I want to write something profound and deep here. Something that gives homage to a dog’s short life, to a dog’s ending. I find a dearth of words. I find my eyes sting and my mind just floats.
Clyde won’t be in the lawn anymore, facing the road, waiting for his favorite to come home. Waiting so patiently. A Newfoundland cross, found when yet a big puppy, so many years ago. A stray somebody dumped off. As they do here so much in Eastern Oregon. There were two of them, but only Clyde got captured and brought home to become one of us. Such a beautiful dog. One of those big beautiful teddy bear sort of dogs. Who hated his nails touched, let alone trimmed, though he had those horrible dew claws. Oh the fuss he’d go through if anyone came near his feet. That long black fur full of tangles and sometimes cockle burs if he got a chance to wander the world a bit. How he’d stand still and let you brush him and even cut the worse crap out of his fur. How I once watched him take on a snake that had wandered into the yard. And he won. That poor snake. How even as old as he got, he still wanted to chase after the local rabbits and bark at the local coyotes and even bark at vehicles on the local road from the safety afforded by the fence.
I am clumsy with my words today. I cannot pull forth the slick tricks of winning phrases and shallow witticisms. A little life ended today. And so I mourn. Goodbye, Clyde.