It's a dog, but it's not a dead dog, it's a dog at a Dead show. The tribal encampment was kind enough to let me draw them and their pets. But who took care of the dog while the people were at the show? Did they lock him up in their truck? That wouldn't be very nice, even for only a few hours in moderate weather. Hard to believe, folks, that in just a year or two this little post-literate society would be wiped out by the tsunami of the Internet, turning Deadheads into social media addicts trading their digitized Deadshows among each other one second at a time.
Black tech pen on sketchbook page, 7" x 4 1/2", March 20, 1991.
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