when she was full grown and B. was at least 130 lbs for her whole life. But even if she wasn't large, she was in charge, and she hung off his tail or pulled at his ear till he did what she wanted him to.

Ani was a great snuggler, and slept in bed with Darrell and I everynight- under the covers if it was cold, on top, usually in between my legs, if it was warm. I don't know how i'll manage sleeping without her.

We got Ani at a flea market near Charleston in early March of this year. She was only 4 weeks old. She had been weaned early by her mom cause her whole litter had sharp teeth. She weighed 5 lbs and won our hearts right away.

Ani was allegedly a Cocker Spaniel/ Jack Russell mix. And she did seem to have the fierce independent spirit of a JR terrier but also the heart and eyes of a Cocker Spaniel. She took herself down to the river every day as soon as she was large enough to get down our porch steps. We still have sand in our bed, because she'd come home covered in sand and dirt from her river adventures and hop right onto the bed for a post swim nap.

Ani didn't like to have her belly rubbed. She'd growl and mutter and carry on, but D. "gots the tummy" every day. It was usually what i woke up to: D. rubbing and carrying on, Ani wriggling and growling, trying to get away and enjoying the snuggle all at once.

Ani was a mamma's dog. She always wanted to go with me, wherever i went. She'd get bored in the studio after awhile though, esp. late at night or in the middle of the afternoon. Then she'd crawl up under my wedging table, which is where i stashed abundant stock of empty plastic bags (clay comes in 25 lb blocks inside these bags. I go through 4,000 to 5,000 lbs of clay a year- i have lots of these bags). Ani would crawl into the crinkly pile and rummage around, arranging a nest just so, and then she'd nap till it was time to go into the house. I relished her quiet company & it's just one of the many things i'll miss about her.

She was our heart and our soul, the love in our house flowed through her and we will miss her so much more than words can express.

Fare Well, my brave little one, and know that you were loved and cherished here. We will always love you and look forward to many more belly rubs and river adventures in the Summerlands with your distinctive fiercely beautiful self.



The following is from Philip Pullman's beautiful book THE GOLDEN COMPASS. This is a witch, who lives much longer than regular humans, explaining to a girl why witches take men as lovers, even knowing that they will outlive them:


You are so young, Lyra, too young to understand this, but i shall tell you anyway and you'll understand later: men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually racked with pain. We bear their children, who are witches in they are female, human if they are not; and then in the blink of an eye they are gone, felled, slain, lost. Our sons, too. When a little boy is growing, he thinks he is immortal. His mother knows he isn't. Each time becomes more painful, until finally your heart is broken.
Perhaps that is when Yambe-Akka* comes for you. She is older than the tundra. Perhaps, for her, witches' lives are as brief as men's are to us.

*Yambe-Akka is the witches' death goddess