It's summer in Ramsay and I'm on the front porch reading when a
little girl and her dad walk by. They get a few steps past the house when I
hear “A pig lives in that house”. “Is that right?” her sceptical dad responds.
That is right. A pig does live in this house. My house. Like a dog? Yes, sort of like a dog but different. Why did you get one?
I wish I could answer that. It might be because I saw one on a
leash as kid, or because I love their cute little faces, or maybe just because
I wanted to be different.
It all started at the wise old age of 24 when I googled "How to keep a pot-bellied pig as a pet". The articles were very helpful, and painted an easy life with a smart, obedient and charming pet. Filled with confidence in my pet-parent ability, I did what anyone would do; I drove to an exotic animal auction in Olds, Alberta with Georgia and bid on a baby pig while my boyfriend waited in the car. The baby pot-bellied pigs were grunting, groaning, and screaming. I …
It was one stupid weekend.
He wouldn’t talk to me on the morning I left, because he
suddenly wanted to go, but now it was too late. Bye! I yelled to his torso
through the open car window.
I wandered through the hippies, reacquainting myself with
this alternate reality. Barefooted, bare-bodied youth.
The first night was uneventful, so we drank and smoked and put up a tarp,
ruining my car in the process. It was no Frog Fest but it was fun and it was
dry. Our more prepared neighbor kept asking if we wanted more rope, which we
The following morning we wandered through Fort Mcleod, and
returned to the festival to discover Nanton friends drinking Pilsners and
having songs dedicated to them. They had artist bracelets on because they were
Lance’s woofers. We watched Tin & The Toad.
DN played after them. I swooned at his way with words. I’d never seen anything
like him, except for that one time.
I was introduced to Kris, as Georgia was handing him beers
from our cooler. “The art…
2005 Ryan Fox and I lived happily in Bridgeland, next to a nice Italian family.
One day, out of the blue, our landlords informed us that our beautiful green
bungalow was being torn down to make way for two large grey houses. Our house
was almost 100 years old and had a laundry chute from the bedroom closet to the
top of the washing machine, so, pretty handy. *(I made a short film in that house, that turned into a shorter film, and then not really a film at all. You can watch it here if you wish: Super 8 Film.) In any case, it was a travesty for us,
but an opportunity for them. Rental houses can be difficult to find in Calgary
and moving in the winter sucks, so we were a little worried.
A few weeks later I came across a nice top floor in Ramsay for rent.
"Where's Ramsay?" I asked Ryan. “Ooh, let’s move there, I love
Ramsay!” That weekend we set out on a big old walk across the river to take a
Across the Langevin bridge, through East Village, and past Fort Calgary w…