Clyde
This was written in 2005, I think, for my Greyt Angels.
I recently got back from Almost Home for Hounds. Spent most of January up there, and a bit of February. There are still way too many dogs, and not enough homes. But you know that. The supply far outweighs the demand. Not enough money, not enough time, not enough homes…too many greyhounds. It has been a constant in my life for almost 20 years. Anyhow, I sent you a depressing letter the last time I wrote, so here is one with a lighter tone. 🙂
Never say Never.
I don’t know where I heard that, but it is a mantra lodged somewhere in the recesses of my brain. Whenever I say the word ‘never’ combined with a variety of other words:
I will never speak to that person again.
I will never go to that restaurant again.
I will never get fat.
I will never get a puppy.
Invariably that person becomes my best friend, I go that restaurant too many times and get fat, and I get the puppy.
Clyde. He’s curled up under my feet as I type. Scrunched into my 17-year old Italian Greyhounds’s round little zebra bed. A 4-month mass of black hair, with sprinklings of fawn and white, a square face with white tufts, and eyes that look at you and the world with all the promise that it holds.
Here’s another mantra: Everyone needs a puppy. I’ve heard people say ‘everyone should be married, everyone should have children’ and here I am saying – “everyone needs a puppy.” I also heard that they were actually going to have a cable channel called The Puppy Channel. It would show footage of puppies – playing, eating, sleeping, sh**ing – doing what puppies do. My first thought: you must be joking. My now thought – what a fabulous idea.
I know exactly what the impetous was to chose this puppy.
It was a rough few months at the end of 2004. I lost most of my Gang last year.
Beauty came to me in my first batch of rescue dogs in 1995. Deathly ill. Temp of 105. Skin and bones. Shivering and looking straight at me with the biggest, doest eyes as she lay curled up on my thrift store couch. She had no name when she arrived, but that first night as we spooned together on the couch drapped with blankets, she told me she wanted the name Beauty. And she never left my side from then on.
Winslow came next, a fawn brindled, gorgeous silent boy who coveted the futon in the corner, and allowed a succeeding succession of dogs into our lives with nary a complaint. They stepped on his head, his futon, ate his food and played with his toys, and he draped himself on the furniture and just let them be.
Lady waifed into my and Chris and Carla’s lives. A petite butterscotched striped sprit who started her life in the back of a crate, allowing no human hands to touch her. She was deathly ill with a fungal disease, and the meds were prohibitively expensive. To top it off, she was labeled a spook. A ghost – trying not to be seen by humans, but haunting them at the periphery of their vision. She became so much more.
Regis was a happy, go-lucky boy, who rooed his appreciation of life every day. He went to a home that loved him until a 2-legged boy was born, and then cast him aside at 11. No other home wanted an old boy with white on his brindled face and spindly legs, but I was joyous to find him in my life again.
And in 2004, they all left me. One after another in the waning days of fall as the flowers got shocked by the cold in the air, and the nights got brisk and chilling, and one year passed into the next. And I was without my Gang.
So in late 2004, I was in Colorado helping out at Almost Home for Hounds. Pooper scooping, petting, talking to and letting out over 50 greyhounds all with hope and joy in their hearts that a home was waiting for them. And I was watching. I was hoping that I was that home. I was looking for a sign about the rebuilding of my Gang. But I saw no signs, and my heart did no leaps.
During that time, two puppies arrived. They were bred in Kansas to kill coyotes. Someone from Colorado heard that the farmer was going to kill the three females, so they asked Dr. Weir if she would take them. They would be in KS over Thanksgiving with family, and would drive them back to her that weekend. When the puppies arrived and the car door opened, Bonnie and Clyde tumbled out, and took up residence at AHH that day.
Brother and sister, they immediately called AHH home without missing a beat. Nothing was sacred. Couches were their launching pads, other dogs their chew toys. Greyhound mixes, she was the leader and he the follower. She the terror and he the wuss. Within her first few days she had burrowed her way under the fence and was expanding her universe. And he followed, diligently already knowing his sister was in charge.
I left in late November sans greyhounds. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Clyde. My inner thoughts went something like this:
“What are you crazy!? A puppy?! You said you’d never get a puppy. There are so many other worthy dogs needing homes.”
“But his name is Clyde, and that was my nickname from my cheerleader buddies in high school because Claudia didn’t fit on the megaphone. And he’s black, and I’ve always had a weakness for the black boys. And he seems so well behaved. …And he makes my heart smile.
And I’d call Heather and say: “I don’t want a lab mix.” “He’s not a lab mix,” was her exasperated response. “German Shepard?” “No”. Heather thinks Irish Wolfhound or Scottish Deerhound were combined with the mix of greyhound.
I’d come up with a zillion reasons why I wasn’t getting this puppy. And then I returned to AHH in early January, and his puppy antics were all I needed.
When I left Almost Home for Hounds, he was in the car helping me drive. Never say Never 🙂
It’s April 2018, and my puppy is gone.
13 years, 6 months and 24 days later, Clyde has left me behind to find more adventures. This is my inadequate tribute to him.
I remember –
The first time I saw you.
Leaping out of a car with your sister, after a Kansas to Colorado drive. Dashing from one spot to another, tongue hanging, joy leaping, as you exploded into your new life.
I remember –
The first time you saw me.
Tired of dashing, you crawled your lanky body into my smaller dog’s bed, under the computer where I worked… and claimed me.
I remember –
The day I returned to claim you.
A long drive through snow storms and mountains in an RV built for warmer climates. Opening the door, you jumped into the driver’s seat owning it and my heart in one leap.
I remember –
Teaching you – TO COME
Balls to the walls, dashing and drive bys framed our hikes. Neither hot dogs, french fries or liver treats held sway, only butt rubs. So our walks became this litany – Come, Clyde. You running straight at me. Whipping around at the last second to present said butt for a vigorous rub. And, off again.
I remember –
Teaching you – NO BARK
You liked to be heard but perhaps a little too loud and long. Me running across acres, yelling loudly NO BARK, as you talked your fool head off. Until I reached you, out of breath, whispering… no bark.
I remember –
You teaching me
That love is shown in tail wags, bright eyes, curiosity, mad dashes and the independence to be you.
I remember –
You in full flight.
Leaping over sage brush, other dogs and our fence. Daring the new dogs to follow you into parts unknown.
I remember –
You in your skull collar.
The only adornment needed. Black embossed skulls with silver strands sliding from eyebrows, to muzzle, to throat, to chest, to legs.
I remember –
You in sleep.
Still dashing, as visions of adventures had legs moving in time to thoughts traveling through dreams.
I remember –
Your love affair with Car.
You’d leap and settle in for a ten minute errand or a ten hour car ride. Car meant adventures – grocery store, rescuing other hounds, finding a coyote pup, post office, chasing deer on red cliffs.
I remember –
Your love affair with Beach.
Not to swim, but to run with abandon through puddles and waves and water. From land-locked Utah, to cross country drives to beaches, and then your own beach house. Our souls awash with water.
I remember –
Your love affair with Life
Our pre-dawng sun salutations, our red cliff runs. Dashing, always dashing – in looks, personality and energy. My perpetual puppy living life large each and every day.
I remember –
Our last week together.
Your heart beating twice as fast. My heart breaking. You had no appetite. I ate everything in sight.
I remember –
Our last day together.
You appeared on the deck in full voice. Barking at me, insistently, as I was digging your grave. I’m not dead yet.
I will remember –
everything.
These next poems I wrote because I had to. Kleenex required.
WE DO
We do our Sun Salutations
My hand to your chest
Breathing, yes.
Sliding off couch you run down the hall
Me watching, and praying please don’t fall.
Reaching me, you turn your butt
Rubbing it, yes, you like that, A LOT.
We do our Daily Decisions.
Up from a dog bed
Onto a couch
Down a ramp
Thru a dog door
We watch your tail.
Wagging without fail.
You say I love you.
You say I’ll be OK.
You say I’m your forever
And a day.
We do our Couch Commune.
My hand to your hair.
Weaving, watching, feeling
Your breaths taken with care.
We do our Dinner Dance
Placing the bowl here.
No, not there.
Over where?
OK, here.
We do our Evening End.
I’ll sleep here.
No, not there, maybe here.
Ok, there.
Nope, over here.
We do what we do.
Love.
HOPE
Just one more day
He will rally
I know he will
My life force wants it so
His body racked with tremors. Chest blowing hard.
In and out
Up and down
His limbs a life of their own.
Counter cluttered with pill bottles
Fridge full of protein
I follow him from space to space
Holding a bowl, begging him.
As he sleeps restlessly, I can’t take my eyes and hands off of him.
Crying for him.
No, not him, me.
Reprieve
On your last day you appeared on the deck.
I was bent over shovel, sand and snot, creating your last bed.
And you barked at me.
This wasn’t your deep-throated bark
This was a higher pitched scathing indictment of what I was doing.
Fuck you, you barked. I’m not dead yet!
And I dropped my shovel
And I ran to you, laughing and crying, as my hands cupped that grayed fuzzy muzzle.
And I cancelled the vet appointment.
WE WAIT
We wait for the vet.
He sprawled out on a green bedspread, with incontinence pad underneath.
Me spooning his fuzzy black body, lavishing him with kisses and hugs
My vibrant, balls to the walls, run everywhere boy
His body racked with something insidious
He has no choice. I have no choice.
And I’ve spent a lifetime lavishing him
With hugs and kisses
The other dogs gather round
Visiting us as we lay on the green carpet
Knowing today is a day to change our journeys.
Kleenex litters the floor
Sobs rend the air
I will let my longest male relationship end today.
We wait.
END
You are still breathing
But in a second just a
- dead weight
- shell
- lump of black fuzzy fur
My balls to the walls, most handsomest boy
Changed to a lump carted out to the red dirt hole and covered with sand.
Here
Gone
Dog is My Shepherd
Dog is my Shepherd. I shall not want.
He maketh me to cavort in green pastures:
He leadth me through puddles of waters.
He restoreth my soul.
He leadeth me on paths of love for his name’s sake.
Yea, though we walk now closer to the shadow of death,
I will fear not; For thou art with me;
Thy body and thy soul, they comfort me.
Thou standeth by me in the presence of enemies;
Thou annointest my lips with your breath; My cup runneth over.
Surely love and devotion shall follow me all the rest of the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the House of DOG forever.
Click on these links for more writings about Clyde: