Clancy was my buddy in childhood. This brown and white energetic springer spaniel loved me regardless of what I did. Even though he was a dog, he was my perfect companion.
Was he a good dog? I didn’t know, but he and I were good to each other. I loved watching him jump in the deep snow, gobble his dog food like there was no tomorrow, and run along on our many walks together. Hugging him was great except when he didn’t want to. When I was unhappy about something, he would sit with me and let me hug him, seemly forever. I never had friends like that, and even if I had had companions to cry with, I would have gone to Clancy.
Our family took him when we moved from Lincolnwood to Sturgeon Bay. We all spent many days in summers at our cottage in the woods at Clark’s Lake. When we were driving there, Clancy always howled loudly in the back seat as we approached. He was as eager as we were. Once there, he got busy chasing rabbits and exploring.
At home in Sturgeon Bay, my parents were at work thirty hours a day at their new business. I thought Clancy and Omar might be lonely so I sat with them in our garage to keep them company. The two dogs dug holes under the back fence and we had to bring them back home many times.
When I was about ten years old and Clancy was older in dog years, he got sick with distemper and lost all his pep and lay listlessly on the floor. Then I spent a lot of time sitting with him and giving back. Clancy survived the illness but never again was his former energetic self. We loved each other anyway. He died later when I was studying at the university.
A good friend can be a dog. My life would not have been the same without Clancy.
