Dad's Dog

Clancy had been ailing for quite some time, and he was really my dad's dog. Actually, no "really" about it. He WAS my dad's dog. Best friends. And when he got home today from Florida he was just beaten up about not being there to say goodbye. Then my mom and I reminded him that Clancy was exactly where he was supposed to be when he passed.

On Friday's, my mom takes care of Luke and my niece Emma at her house. Emma is only younger than Luke by a few months, and they are basically brother and sister. Since they were infants, every Friday when Luke and Emma would get there, Clancy would bark and howl, jump around, bark some more. Loved his two babies, and the two babies loved Clancy. This past Friday was no different. Clancy could barely stand up straight, wasn't eating well, but when they got there, he barked, jumped around, chased them in the yard. He barked at my mom, as he did every Friday, so as to say, "They're here! Can you believe it?!?! They're here! They're here!" They hugged him, kissed his head, pretended to "walk" him. He kissed and nudged them back. They then all laid down for a nap on the couches in the family room, Clancy laying right under Luke. And then he simply, and as gently as he was in life, passed.

Dad understood then. Seriously, like something out of a goddamned movie those last few hours. December 8 will be a year since our own dog left us, and I've been reminded this weekend that I should be lucky to love, live, and show loyalty only half as well as a dog...