The Show Must Go On

"These people really know nothing about animals," he says. "They protest the circus for 45 minutes, and then they go to the local coffeehouse and congratulate themselves on how much they care about animals."

George III says he will remain with his family's 24 tons of elephant no matter what strategies ARFF tries. He lives in a trailer at the Fort Lauderdale Swap Shop to be near Carol, Patty, and Liz. Several times during the night, he checks to make sure they're OK. He wakes up to their bellowing for breakfast at close to 4 a.m. About once a month, he takes the elephants to a friend's property in Davie and lets them loose. They come back, he says, when he calls to them. Every day but Tuesday, he dons those crazy clown pants and leads the elephants through the Swap Shop booths into the center ring for a show.

The elephants have provided George with a good living. He earns $39,000 to $50,000 a year, depending on what kind of season the Swap Shop is having. But they have also put a serious crimp in his social life. One of the Hannefords (usually George) is with the elephants 24 hours a day. "It's what I do with 95 percent of my time anyway," he says.

On a computer in his trailer, George monitors the writings and rhetoric of animal-rights activists. After September 11, his obsession went into overdrive. He worried that a renegade animal-rights activist might try to hurt one of the elephants to free it from its supposedly painful prison life. He refused to leave the elephants. His girlfriend at the time didn't understand his alarm. Eventually, she left him. "She started courting someone else," he says in his old-fashioned way.

George has tried to go out and meet other women, he says, but since he likes to be in bed by 10 p.m., his efforts haven't proved very successful. "The only people in the clubs were the bartender and me at that hour," he says. And then he gained 25 pounds. "You're sad and kind of lonely, and right outside your door there is a drive-in theater and all those snack stands," he explains.

Now he's on a strict diet of broiled chicken and barley, hoping to shed the weight and start doing his horseback riding again.

On his day off, George walks through the Swap Shop parking lot on tiptoe, like he's going to run off and do handsprings any second. A little white Pomeranian ball of fluff named Clara Belle follows him. George is headed to Grif's Western in Davie to pick up feed.

The scents wafting from the garbage cans dotting the lot lure Clara Belle away from Hanneford. She makes a detour to sniff the edges and hunt for stray food on the perimeter of the cans. "Clara... Clara Belle," George calls to the dog. "Come on, Clara." She trots up beside him and then strays away again. When the pair reaches the edge of the Swap Shop property, George turns down a paved road that leads to his trailer. Clara Belle moves into a grassy right of way, where she busily sniffs the ground, ignoring his calls. "Clara Belle... Clara Belle, come on." Clara Belle snubs him. "That's it," George says. "If you don't come on, I'm going to carry you." He walks over to Clara Belle and scoops her into his arms. "That's funny," he says. "A guy who works with elephants can't get his dog to pay any attention to him."

George puts Clara Belle back down on the ground and holds out his hand. The dog stands on her hind legs and looks up at George. "Around," he says. She spins around like a ballerina. Then George walks forward taking big purposeful steps while Clara Belle weaves between his legs. Even the Hanneford family dog is a performer. "I'll give you chicken when we get home," he promises her. "I better, or I'll be in trouble."