Fear & loathing on the high desert

I was talking with my sister yesterday and what she told me made my blood run cold.

She’s taking a ceramics class, and she made a ferret.

Then she told me that she made a prairie dog, but didn’t hollow it out properly, so, “My prairie dog blew up in the kiln.”

Well, you don’t hear that sentence very often, do you?

But that’s not what scared me. It was the notion that she’s even in a ceramics class. Back when she lived in the Springs, she used to spend time at this place called Kiln Time (or maybe it was Killin’, I can’t remember; but it was something sickeningly cutesy).

And she made stuff.

And she sent it to me.

I can’t recall all of them, but I do recall a bunch of ovoid things that were painted like Easter eggs, and little chickens.

And here’s my fear: that some time in the foreseeable future, I’m going to find a UPS package on my doorstep, and there will be a ceramic prairie dog in it.

Or a ferret.