Clyde's Day

Today is Clyde's Day. No, not Clydesdale. That's one of these guys.

As I said, this is Clyde's Day. Growing up I had the delight of knowing a really great dog we named Clyde. He was a cinnamon colored cocker spaniel with an unshakable laid back personality. He didn't really bark, but instead made a rolling chortle each time he yawned. He would make himself yawn often so you knew he was still around. He was the very picture of friendliness. Yet there was something more to Clyde. The dog seemed to have knowing eyes. Now I know that seems a bit odd, but hear me out. Dogs often give a dopey look, a glance devoid of any sort of thought other than food. But Clyde was different. In his eyes seemed to be something that said he knew more than he was able to tell. This was the dog that was rolled underneath my brother in law's car shortly after he received his driver's license. After that near death experience Clyde was not like other puppies his age. He would from that time on sit in the open field just looking and smelling the air. After that he didn't see the need for jumping about like an idle brained ninny. No, for Clyde life was thereafter filled with many deep introspective afternoons. I can see him now in my memory, sitting like a regale lion in the setting sun, contemplating a wonderfully intense question to which there was no answer. For hours he would stay that way. Fixed on a thing so very indescribable

Clyde was born many years ago in our basement on April first. Each year I glance over in my mind's eye and see him sitting in the corner, watching and waiting for that moment to "Rrrrowwrrow" like he always did just to let us know he was still there.