On indefinite hiatus, with so much gratitude

Bryn and Mommy at CRF

I haven't posted much here because the summer seemed like a roller coaster - from incredible highs like being able to go out without a mask to the worst lows like Bryn's pneumonia, Ciaragh's surgery for a burst cyst, and on and on and on.

But we persisted, my furry threesome, my husband and I...and continue on for however long the five of us will be a family. We are taking each day with our 9.5-year-old with gratitude. We are working toward Ciaragh making a return to being a Rennie hound. We are following orders from our Combat Wombat, Col. Willow-Pickle
. 

Thanks to everyone that has loved our Bryndled Beastie and her packmates. I want to leave you with a memory that just came up for me on social media, a vision of how I will always remember my time doing faires with my Best Rennie Hound, Bryn:

Possible best moment yesterday - a couple came into the barn to meet Bryn and I could see tears already in her eyes as she asked Bryn's name. She said that it had been three years since she lost her boy and she just missed him so, like it it was only yesterday that he died at the age of 9.  The more she petted Bryn the more tears rolled down her cheeks and I finally said that I felt like I should hug her - if she was a hugger. She was and we did and she whispered "Thank you." 

Our world is so big and fast and loud and bright that we go through the motions a lot of the time. This is true of me at faire - her name, breed, and age just roll off my tongue with barely any thought. I tell the same jokes about the breed hunting wolves, stag, and the English. I keep my fingers wound into her fur to let her know I'm there and she and I just make it through. 

But that bit of interaction with a stranger - who wasn't a stranger, she was Wolfhound Strong even though it was breaking her heart - broke me a little, and not just because I was apparently headed for a migraine. And it broke me in the best way, and it makes all the biting wind and ill mannered children worth it. I hope seeing Bryn and Barley helped her heart a little bit, because it helped mine a lot.

Sláinte and go raibh maith agat, from Our Bryndled Beastie (and Mommy)

 

 

Back to the Faire...with a side of PTSD for Mommy

HRH surveys her people... GARF Opening Day 2022

So this past weekend was the opening one for the Georgia Renaissance Festival. Anne and I headed down to work with her bloodhound Finn (whom I must have called Bo a million times) and my Bryn. I hadn't originally planned to take her, as I am reducing my appearances at Faire with HOEF until I have another keen Rennie hound that isn't into her bonus time. We're working on Ciaragh.

I was anxious all last week for all kinds of reasons. Will my garb fit? Have I forgotten how to do GARF? Will Bryn be okay at faire/for a long car ride/in a hotel room with a dog she really doesn't know? Things that were rote back in 2019 are now new and difficult and daunting. For example, I had everything packed save my overdress which was in the dryer when I started to load the car. My garb would have looked hilarious without the rest of my dress! The drive down was uneventful - Bryn slept for most of it. Our accommodation seemed fine at first, but turned out to be a nightmare of the not enough towels/shower gel dispenser falling off the shower wall/a kitchenette with no chairs for the table and no cutlery/an AC unit that sounded like a plane coming in for a landing variety. But there was a bed and a roof and we could make do.

Saturday morning I loaded Bryn up and we headed to Faire. And I was fine, really fine...until we got off the interstate and headed down that road that I drove up and down for days back in 2019, looking for any sign of my Ciaragh. My throat tightened and my mouth went dry as I saw the parking lot entrance ahead, and thought of all the times I'd driven in and out of there, knowing that I was leaving her behind to go get sleep. I was tearing up as I rode down the driveway to the backstage area where we were to park...where I sat for hours in my car with the tailgate open, hoping that she would just appear out of the trees, hop into the back, and settle in with a sigh that said she was ready to go home.

It was hard to see people who, when I last was with them, were telling me how sorry they were that she was missing and that they would keep an eye out for her. I saw the joust arena where she became so anxious and the fence that she pulled me face first into before breaking free. But Bryn wasn't running. Bryn was tired, and hot, but she stayed with me and we made it back to the hotel together.

And now I've done it...and I'm so grateful to all the cast and crew at GARF that helped and looked for her and loved me through it. But I'm also thankful to the patrons who made a point to ask if Bryn was the wolfhound that had gone missing and then were overjoyed to hear that Ciaragh was home and healthy and safe. 

Faire-mly is real. Rennies are some of the best people on the earth. Onward and upward to Celtic Weekend!

 

Of Sisters and Brothers...and Clobberpaws.

Tamara, Mommy, Bryn and Barley at CRF

Today I heard the very sad news that my Bryn's brother, Barley, left for the Bridge. I hope he was met by his "big" brother Harley, our precious Heather Burns, and all of the majestic wolfhounds waiting in the mist.

In honor of this majestic boy, here is an excerpt from Bryn's book, Clobberpaws, from Bryn's first meeting with her brother at the Carolina Renaissance Festival. We will see you again, big boy - now watch over your mum and dad because they miss you so much, and keep an eye on your little sister here. She has grown into the name Clobberpaws many times over, and I'm so grateful to have had time to spend with her big brother.

 

“I didn’t know I was a wolfhound till today, Barley. I just thought I was a greyhound like Daisy who was built wrong. I thought I deserved the name the greyhounds call me.” She hung her head.

“What name?” Barley asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Clobberpaws,” Bryn whispered. Barley was quiet for a long time, and then Bryn noticed that he seemed to be holding his breath. “Are you all right?” 

The large male wolfhound burst out with a deep, rumbling laugh that made Bryn smile in spite of herself. “Clobberpaws? Really?” he managed in between heaving gasps and more laughter. “You’re not even a big wolfhound, Bryn! What if your paws were the size of mine?” 

Bryn stared at Barley. “But I don’t like that they make fun of me,” she whined. 

“Oh, Bryn, wear that name as a badge of honor,” Barley replied, still chuckling. “When those thin-skinned lightweights get in trouble, we have to step in and take care of them because that’s what we do.” He paused a moment as the humans stopped to pick up something that had fallen down and took advantage of the moment to swipe one of his own huge paws past his cheek, satisfying an itch. 

“I did hear Mommy say that ancient Wolfhounds were the dogs of war…but is that what that means?” Bryn asked, eyes wide with wonder. 

“Yep. Some of them could pull a man off a horse,” Barley said, his chest swelling with pride. “So Clobberpaws is pretty accurate, I suppose.” 

They walked the rest of the way to their cars in silence as Bryn mulled over what he had said. Too soon, it seemed, Auntie Tamara and Uncle Marc were loading Barley into the car and getting ready to leave. “I will see you again, won’t I?” Bryn called as Barley stuck his head out the open car window. 

“Of course you will, little sister,” he replied. “Be kind to that greyhound sister of yours. She’s probably as unsure of you as you are of her.” 

“Maybe.” Bryn scowled a moment and then beamed a wolfish grin at her brother. “Love you, Barley!” she called out. 

“Backatcha,” he said, winking at her just before pulling his massive shaggy head back inside the car as Auntie Tamara rolled up the car window. 

Bryn positively floated to the car with Mommy. She had a brother who thought she was normal. NORMAL! Not Clobberpaws. She was a wolfhound, and that was all right. In fact, that was just perfect.

Reposted from Brave Lettuce: On Saying Hello, Knowing You Have to Say Goodbye.

 

IWAMS members in the St. Patrick's Day Parade, Charlotte, NC. March 2018.

The Irish Wolfhound community lost one of its fiercest warriors, defenders, and supporters yesterday with the death of Heather Burns, a member of the Irish Wolfhound Association of the Mid South. Heather worked tirelessly to find placements for IWs that needed rescue/rehoming. She possessed a wealth of knowledge of the breed: history, temperament, health concerns, etc. I've put this picture up even though you can't see Heather and Mark in this shot, it is representative of who she was and why those of us lucky enough to have known her are grieving today.

This was the day before she drove our Ciaragh all the way from her home in NC (almost VA) down to us here in Greenville. Hubs came with me to the parade this time to watch from the sidelines and brought Willow-Pickle along for the ride so she wouldn't have to stay home alone. If you look right in the middle of the picture you will see her, straining to get out in front of all those long-legged wolfhounds because she was the security for the IW contingent. Simon happened to run into Heather along the parade route (I had already taken Bryn to the line-up point) and, being the force of nature she was, she managed to convince my 6'4" Yorkshireman and our snappy little terrier mix to come with her and join the parade. "Willow can be a Wolfhound today," she told him - which is exactly what Willow believed in her heart already. 

You see, that was Heather. In a world of kennel clubs and rare breeds that could foster a sense of elitism and snobbery, Heather was there to make sure that everyone felt welcome at the table - at HER table, the Irish Wolfhound table. I was already familiar with her because she not only saved my bacon and my sanity plenty of times as we were raising Bryn, but she found members of Bryn's extended family that we didn't know about, like her litter brother, Barley, and his family, Tamara and Marc. Or Bryn's older sister Keira and her mom Stacie. Heather knew everyone and everything, and if she didn't know something you'd better believe she would find out for you.

What I knew from the time that I met her was that she had cancer and that it was terminal. She told me with a smile on her face and in her heart that her plan was to outlive the IWs she had (at the time I think there were three) so that when she passed, her husband wouldn't have that to deal with on top of everything else. Heather NEVER thought of herself first. So I knew that as I was saying hello to her, I was also getting ready to say goodbye. She was one of those warrior women that you just thought would live forever.

Go raibh cead míle maith agat, one hundred thousand thank yous, to Heather, for taking me under her massive wing and teaching me how to be a good mom to Bryn and Ciaragh - and for your example of strength, compassion, and love. I hope that your first stop was at a clear pond where your hounds were waiting.

Please visit my album in the Beach Bound Hounds Vendor Virtual Showcase, currently happening through 14th September 2020, to purchase your copies of the Clobberpaws books - 100% of the total sales of Clobberpaws and Clobberpaws, Too! paperbacks will go to the Irish Wolfhound Rescue of the MidSouth's Heather Burns Memorial Fund for Veteran Hounds, created to support foster homes and adopters of hounds that due to age/illness are difficult to place.

Bryn, Tweeted.

From Ireland she came, bringing the #Royal Dog of Eire as a gift for Her Majesty.

(Or at least that's what Mommy told the bazillion people that wanted to pet me. I thought we lived in South Carolina?)

Is cailín álainn í. Is é ainm di Bryn.#vss365 #Clobberpaws #irishwolfhound pic.twitter.com/zMJnX5g8A6

— NancyD_writes (@nancyd_writes) February 23, 2020

Weather Watchers.

So, a few days ago the door was open all day and now it's snowing. I can't explain that, but can you tell which wolfhound is me?

New Year, New Staff Meeting

Bryn and Ciaragh are in agreement that the "chicken nubby yum-yums" are the preferred treat for 2020. Sadly, unanimous consent is required, and Willow-Pickle remains unwavering in her acceptance of "Anything Not Tied Down."

Bryn Got Her Hairs Did.

Everyone should look this good after being subjected to a "spa day" I think.

Irish Headshots

Our Irish Eyes weren't smiling, they were wondering why we had to sit still for so long.
Can you tell which one is me? -Bryn

So...um...question...

This is still my blog, right?

She is not here for this...

When I open my eyes, that phone better be out of my face.

Greenville SC St. Patrick's Day Parade

The IWAMS crew - Ciaragh is making sure her tutu is on straight.

Irish Wolfhound Head Study

Can you tell who is who?