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Now I understand the statistics that say a full time, family caregiver will die within six months to a year after their spouse. You truly lose your purpose in life after they’ve gone. I’ve been a constant companion and nursemaid to Honey for almost a year and now, there are no alarms needed for medication three times a day, no middle of the night jaunts outside, no scheduling every part of my day around what is best for her, no worries that she will faint, carrying her up and down the stairs, making sure she has water wherever we go, keeping her comfortable, feeding her special foods......there are no longer any needs bigger than my own or the rest of the family......and quite frankly, I’m lost! I meander around the house. The walls drip with sorrow; I open the doors to let in a breeze hoping it scrubs away the sadness. I am alone with my thoughts, too many thoughts, analyzing the past two days, driving myself nuts with too many questions and even more doubts. I know things will get better, and I know I have a lot of other purpose in my life; I just need to reacquaint myself with simpler daily routines, things I’ve put on the backburner, my other pups for instance. I realized this morning when I threw a ball in the house for Henri, a forbidden fun while Honey was sick, fear of her bounding off the sofa to lay chase and flopping dead on the floor put a stop to it. Poor Henri, ball is his favourite thing, so even his life had to change. Lucky for him, it will change back. And a new thought emerges, beating its way through the blinding sorrow to form a glimpse of things to come. Fresh from losing a precious baby, I look at my other three, all around the age of six, and I wonder how I can ever deal with future loss, what if they all expire close together? I’ll go stark raving mad, they’ll have to lock me up and throw away the key. I had Honey the longest at 12 years, she was the matriarch and the reason for bringing the others home. I fell madly in love with poodles and wanted oodles of them! Honey was definitely special, not that I loved her the most. My heart shares equal affection for my babies; each one brings something different to the table, each of their personality’s a polar opposite, individual and amazing. If we were on a sinking ship and I could only save one I couldn’t choose. I’d rather go down with them all than live with a broken heart filled with guilt. As for most of the people I know, they really only loved Honey. I guess they knew her more, being with me longer; my other three aren’t so appreciated. They are less interested in humans, more aloof, not inclined to put themselves out there for people to scratch and pet. They tend to only want to be with hubby and me. For that reason, they aren’t as popular. Honey was different that way, what a little schmoozer she was. I feel useless, floundering around. Sometimes the sadness builds and I feel like I might burst, other times I feel weirdly calm. The world feels so different now. Even the wind seems to be charged with a strange energy, it’s banging my screen door, letting me know it’s out there. I imagined its Honey telling me to forgive myself for what I’ve done, but I can’t. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I begrudge how life is going on around me, cars are passing by the house, the waves are hitting the shore, planes and birds are flying overhead, while my house and yard is in full, funereal lock-down, filled with reminders of loss everywhere, the emptiness of it is suffocating. I’ve never experienced grief like this. Even when my parents died I was devastated but the pain wasn’t as severe, it didn’t cut through my soul with razer sharpness. Studies show that we bond with our dogs like we would with a child. We spend a great deal of time holding them and staring deeply into their eyes as we would a baby. They say a dog has the mentality of a two year old so they really are babies. Then they are with us 24/7, by our side, through all that we do and feel, always there to comfort and make us smile, waiting to do whatever we want, no sass or barktalk, they are good to go. Now it’s all about rebuilding. Forcing myself to eat, trying not to cry so my one eyelid can heal. Remembering the good times and trying to diminish the trauma of the recently bad. Peel off the scab to allow the healing skin to breathe. Along with the lack of purpose, I also have a new sense of freedom that brings feelings of guilt. I was out of coffee cream and dish detergent so I had to go downtown last evening. I fixed myself up as best I could and went to the drugstore. On the way there I realized I just left the house on my own, without my girl or the omnipresent worry of leaving her behind. Honey needed constant watching so we never parted, only when hubby was home did I venture out to the store for provisions knowing she was in good hands. Well, not as good as mine of course, so there was always that nagging doubt and fear that tainted the outing. I’m the maternal one, the worrywart, the fusser, whereas hubby was more relaxed and maybe not as observant to her needs. I’d come home and she would have passed out because he hadn’t grabbed her up in time and I'd think, oh shit, won't be doing that again..... I fretted she would die and I wouldn’t be with her. I needed to be there when she passed, so the warmth of my body and words of love whispered in her ear would perhaps give comfort as her beautiful light faded and went out. I used to park the car and rush to the door to scoop her up before the excitement built to a faint. Four dogs barking that a car was in the yard was a bit of a circus, noisy and charged with excitement. The anxiety of coming home left me breathless. She’d be so frantic to see me; wiggling and reaching out to me from daddy’s arms as if she too worried I wouldn’t be there for her. I suppose the only silver lining of putting an animal to sleep is the guarantee you will be there at the end..... I don’t care what the so called experts say about dogs and their emotions. I wasn’t just part of a pack, ranking some position in their hierarchy; perhaps the top dog designation experts like to coin. Honey loved me, as pure as any love there is. All my dogs do. I can see it in their eyes, in their actions. It is LOVE, not some kind of loyalty because I feed them and care for them. They say now that a dog is much happier with their human than other dogs in the house so the experts might be getting closer to coming around to my way of thinking. With a dog, it doesn’t matter if you are gone for five minutes or hours, they are just as excited to see you on your return. You are their entire life and I like being needed to that degree, throw in my feelings and it’s a pretty balanced relationship. I need to be needed in a breathless kind of way, no human ever makes me feel like they would die without me and probably I wouldn’t want hubby to come bounding to the door when I arrive home and jump up and down to lick my face as if his life hung in the balance while I was away. But when a dog reacts that way, their unconditional love rushing into your waiting arms, well it’s simply wonderful! How true is this little anecdote: Lock your dog and your wife in the trunk of a car and come back in an hour, see which one is happy to see you. The newness of being free of the burden of worry, is almost a burden in itself. I don’t want to feel free, not yet, not when my baby is barely cold in the ground. When I love something, I pay respect for their passing, I can’t be all rosy and smiling, not yet, it’s much too soon to move on. If I smile or laugh it’s for someone’s benefit, it’s a superficial facial motion to make others feel better, a mask like the tears of a clown. I’ve thought of that song today and how appropriate that the word “honey” is in the lyrics. I’ve capitalized the word to make it her name. Tears of a Clown
by The Miracles Oh yeah yeah yeah Now if there's a smile on my face It's only there trying to fool the public But when it comes down to fooling you Now Honey that's quite a different subject But don't let my glad expression Give you the wrong impression Really I'm sad, oh I'm sadder than sad You're gone and I'm hurting so bad Like a clown I appear to be glad (sad, sad, sad, sad) Now they're some sad things known to man But ain't too much sadder than The tears of a clown when there's no one around, uh Oh yeah, baby Now if I appear to be carefree It's only to camouflage my sadness And Honey to shield my pride I try To cover this hurt with a show of gladness But don't let my show convince you That I've been happy since you 'Cause I had to go (why did you go), oh I need you so (I need you so) Look I'm hurt and I want you to know (want you to know) For others I put on a show (it's just a show) Now they're some sad things known to man But ain't too much sadder than The tears of a clown when there's no one around, uh Just like Pagliacci did I try to keep my surface hid Smiling in the crowd I try But in my lonely room I cry The tears of a clown When there's no one around, oh yeah, baby Now if there's a smile on my face Don't let my glad expression Give you the wrong impression Don't let this smile I wear Make you think that I don't care 'Cause really I'm sad  A week or so ago a gentleman was in the shop with his wife and mentioned my absence from blogging. I told him that lately, with Honey so ill, my thoughts are steeped in sadness and how I don’t want to fill the pages with gloom. He said he reads my blogs, enjoys them and hopes I get back to it soon. I was touched and felt a little guilty. Sometimes my life swallows me up and refuses to spit me out. I try to fight the darkness that consumes me, but while I can still see beauty all around me, I can’t seem to feel it. The numbness that accompanies the sadness it is a cross I bear.
Things are coming to the end for my beloved girl as death taunts her now with the relentlessness of a dog with a bone. My days are filled with teary reminders that soon my little peanut won’t be giving me kisses or those big beautiful eyes won’t be following my every move. I feel so badly for her, she loves life and her family. She loves working at the shop greeting the customers that venture in. She’s a bright spot in a lot of people’s day. I thrilled that blogging will immortalize her, she’s known all over the world. People come in from different countries and say, “That’s Honey!” What a special little girl you have been, a princess of people’s hearts, the Lady Diana of pups. And like her, you too will die while still beautiful and well before your time. Honey, my constant companion for 12 years, we’ve been through a lot of good times and of course some bad. She warmed the counter while watching my shop grow from the humble beginnings of one room to where we are today. She was beside me, comforting me, when we lost Louis after a tragic accident. She has been by my side when hubby is away at work so I never feel lonely. She is one of my best friends, always there for me, up late at night when I struggle to sleep, snuggled close when I’m feeling under the weather. I tell her my secrets and she never betrays me. She handled our boat like a seasoned sailor. She loves company, hauling out the Welcome Waggin, her tail spinning like a top. She was full of social skills, for both people and all dogs. The heartbreak of losing her is no surprise; they come with that guarantee as a puppy. I didn’t have my head in the sand; ripe from losing our German Shepherd, I knew it was inevitable when our beloved pet’s lifespans don't equal ours. They say the price of love is sorrow and of course that is part of it, but the joy they bring makes it so very worthwhile, and the reason why we do it over and over again. So it’s time. I’m forced to deal with things, think thoughts I don’t want to think and face the big looming inevitable. I’m okay with death and bodies; it’s not seeing that sweet little face again that shreds my heart. It’s her absence I dread. Death is as much a part of life as birth, although one hopes that there is plenty of filler in between. But it’s never enough is it? No matter how much time we have, all we want is more, another day, an hour, two minutes. It’s been a roller coaster ride to the end. I think she’s ready and then she does something hopeful, finds a burst of energy to run after a ball or shakes a squeaky toy, eats out of the bowl instead of being spoon fed against her will. Then I second guess what I know, replacing it with what I feel. The big internal debate, do I set her free on a good day or a bad day? To me, it seems like murder on a good day and mercy on a bad one. I’ve been flip-flopping back and forth; trying to make the right decision and just when I think I’m ready to commit, my heart gets involved and overrules my head. That is until today. After she had an uncomfortable night, of watching her struggle to breathe, I faced facts this morning and made the appointment. Then she surprised me by eating on her own, not much but enough nibbles to sustain her, but I won’t waver, I can’t waver, she is frail, skin and bone, she makes little noises when I pick her up indicating pain. She sleeps so much now, as if it’s a cure for a failing heart. Her eyes, although always on me are now sad, the spark has burned out. I know it’s time, to be exact, tomorrow at 5:30 PM, we will say our goodbyes and my tears will soak her little head for the last time. I don’t do death well, there’s a part of me that can’t let go, mourning to pathetic proportions. I don’t have much experience watching people grieve, so I’m not well versed in the subtleties of it all. How I should act? What’s deemed acceptable in duration? I kind of go off the rails, led by my aching heart. Over the top and not far from the edge, that’s me. I’m the kind of person people shake their heads at; tell me I’m loved despite my quirks. The truth is, I literally want to die when one of my babies pass. With Louis I crawled into my bed for three months and cried myself sick. His death was a tragic accident; he was bitten by a black widow spider in the woodpile. One day I was on top of the world and the next I fell headlong into a dark abyss. I had no time to adjust or prepare like I have with Honey’s long illness, not that time makes it any easier. But I will be better able to function, get on with life sooner, go to work although tears will be at the ready, lingering at the ducts waiting for one of a thousand emotional triggers to let loose the flood gates. I’ll leave the mascara in the drawer and tissues in my pocket for a while. I know she wouldn’t want me to be sad or cry, but I’m not as brave as she is…. My fear has kept me awake nights, dozens of times reaching out to see if she is breathing, if that enlarged heart is still beating; sometimes when she is really close to me, I can feel the vibration of it in the night. But I’m also torn, hoping she is gone when I touch her, cold and empty of her essence naturally. All along I’ve hoped I wouldn’t have to decide her fate; I wanted it to be a natural passing, on her own terms and peaceful. I’m not oblivious to some who think I am well over the top, I know some pets are not treated like anything more than chattel. One woman told me they put their dog down after it had a seizure and threw up some blood. She complained that it took a week to get the stain out of the carpet. My God, I thought, that poor baby. My Honey has been peeing the bed since they put her on diuretics a year ago. I’ve never done so much laundry in my life; and you all know how I dislike laundry! I’ve cleaned up the occasional diarrhea that’s part and parcel of medications, I’ve set the alarm once and sometimes twice to get up through the night to take her outside so she doesn’t have to lie in discomfort with a swollen bladder, reducing what little sleep I seem to get but never too tired to kiss her on the way back to bed and assure her she is loved. I always gave her as much water as she can drink, never worrying about the wet blankets and quite frankly, that might be the reason she hung on for so long, instead of dehydrating from the drugs that don't discriminate where they took fluid from, I made sure she had plenty of reserve. I’ve massaged her twice daily, morning and night, cooked her favourite foods, bought her endless grocery store roasted chickens because the last few months she only wanted to eat knuckles. I carried her from pillar to post, through the heat of summer and the hot flashes her warm body created. I’ve not eaten in a restaurant or left her alone for five minutes in almost a year, turned down social events because I would never leave her alone, she was the center of my universe for as long as she needed to be. I begrudged nothing, I’ve had no complaints, and I’ve felt no inconvenience. For me she is family, adopted into my life and treasured as much as human flesh and blood. She was never a burden and for me, putting her down was never an option.....until pain got involved. I get far more from my babies than they get from me, the unconditional love is limitless, and having four poodles, my cup runneth over with liquid gold. Holding one of their tiny bodies in my arms a parental warmth washes over me, I’m their mother in every sense of the word. I would do anything for them. I’ve spent the day crying and holding her. I tremble knowing what tomorrow will take from us both. My eyes are swollen; my left eyelid has exploded with ulcers, burned by acidic, salty tears. The lid is red, ripped apart and bleeding as grief flows from my body through this small conduit. I’m a sight for sore eyes but my Honey doesn’t mind, she licks my hand and snuggles up to me as if I’m the most important thing in the world and to her I am, so it shatters my heart into a million pieces knowing I’m the one calling the shots that will end her life. I’ve been in a constant stasis of grief for a year, I’ve been sad since her diagnosis. Every faint, every cough, every stumble breaks me. I feel so badly for her and I hate that I can’t fix her. She has outlived the expectations of our vet; they are amazed she has hung around considering she has been in the last stages of Congestive Heart Failure since that fateful appointment back in November. She’s almost made it a year, saw her 12th birthday in September, things were to the point where I hoped Christmas might be possible, but now I think we’ve done all we can and love is no longer a good enough reason for either of us to hold on. I whisper in her ear that she should die on her own terms, but she refuses to leave me, her hoes and bros, her daddy. Even as I write this she stares at me, sometimes winking her left eye as if she knows. She still follows me wherever I am in the house, our bond an invisible tether. Her heart beats on, steady and loud; it shakes her body, rocking it back and forth. Her lungs are clear and she still breathes deeply, the problem is with her abdomen, it’s filled with fluid, pressing on her lungs and causes breathing problems. She eats less, her stomach is squeezed by the fluid. We had the liquid removed once, a traumatic event for Honey which failed to drain enough of the fluid to do any good and afterwards her entire abdomen turned black from bruising. It was tender and sore and I swore I wouldn’t do that again. No heroic measures, they aren’t worth frightening her only to grab a few more days of reprieve. She doesn’t understand we are trying to save her. We can’t communicate that, all she sees and feels is the pain of needles, the sterile, frightening environment and strangers poking and prodding, forcing her on her back for x-rays and the awful horse sized pills she has to ingest twice a day. When the technicians whisk her away from me for procedures, she stresses, her heart beats even faster threatening to explode and I’m on pins and needles until she returns to my arms. She shakes like a bobble head, pulled and pushed to and fro by the pounding of her enlarged heart. Animals don’t understand the world of medicine, this is not a part of their natural, instinctive world. In the wild they get sick, crawl away, find a hole and die and accept it readily as their fate. Tomorrow I plan to take her to the beach; she loves the smells of salt air, seaweed and dried sea creatures buried in the rocks. She loves to sit and watch the ebb and flow of the ocean, she loves the breeze tugging her ears as she stares off into the horizon. It will be a rough day for me counting down the hours. I will be held hostage by grief until she is gone only then can I slowly emerge from the sadness. I will rejoice that she was in my life and know that I gave her the best possible existence any little dog could imagine. She hit the puppy lottery with me as her mom and I think she knows it. I have nothing to be ashamed of and every reason to be proud of the care and love her daddy and I have given her. My sweet girl will never be far from my thoughts; my love is not the kind that fades away. I just turn a page to a new chapter; the previous chapters will always remain intact, emotions and all. I love all my babies that have gone before me, deeper than words can express, they will always be a part of me, their beautiful faces etched on my memory; all I have to do is close my eyes to see them. Max, my German Shepard, now gone 15 years, his leather collar still hangs on the backdoor doorknob. It jingles every time the door opens and fills me with comfort. I snipped a curl of Honey’s tail hair, a piece of her that will bring comfort as well, added next to Louis’s photograph on a kitchen shelf, my white toy poodle boy, who only lived on this earth for two short but precious years before he was taken, I forge a bond as strong as steel with my animal babies that can never be broken….. “We, who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way.” ........Irving Townsend   I’ve been dog tired for the past couple of weeks. I’m averaging about three hours of sleep per night and my brain is beginning to feel like I’m seeing through waxed paper. The other day, I knew things were really off when I meant to top up the pup’s drinking bowl, filled a cup under the tap and proceeded to pour it over one of their beds. It reminds me of the time when I tried to wash a yard of Dorr wool in the toilet bowl, mistaking it for the washing machine after a particularly lengthy stint of insomnia. There was a time I could stay up all night, dance on tables and see the sun rise on a new day; be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at work and still put out a so-so amount of productivity. Nowadays I’m barely able to string a few cognitive thoughts together if I don’t get eight hours. What began this reign of sleeplessness was taking on a hooking project with a sharp deadline, one of those no ifs, buts, or maybes, it has to be done. I was intrigued when I first heard about it and with hubby away it was doable. When he’s gone my social life….wait a minute….what social life? The point is when he’s away working; I feel freer to pursue extra things. It’s not anything he demands, I just like to hang with him when he’s home, enjoying the novelty of it all. When he’s away, there’s no one to plan meals around, no obligation to consider anyone’s feelings but my own. Although this may sound appealing to some, having that omnipresent husband under their feet 24/7, don’t envy me, there are also the negatives of being alone. Sure nothing calls on my time to distract me, but then there’s little social fun and worse, no sailing. The project appealed to the designer in me and it was a forum to showcase my ability as a rug hooker when I am more known as a designer. And more intriguing I also knew I could experiment with my favourite colours, red, blue and gold, the trifecta of all things exciting in my “primary" focused brain. A couple of weeks ago, a gal popped into the shop looking to purchase a rug featuring highlights of Nova Scotia, of which I had nothing to offer. She wanted the rug to be given as an award of excellence for an event held by Destination Canada to be explained below, and needed it by September 5th. I thought about it and said that I could design something specifically; the time allowed was too short for a large sized rug, so I offered to do a 14” x 26” piece and would incorporate a few provincial icons. The deadline was Monday, Sept 25, without exceptions so I couldn’t go over the top with detail. The race was on. The shop is busy, that goes without saying, and then hubby came home unexpectedly, so the design got placed on the backburner for a few days so we could reconnect and get a few things done that needed doing. The pressure was there, the pot boiled over singeing the joy of his return, and then there was the boat. We’d not been sailing at all this summer as he was away, so I was hot to get out there and feel the wind in my hair and stay aboard our sea cottage for a night or two. But although the fun had begun, that design kept niggling at me and I finally had to get with it or let her know it wasn’t feasible. She said she had a backup plan so the pressure was mostly on me, but I’d given my word so I had to follow through. I worked on the design, which was quite exciting and I started laying loops and let me tell you, I was thrilled with the progress, the colours absolutely glowed on my frame. I was trying to make up for lost time and hooking into the wee hours of the morning every night, I even took the rug on the boat with me once but that was a waste of time as I’m more interested in napping while at anchor, I drift off like a baby in the gentle motion, calling the belly of Catalyst II, a teak womb. So the deadline is closing in at a fast pace and I think I can do it if I don’t go to work, don’t eat or sleep for the next four days. But, good intentions and all, the clock ran out Monday and I needed two more days of hooking and one day to do the finishing. So I emailed the gal my apologies saying I would love to do it for next year and sent her a photo of my progress. She must have liked what she saw because her reply came back extending the deadline to Friday. I assured her I could and would get it finished. So that was the end of my sleep. Every night I worked well into the night pulling loops, and Wednesday and Thursday I was still up to greet the sun. I’m a fast hooker but I’m not a machine, I'm a mere mortal with limitations, and didn’t have the benefit of elves sneaking in after I'd crawled into bed to aid the progress. And don’t think there was an ounce of sleep to be had when my head finally hit the pillow, I was so keyed with adrenalin I saw the sun creep up all the way, squeezing the light of day through the cracks in my blinds, burning through my eyelids to keep me from drifting off. In four days I’d had eight hours of sleep, not enough for anyone to function on. Tuesday morning as I lay awake, frustrated and as tired as an old dishcloth, the Nova Scotia tartan idea was born for the two side borders. An excellent afterthought where I had imagined a hit and miss would go. I even toyed with printing NOVA on the left and SCOTIA on the right in vertical lettering but there is a part of me that doesn’t care for souvenirs that boast the name of the location they come from. The change was designed and hooked on Wednesday. Once the drawing was down, filling in the colours came quickly and being a repetitive pattern it practically hooked itself. There was a lot of three cut to squeeze it all in but I never shy away from a fine cut when the detail is paramount. The whipping went quickly in the mindless fashion it usually does, which was great because by then I could barely rub two thoughts together, but the darn sewing of the rug binding and the little custom label I had took forever. It was all small stitches, needle pricks, blood and swearing under my breath as not to disturb any of the sleeping pups and hubby. It took two hours to sew it all on, two hours! I’d glance at the clock seeing the minutes tick by as my needle stitched away, I might not be fast but I’m good, you can’t see a bit of thread on the back and that kind of effort takes time. I’m nothing, if not a professional hooker! It all came together and I sent it off Friday, whipped and steam pressed. I enjoyed it so much I’m considering hooking it again for the studio, this time of course at a realistic pace. I think a rug of our beautiful province would be very happy in the studio, taking its place among the other hooked rugs of the shop. The ordeal took me three days to recover from. The stress and anxiety, the panic and the pressure took its toll. So then you might ask, “Why did you do it Christine?” You never sell your rugs; you like to look at the creations that come out of you, keep them around like old friends. Why invite that kind of pressure, especially when dealing with an ill pup and a busy shop? Well good question, I don’t have a clue why I put myself through that wringer, but I have to say the rug that resulted from the effort was brilliant. In my humble opinion that is.... And if I had the chance to do it all again would I? Your darn tootin I would, cause I love to create and tell a good story! Once it was packed up and taken away, I felt let down and kind of empty. The rug had been a very intense focus for so many days that I felt lost. I went home Friday evening and sat in my hooking chair with nothing to work on and I twitched uncomfortably, got up and paced the floor. It’s like a spring had been wound really tight and now it was unwinding and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. That feeling lingered for the weekend as I faded in an out of sleep. Now it all seems like a dream and if not for the photo I could convince myself that I imagined it all. Although seeing the rug go was difficult, I try to balance those emotions with the knowledge my rug will be given to someone in a foreign country that will appreciate it, perhaps hang it in an office or place of honour. It would be too sad to think it was put it in a closet or trunk to be forgotten. I can’t control any of this but I sure like to think the receiver was gob smacked when he was presented with it. We received a phone call saying my Nova Scotia Treasures rug is going to be well traveled, taken all the way to Australia by writer Max Anderson. Wow! A lit bit about the event my rug was featured in: This year Nova Scotia is thrilled to host Destination Canada's Go Media Canada Marketplace 2017 in Halifax, October 1-5. Go Media is a signature networking event bringing together top media and travel journalists from across Canada and around the world to meet with marketing and communications professionals from various tourism organizations across Canada. Media attendees include domestic and international applicants representing top-tier print, broadcast, radio and online outlets. Internationally, media are invited from the US, UK, Germany, France, Australia, Japan, South Korea, China, Mexico, Brazil and India. Each year, Destination Canada celebrates the best in travel and tourism storytelling by presenting the Explore Canada Awards of Excellence to celebrate stellar content creation from the tourism industry and travel media. Part of the event includes the presentation of awards to 5 selected travel media in recognition of their contributions towards helping to promote Canada as a travel destination. Nova Scotia is responsible for providing these "awards" which are to reflect the destination and be a "memory" of their achievement. We would like to purchase one of your hooked rugs as one of the awards. We are looking for something that represents Nova Scotia in look/design. We would provide recognition during the awards presentation with verbal acknowledgement of the gift, recognition on signage / digital displays and a one-page information sheet for the award recipient telling the story behind your Nova Scotia inspired gift. Delivery would be required no later than September 25.  Max Anderson. The recipient of my rug being presented.
He's Australian and pretty darn good look'in. |
Christine Little has been ranked #5 out of the 60 top rug hooking bloggers by Rug Hooking Magazine!
 
Max Anderson, Australia, recipient of my Nova Scotia Treasures rug. An award of excellence for promoting Canada through his writing.
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