It's Personal: Dogs

I was 2 years old. We had a Boxer named Clancy. I sat in his dog house with him for hours on end. I've heard tell a story about some family member attempting to extract me from said dog house unsuccessfully; Clancy took offense and nipped. The old man tells another story about me walking down the sidewalk in front of that house on George St. It seems a stray cat was stalking me as I strolled about. The cat slowed, readying to pounce on me. But that cat never had a chance. Clancy had been tracking the mangy feline and struck before it could make its move.

Clancy was later put to sleep because he had cancer. I can't say I remember him very well.

I was about 6 years old. The neighbors - the Carrs as I remember - brought a mutt puppy to our front door. How could my parents say no with a 6 and 3 year old roaming the house? We named him Clancy the Second. Clancy for short. A black and brown mixed mutt, he was good-natured and frightened of his shadow. I remember seeing him run away from a rabbit in our back yard on Jeffrey Dr. We couldn't keep anything on the coffee table. Or even the end tables for that matter. He had a tail that swept from any surface every last thing on top. I have pictures. Thank God for that because I don't now recall him as well as I'd like.

When my parents divorced, we could not keep the dog. I was told he went to a family who would love him. In all honesty, I think that was - for me - the most difficult part of the divorce.

For the next 16 years, I did not have a dog. There are many reasons for it. There were those around me who professed not to be dog people. And then I went away to college. I met many frat guys whom I'd call dogs, but that would be insulting dogs. Moved from college to the seminary. Didn't meet many priests with dogs. Perhaps because it would be too difficult to fumigate rectories after a dog has lived there. Moved to Seattle and into an apartment. Adopted a couple cats. Had pets again. But no dogs.

Not until 2005. Only a little more than a month after we purchased the house. Cleo first. Then Buddy in February 2006. Two of the best dogs I could ever imagine. Each with their unique personalities.

Cleo, who will neither walk in wet grass nor walk in grass that is too long. Who hates hardwood floors. Who sucks on ice and drops it, repeating the cycle until it is thin enough to bite. Who rips apart dryer sheets. Who lays on her side on the bed and starts flailing her front paws in a running motion thus tearing comforters - three to this point - to shreds.

Buddy who runs at full speed, jumps onto the front porch, and slams head first into the front door - when it's closed. Who uses his nose and paws to force people to pet him. Who sits between the front seats in the car and stares out the window as if he's going to give directions to our next stop. Who eats wool blankets and carpet. Who then has serious BM problems about 2 days later.

Why all this dog talk?

I watched Marley & Me on Friday night. Joseph and I decided to watch that movie because we thought it would be less sad and depressing than Seven Pounds. We watched as the unsuspecting couple adopted a puppy. And subsequently watched as the dog terrorized them through thunderstorms and constant furniture destruction. We watched as they had children. We watched as Marley grew older. And then, the inevitable. I cried. Like cried the day I knew I'd never see Clancy the Second again. Or like I do when I watch the last scene in Field of Dreams.

I don't know that I can watch that movie again. But for those of you who love dogs, it's well worth the couple hours you'll spend. At least once.