Another tough day: lost Clyde today

Who knew that you could get so attached to some stray cocker spaniel? Who knew? He was no MENSA candidate — couldn’t fetch a ball; couldn’t run after a Frisbee; couldn’t do much but eat endlessly, and walk through the park. He was terrified of most every loud sound. He smelled pretty funky after only a few days. But wow, did I get attached to him.

I apologize in advance for posting these “dog snapshots”, but you’ve got to suffer thru them. It’s just part of the deal.

I ran upon him, about seven or so years ago in Fort Negley Park. I was there, walking Dottie, my little Blue Heeler, and I watched this guy literally drive up, set him out on the ground, and drive away. Right in front of my eyes. To me, it was inconceivable that a man would do that — I thought it was some Wonderdog, who would walk himself, while the owner went to Burger King or something, and then came back an hour later and picked him up.

But the guy never came back. So now, I’ve got TWO dogs. I threatened to find a home for him, because Cocker Spaniel was not my choice of breed. But I got attached to him immediately. He was a “special needs” dog; the owners had obviously abused him. He’d run from me; not let me near him. Until slowly but surely, after months, he began to trust me.

One day, during the middle of an ad job, he got out of my fence, and disappeared for three days. I was a wreck; going to Kinkos at 3 in the morning, xeroxing signs for telephone poles, and driving the neighborhoods every night after the job ended, looking for him. One day, a woman called me from about two miles away — she’d seen him the day before, she thought. So the next day, I drove every street, and every alley, and then miraculously, there he was, walking down the alley — dirty, tired, and hungry. And not a scratch on him. How he crossed those busy streets without getting hit, I’ll never know.

We went on lots of travels together. The longest was cross-country, from Nashville to Santa Fe, in my old Ford F150 pickup. I built him an elevated stage in the back seat, so he could see out. We stayed for a week, and then drove home. A few weeks ago, I was fearing that we were near the end, so we took him to Seaside, Florida, to see the ocean, before he died. (He was not amused at the sand and the waves, but he did fine. He just stayed under the beach umbrella, with his hat on, and read Faulkner).

About six months ago, he began coughing. (This sounds like some setup to a scene in “An Officer and a Gentleman”, and it kinda is). I took him to this great vet at Hillsboro Animal Clinic, (Dr. Chad Given, awesome vet). He told me that Clyde had an enlarged heart, and it would only get worse. He chased it agressively with five kinds of medicines, but in the end, the fluid just started to build up around his lungs, and yesterday, it got really bad. So today, Dr. Given and an assistant came to my house, and put him to sleep. I gave him a haircut and a bath, to get him ready; not that he cared. But he’d been an awesome dog, and it just seemed right.

It’s been sixteen years since I haven’t had a dog in the house. Tomorrow morning will be very odd — no one to let outside, and no one to make breakfast for.

Tough day.

A Toast to his Good Life. About 3pm yesterday; it was getting so morose that I wanted to set up a happy picture to remember him by. The beer is just a prop -- he did not make me drink it.

This morning, after his bath, right before the vet arrived. He was pretty sedated at this point.

Yesterday afternoon, trying to get a smile out of him.

Clyde in Seaside, a few weeks ago. Obviously just overjoyed at being at the beach.

(Updated, after finding a couple of frames on a hard drive):

Here he is, weeks after I got him, maybe seven years ago. Look at the hair!