My nemesis/totem, the black rat snake, has arrived back at Heathcote on schedule this spring. This has me tenting again this year, since our project of jacking up my house created some gaps where snakes might again access my living space. Time to recall the famous story, reposted below. Click on photos for details. —WT

Spring, 2006

Sometimes the bogeyman is a flashback of some rapist or the echo of that ever negative parent. It could be that childhood biting dog or one’s inner voice. Or it could be a succession of 5-foot black rat snakes coming in through windows and walls. Okay, on a day in early May of last year, it was black rat snakes.

My dogs were already barking. This was an experience they’d clearly had before. A huge snake was outside on the window ledge, tracing a familiar path to a missing window pane covered loosely by plastic. The plastic was stapled in a couple of places, there to keep the rain out.

This would be a good time to mention that I have an understandable, justifiable childhood trauma around snakes. Okay, they’re sacred and symbolize earthiness and fertility and feminine power because we’re all past that myth in Genesis. But this means nothing to the six-year-old me that went crawdad huntin’ in Jack’s Creek on our farm in Kentucky.

You may be thinking I mean crayfish hunting, but since I’ll have no dignity by the end of this story, I might as well confess now that my sister and I were crawdad huntin’.

Granny had driven us in her Olds 98 and outfitted us with her brand new kitchen bucket. Beth and I walked the creek, turning over rocks, jumping back when the bigger crawdads would torpedo out. We rounded a couple of bends, well out of sight of Granny, engrossed.

This would be a good time to mention the Paul Bunyanesque stories my grandfather would tell about cottonmouth water moccasins. Pap claimed that they ate his dairy cows. And with each telling of how he’d gone out into the field and ended the behemoth with a shotgun, the snake got bigger and bigger. On our farm, snake stories were as fishing stories in this fashion.

So when the cartoonlike meeting of engrossed girls and startled cottonmouth took place, there was only one way it could play out–epically. The snake reared up and met us face to face to face. It opened to showcase the cottony room of its mouth. We screamed in chorus with its scream and waved our hands in the air, sending the new kitchen bucket flying. We ran atop the surface of the water all the way back to Granny and the Olds 98, so as not to leave any footprints in the muddy creekbed for the snake to follow.

We told Granny about the snake and the face to face to face and the cottony room from the safety of the car. Now I loved my grandmother and she told me on many occasions that she loved me, too. But this was not her shining moment. I swear to you that her only response was, “You girls go back and get my bucket!!!”

I note for the record that she herself did not retrieve it, either.

So as the black rat snake poked at the plastic, I was amused to find myself considering covering the pane with my own kitchen bucket. Instead I grabbed the staple gun and began stitching a solid seem all the way around, just barely ahead of the snake’s nose. I won that race and darted outside only to watch the snake retreat into an opening under my house where my tub’s drainpipe protrudes. The snake got in anyway.

I had lived in Hina Hanta, left, the Heathcote shack formerly known as the Hillhouse, for four years. And about two or three times a year I would come upon a small black snake inside. Now, I hate snakes for
understandable, justifiable reasons and I would evacuate with the dogs, wait a few hours and return with another Heathcoter to conduct an “all
clear.” This worked for me, barely, because I knew the snakes were catching mice and their bigger cousins. And for that reason I was glad of each one I encountered outdoors. But the snake in my window had no fear. This was new and unsettling.

I was unnerved enough to leave the light on when I went to bed. I don’t know why I thought that would make a difference but I found it a comfort. One of my phobias around snakes and my life deep in the woods is that they’ll end up in bed with me. Fertility be damned, I ain’t having that!

But two nights later the choice was not mine. I jolted up to the crazed barks of Echo, my brave protector of the two shelties. She was ranting and racing from the bed to the stairway of my loft room. The sight was simply a shocker: undulating across my floor, blocking my exit, were two five-foot long black snakes, mating, and I mean passionately. They showed no signs of being phased by our waking.

Evacuation being my policy I stood on my bed, holding both shelties by the collar with one hand and pulling clothes off a chair and onto myself with the other, all the while watching the snakes go on and on and on. I would have been struck awed and mystified by the beauty of their fluid movements if I were another person, without my understandable, justifiable fear of snakes. Instead I was all about escape.

But when they finally untied themselves, the snakes were still flush with whatever hormones were giving them boldness and drive. One started to the right, finding the wall and turning toward my dresser, my bed and me. The other went left to the wall and started in my direction, using the dogs’ indoor agility tunnel to make its way toward the bed. I yanked the tunnel away and that snake was discouraged enough to retreat to the stairs where it disappeared into a hole in the wall. When I looked for the right hand snake, it had lifted its head to the top of the dresser. We split. We booked. We ran on the top of the water so as not to leave any footprints in the muddy creekbed for the snakes to follow.

The next day, I brought Bob, a Heathcoter, up to the house, not for an all-clear, but to consult on plugging my many holes. As he stood in my bedroom hearing the story a black snake emerged from a seam where wall meets floor. It sat coiled, as if it were part of our discussion. These snakes without fear, this was so strange and new.

Bob became my champion at community meetings–”Wren shouldn’t have to live like this. She’s got snakes having sex on her floor!!! We’ve got to do something!!!” That was all well and good, but now huge snakes were slinking about at every turn I made. Kitchen, bathroom, upstairs and down, I came to estimate that I had between 8 and 10 five-foot long black rat snakes in my home and I was not in charge.

My friend Charles is fond of saying that the wheels of community grind slowly. The Heathcoters were not going to disappear this infestation in a day or even a week. In the meantime I needed a place to sleep, alone with my dogs, alone, without snakes, alone.

Now, I had observed that black snakes don’t tend to chew holes or dig them. They avail themselves of ones created by the critters they’re hunting. This logic is what inspired me to set up my seven by seven Coleman tent in place of my bed. I believed that if I kept crumbs and such out that mice and their larger cousins would leave the fabric intact, thus creating all the barrier I needed to get a good night’s sleep. For the record, this is not a belief I need clarified in any way. it works for me. If you are of the impression or experience that a black rat snake might in fact chew through tent fabric, there is nothing to be gained by sharing. Do not email me.

The tent became my bedroom within a bedroom. I set up a power strip inside and plugged in my alarm clock and lamp. I inflated my aero bed and each night I called the dogs inside and zipped us within our hiding place.

Enter Mr. Hacker, the snake wrangler.

Although I admit to hating snakes as bogeymen I am an animal rights activist. In lucid moments I know that they’re just returning to their hatching site to breed, being good snake citizens. Even so, I can confess to having a few fantasies involving Pap’s shotgun because I know that I ultimately stuck to my beliefs, even when they were inconvenient. Mr. Hacker of White Hall was probably the tenth humane pest control person I called. The others had said that snakes couldn’t be trapped and that repellents didn’t work. Mr. Hacker had invented a successful trap from pvc pipe and a used eel trap. Bring it on.

He installed the trap and decided to wait a while since I was so dripping with the things. For over and hour I listened to Mr. Hacker tell me stories of catching snakes. He would take the captured ones many miles away. “Sometimes I just slow down and pour ‘em out the window…” I didn’t need such details. He rambled on about family, the cousin who actually hacked up his wife’s lover in some bar, and wasn’t the family name ironic, I really didn’t need such details. Eventually a snake appeared on my stairs and he picked it up with his hands. “Wow, that’s a big one!” That’ll be thirty dollars. Here was hoping he slowed down enough for that one.

As Hacker’s trap caught one after another and sometimes two at a time, I got busy trimming every room and covering every possible entry, on the shack’s interior and exterior and winning my own eel traps on eBay. After a time the snakes stuck to the outdoors and the porch and became shy again.

Homeschooling students attending the World Religions class on my porch helped me name the snakes and when we were not evacuating we were amused and amazed. And my students found my unusual bed amusing as well.

It is winter now. Whether in my walls, some woodpile or rocky outcropping, I know the snakes are asleep. I know my holes are plugged. These nights I just climb in, I don’t zip the door closed. But life is a spiral of seasons, not a straight, evolutionary trajectory. I have grown through this but I, like the snakes, know that spring happens. I might have call to zip up yet.

–Wren Tuatha

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Protected: The Captive Fire

Wren on April 19th, 2010

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I’ve practiced my form of simple living at Heathcote Community for nearly fifteen years. Our population has hovered around a dozen adults, dipping down to eight and now climbing to sixteen adults and six kids, with several more interns on the way this year. I can tell a difference in the energy and intimacy between Heathcote at eight and Heathcote at sixteen. I wrote about our dinner cleanup becoming more hectic, and I now have more interactions with more people, thus more processing, and processing delayed more often, as we maintain busy lives. This has made me more curious than ever about larger Intentional Communities, such as Ganas in New York, which has around eighty members, or even Auroville, in India, with over two-thousand members.

In my history with community life, I was never much of a traveler until the last couple of years. I would sometimes get down to Twin Oaks in Louisa, Virginia. And when I was searching for Community I visited Spiral Wimmin (Kentucky) and also Wygelia and Woodburn Hill Farm, both in Maryland. Typically, if I’m going to visit another Intentional Community, it’s on business, such as my trip to The Farm in Tennesee for a Gaia University organizing meeting or to Seven Sisters in Pennsylvania for the School of Living quarterly meeting. But I have never even visited most of the other Communities of the School of Living, Heathcote’s land trust organization. Since the spring meeting is held in my Community, I see my friends then. Heathcote always has wealth in our visitors from all these places and more.

I have friends all over the world and I’m starting to visit them!

I traveled with poly partner Harold to Harbin Hot Springs in California, for the World Polyamory Conference a couple of years ago. Although this was an interest community and not a landed community, I count it as part of my evolution into an Intentional Community networker and traveler. The hot springs were magical. And we did the tourist thing in San Francisco’s Chinatown and the redwood forests!

Near the end of that California trip, my Goodwill suitcase started to disintegrate. It took quite a bit of nudging on Harold’s part to convince me to invest in a new, durable, quality piece of luggage. The moment I did, the universe must have identified me as a traveler because that suitcase and I have been going ever since! It’s taken an adjustment in my self image to make the shift to keeping a travel kit in the bag, rather than completely unpacking after a trip. New paradigm!!!

Last year my then partner, Iuval, I visited Woodfolk House, The Possibility Alliance, Red Earth Farms and Dancing Rabbit in a whirlwind tour to find a Community or land we could agree on. Too bad we didn’t get to add Sandhill and East Wind to our Missouri tour. Some day I’ll make it back, maybe in May if I can attend the new Villages in the Sky festival, a sort of temporary community akin to the Rainbow Gathering and Burning Man.

Some smaller, more off-the-map Intentional Communities I’ve visited include Baltimore’s Red Clover Collective, The Hermitage in Pennsylvania, and Heilbron Springs in Florida, where I interviewed the ever interesting Tipi Frank.

I’ll visit another School of Living Community, Julian Woods, in May. I’ll be there as part of a two-year course in meeting facilitation with Sandhill’s Laird Schaub and his partner, Ma’ikwe Ludwig, a member of Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage. (We’re looking for other communities in the mid atlantic region to host this course for a weekend. The students will provide free facilitation for your group. You can leave a comment on this post or contact Heathcote at

I attended a temporary Intentional Community this summer, Network for a New Culture’s Summer Camp in West Virginia. That Summer Camp holds reunions. I’ve attended two, at Reed Street in Philadelphia and Chrysalis in Arlington, Virginia, both urban Intentional Communities.

And I visited another kind of temporary Intentional Community recently. Sweeties Jas and Erika scooped me off for a weekend at Gibson Hollow, a cooperatively owned land in Virginia, where about nineteen urban dwelling members share a getaway for weekends and holidays. It backs up to Shenandoah National Park.

Now as Harold and I are furthering our skills as ZEGG-Forum facilitators, we’re planning to deepen ties in his Virginia Beach area tantra community by holding monthly ZEGG-Forums. ZEGG is an Intentional Community in Germany which has developed their forum as a tool for IC’s and other groups to get to the heart of what blocks their relationships and common work. We’ll travel to Ganas again in June and October to complete our certification as facilitators. In the meantime, I’ll start traveling to Virginia Beach once a month to co-lead a forum group with Harold. I’m liking the sight of me on the beach once a month!

I recently visited nearby Liberty Village Cohousing, one of fourteen member groups of Mid Atlantic Cohousing, serving Pennsylvania, Maryland, DC and Virginia. I was at Liberty Village to visit C.T. Butler and attend his consensus workshop. He and sociocracy writer John Buck will be comparing C.T.’s “formal consensus” model with sociocracy in a workshop at Mid Atlantic Cohousing’s Growing Smart Communities Conference, March 20, 2010. Heathcote’s own Karen Stupski and Patty Ceglia will also be there, teaching Permaculture!

I almost squeezed another trip in there—C.T. invited me for a Long Island getaway. I’d never been there, but while I was waffling (the Ganas trip was coming up and I hate spending so much time away from hearth and hound…), we were hit with the double blizzard!

I may find myself and my suitcase in Las Vegas next month! Any poly gals out there want to marry me on the fly? A sister student in the ZEGG-Forum course is inviting me to facilitate or “weave” at her wedding there. I love her concept of weaving the two families together in her ceremony. And although the little math I know is enough that I won’t be gambling in any casinos, I would love to see the Las Vegas Strip and all the lights. Yes, I would probably post about the unsustainability of pumping all that energy into the middle of the desert, but you would nod and forgive me; I know it’s already been said, but not by this hippie chick on the spot!

I see that lists ten Intentional Communities in Nevada, all in the forming stages. They seem to have a range of diets, levels of simplicity, etc., and various unifying values. It would be shiny to visit one while I’m there!

I can tell I’ll have to expand on these many destinations in posts to come! I have sights, sounds, smells, touches and tastes from every Community I’ve visited. And the ZEGG-Forum and meeting facilitation courses will keep me on and off the road for another couple of years.

So I’m learning the tricks of traveling. I need to become a lighter packer, certainly. I’m so lucky to have Heathcoters John and Gloria in my dog co-op; they keep Tuatha well hugged and warm when I go away. My house is actually a kind of doggie day care. I have a huge area of woods fenced in behind my house so Heathcote dogs Tuatha, Rochelle and Chance can bolt around, cussing at squirrels all they want, then plow through the doggie door, tracking in all the snow, mud, leaf bits or whatever will stick to them.

Tuatha is not excited about my itinerary. Now he naps in my suitcase, on the off chance that I leave on a trip while he’s snoozing!

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My New Travel Agent

Wren on February 24th, 2010

My dog Tuatha has now declared himself my travel agent and approver of all trips. He’s taken up residence in my suitcase. “My plan,” he states, “is to pack myself now that you’re back from Staten Island and remain packed, prepared for the next trip. I know how you feel about all this snow, so I took the liberty of pulling your copy of The Dog Lover’s Companion to Florida off the shelf…Just a suggestion; I live to be helpful…”

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Tuatha vs. Autumn

Wren on February 21st, 2010

Many faithful pet pooches honor the tradition of the leaf pile fight. Who knows why they feel compelled to attack flying handfuls of dried leaves, even as the handfuls fall apart in the air?

At least in the case of my dog, Tuatha, I believe that he’s acting on my behalf. He must know, because he’s smart in that creepy way, that fall leaf piles are a sign that winter is not far off. And since he knows I hate winter, again, creepy smart, he takes up arms—or teeth—to prevent summer from giving up the stage.

I have decided this. Don’t correct me; My life is small and I have few entertainments. –WT

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Tuatha, Snow Bunny

Wren on February 19th, 2010

African Snow Goats & One Bored Sheltie

Wren on February 16th, 2010

So I have this understanding or  conceit, guess, whatever, that my pets are in an eternal now, that they have no understanding of past and future.

They must be bummed, if not seriously devastated by all this snow!

Think of my poor goats, Niabi and Wicca, believing that our world is now permanently frozen and devoid of yummy plantlife, with oceans of  snow, above their heads, preventing them from reaching trees they could debark.

Think of my dog, Tuatha, who would love to fetch a stick. But if I throw it into the distance, I just have to rescue him in a minute and a half, when he realizes he’s not going to reach the stick, or return home on his own.

Instead, he and the goats are marooned, like the rest of us, in the trench system that connects human buildings but doesn’t go to any interesting pet places.

As the second blizzard hit its stride last week, I went to dig out my goats from their cob shelter, which is now essencially and igloo. As I shoveled from my hut to theirs, I called to them, “Mamma’s coming,” They answered back, which I took to mean, “That’s a good thing, Mom. Anytime now…” I had to dig a wide opening for the gate to swing. Then I saw that the large walking area I’d dug out for them the day before was now two feet deep in snow again. the narrow entrance to their structure, which is only three feet high itself, was nearly closed over in snow. I reshoveled a walking area for them on my way to their door.

Once I had cut a passage through the snow, they considered their options. It was snowing heavily. And, I suspect it’s true of all goats, but pygmy goats, a dwarf breed originating in Africa, especially do not like to be wet. First the leader, Niabi, stuck his head out to assess the situation. Then they both did. Then they went back inside and discussed it. Soon Wicca poked out, just far enough to say, “You’re kidding me, right?”

I assured Wicca I was serious.

He answered, “Hon, we’re from Cameroon. We’re not built for this. Close this door and when you open it again, I don’t want to see reindeer!” I pointed out his Baltimore accent, and he pulled inside indignantly.

After he and Niabi conferred within for another spell, Niabi took charge and led the way out of the goat house, through the walking area and out the gate. I assumed their only option was to follow the trench to my cabin, where they could pass the time under the house, which they always choose over their pen.

Always, until that day.

About halfway between the gate and my cabin, Niabi promptly turned around, passed the pliant Wicca, and led him right back to the pen, through the gate, past the newly dug walking area and straight into their tiny, windowless cob cave.

I left the gate open wide and later they did reemerge and make their way to my cabin. But at three to five feet deep, the snow is too high for them to make their own paths.

Normally Niabi and Wicca free range forage in the woods surrounding my cabin. They have a routine of places they go, from dawn to dusk, on paths they’ve long established, in a perameter of several acres. Most of the year, they’re not even curious about Heathcoters’ gardens or plantings because the undergrowth gives them their natural food source.

They prefer to sleep under my cabin, not because I feed them (I don’t most of the year) but because they seem to consider me, the dogs, kids and other Heathcoters to be their herd. The goats go on hikes with us and are often included in Open Classroom explorations of our land. The picture on the right, above, shows two students actually closed in the goat pen, enjoying a snack unpestered, while Niabi is loose, hoping for a renegotiation.

So while the snow dominates our layout, I’m trying to give Niabi and Wicca as many options as possible. They continue to base themselves under my house. But I keep my porch gate open, allowing them to basically make a huge mess while they access the timothy hay and bed down on bags of sawdust pellets.

Now the timothy is spread all over the floor and mixed with, shall we say, the goats’ favorite little decorator motif. (It’s okay, as infestations go, they’re cuter than the rodent that’s systematically pulling out all the insulation in my loft through five different holes…) I’ll figure some appropriate payback. The year is long, my furry little Cameroonians…


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Wren makes friendsYes, this is a donkey checking out my dreadlocks. Animals are often drawn to me, but not usually in that nosy-stranger-at-the-bank kind of way. This one seems to be thinking, “Is it hay? Is it a bouquet of dead willows and petrified water snakes? What happened to the days when visitors used to bring me sugar cubes?”

These pictures are from a later visit. If my smile seems strained or forced, it’s because I know this donkey’s history. He and and two female donkeys lived at the very top of the mountain where my then partner Iuval had his bio diesel converted school bus parked, in glorious, nearly pristine Murray Valley, Arkansas.

Wren & Jackass...I mean IuvalAfter weeks of declaring that I would never live in Arkansas because, well, they keep it in Arkansas, I arrived and fell in love with the Ozarks. Iuval’s bus, Shadowslo, anchored a campsite on a shelf on the side of the mountain, six miles from the paved road. The owner had cultivated a large garden and orchard on the shelf for decades. It would have been the perfect site for the Intentional Community we wanted to start, but the owner wouldn’t sell.

Male donkeyBut back to the donkey with history. When Iuval and I were first together, he would have to go to heroic lengths to contact me. He had no cell phone or internet reception at the campsite. He could drive into Jasper, where he got reception if he stood in the middle of the town square and cocked his head just right, or he could ascend the peak.

On one of his first calls from the top, Iuval described that he was enjoying the company of three donkeys that were kept in a field there. “I bring them apples from the orchard to make friends with them. I’m giving an apple to one of the females now, and petting her.”

Wren and donkeyThat’s nice, dear.

“That’s strange. The male donkey has come up to us. He seems curious. Maybe he wants an apple but I don’t have any more. Whoa! Sweetie, this male donkey has the biggest hard-on I’ve ever seen! That’s some schlong! Hmm. I feel inadequate…”

Now, I grew up around farm animals. I know a thing or two. “Iuval, get out of there now! He’s jealous! Get away from his woman, I mean it!”

“What? No way. Why would he be jeal…”

What I heard next was

  • hoofbeats
  • Iuval running
  • air whooshing past the phone mic as his arms moved
  • Iuval screaming, “Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod,  omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod,…”

Nan makes friendsNow in the seconds these sounds were in my ear, I was thinking, who do I call? How do I tell them where he is when I’ve never been there? Why do men never let me know something and listen to me when I do?

“I’m okay. I’m up a tree.”

“Is it an apple tree?”


“Okay, well, good luck with that. Call me next week.”

Apparently these donkeys were polygamous, not polyamorous.

cu, Iuval makes a call on top of the mountainThese shots are from a day Iuval and I hiked up to an overlook with our friends Nan and Dave. I had to laugh at all four of us–As soon as we got to the top of the mountain, in the donkey pasture, we all stopped conversing, whipped out our our cell phones and dialed the outside world!

Life isn’t going to be the same, is it?

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Note from Wren Tuatha: HCD was asked to pass on this press release for this fun event due to our participation last year, as Heathcote Earthings. We had loads of fun (I got to touch a snake–edgy for me! ) but be aware that this animal event may not be as animal rights oriented, as some HCD readers might hope. We were very concerned about the sale of sugar gliders by Pocket Pets, Incorporated, and the display of wild animals in a loud, crowed venue. Otherwise, we had a blast and made some great new friends!

For Immediate Release Contact: Jeanne Emge
410-374-5964 or 800-882-9894

Celebrate the World of Pets Expo & Educational Experience, January 29, 30, 31, 2010
Thousands of items from parrot perches, live performers, workshops, pet first aid and more!

(Timonium, MD) – In today’s world, pets aren’t just animal companions, they’re often the favorite family members with their own personalized dinner ware, special sleeping places, custom diet, fitness plans and more. Some pets are simply pampered, others perform for their own and their companions’ amusement, still others are working animals with a serious job to do.

You can see all of these animals – along with a host of toys, treats and tricks – at the World of Pets Expo, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, January 29, 30, 31, 2010 at the MD State Fairgrounds:
“We’ve got something for everyone from the serious pet enthusiast to the casual pet admirer, including a chance to show off your pet in the “Parade of Breeds” explains Jeanne Emge, President of Premier Events, the producer of the Expo. “Exhibitors will fill the 165,000 square foot Cow Palace with thousands of products and services for pets. Some of the country’s foremost authorities in the pet industry will present seminars and demonstrations covering practically every aspect of pet care and training. It’s fun and educational – just a great day out for all ages! This is probably the best $$ value for family entertainment & education. Pets are welcome too! See all the details at “

Expo shopping offers hundreds of booths with a wide variety of exhibitors featuring thousands of items – everything imaginable for your pet and for pet lovers. From pet essentials, to pet training products, to pet-themed home décor, the World of Pets Expo is the place to be if you are a pet lover.
Pets covered in the seminars include dogs, cats, birds, fish, reptiles, ferrets and other animals. In addition to the shopping extravaganza and the seminar series, there will be continuous entertainment and demonstrations by nationally known pet organizations, an AKC Dog Agility Trial, interactive/educational presentations with live animals, a Parade of Breeds and more! Highlights include:
World of Cats ACFA Cat Show – presented by Hidden Paw Cat Club
AKC Dog Agility Trial – presented by Oriole Dog Training Club
Extreme Reptile Exhibit
Classic K-9s – Performing World Record High Jump, Grand Prix Racing and High Speed Relays
Wild World of Animals – Educational and Fun Reptile Presentation.
Johnny Peers Muttville Comix
Free Seminars
Intensive Workshops for the Serious Enthusiast – Pre – registration required.
Boogie Woogie BowWows – Dancing w/Dogs
Grooming Demos – learn technique from professionals
Gerbil Show – presented by the American Gerbil Society
And much more – see for the full show schedule!

Expo hours are Friday, January 29, from 2 pm to 8 pm, Saturday, January 30, from 10 am to 8 pm and Sunday, January 31, from 10 am to 6 pm. Admission is $9 for adults, $5 ages 5-12 and FREE for children under age 5. Tickets available at the door. Ticket sales cash only. Heated facility and Great Food!

Entry forms for the Cat Show and Workshops are available on-line at

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Wren on January 4th, 2010

Wren pic 10,00This morning I sold my dog, set my goats free in the State Park, smashed my favorite mug and cut my dreadlocks off. Then I opened my eyes, stretched into my freedom and heard my choices chirping. I sat with my tea, kissed the dog, fed the goats, tied back my hair and began the story of my life again. These things I choose: the snow that’s falling anyway, even though it knows my position on this; the solitude of my pajamas until another dark; a phone and a tray of brownies. This work I take up: clearing off the kitchen table; filling the box to mail to him; asking myself three questions that bloody me at the edges…This morning I sold my dog. I might do anything next. But most likely, I won’t surprise you.

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