Requiem.

Consider the title of this post your only warning.  Besides this one.

Clancey, our border collie, died almost a week ago during our move from Austin to Houston (KB is a chaplain in Houston this summer, so this is only temporary).  Rather than give details of his passing and health, besides assurances that he did not suffer and that we stayed with him the whole time, I want to tell you about my friend Clancey.

I met Clancey on my first date with KB.  I was later told that he did not always take to larger guys, but he and I were instantly friends.  KB had him since he was a puppy, and when I met him he was a very spunky teenager.

Clancey loved people in general, and was always kind.  I think part of that was viewing everyone as sheep that needed herding and tender loving care (with the occasional nip at the heel).  He was friendly towards everyone, especially kids.  He seemed to know when someone was upset, and would sit next to anyone crying to clean up tears.  When toddlers or other little folk were around, he would simply lie down and wait for them to pet him, mostly so he could lick their (hopefully bare) toes.

Clancey was smart.  You could always tell that there was a spark of understanding.  One of my favorite memories is from a rainy day in our house in Houston.  The mud outside prompted me to leave a towel by the back door to muddy paws and feed Clancey inside to minimize that mud.  As I poured food in his bowl, he immediately knocked it over.  I looked at him exasperatedly and said "You better clean that up!".  He looked at me, grabbed the towel in his teeth, and dragged it over the food on the floor in order to cover it up.  How could I do anything but laugh in amazement and hug hm?

Clancey was fast.  So fast.  At the dog park, he would run after a thrown ball with a speed that was awe-inspiring.  On a bad day, he led the pack.  On a good day, he could outstrip all but the greyhounds, a black and white streak dashing for a ball in a moment of unbridled joy.  Once he got to the ball, he never seemed to mind if another dog took it, because...

Clancey was, above all, desirous of pleasing the people he loved (which was pretty much everyone).  Whether it was by sitting and staying, coming when called, playing, caring, or cuddling, Clancey wanted the people in his life to be happy, and the best way he could do that was by doing what they wanted.  He was the epitome of utter selflessness.

I know that many of the qualities I attribute to Clancey can be written off as anthropomorphization, or projecting qualities I find noble onto a blank slate, or even part of grappling with my own mortality.  Those things may well be true, but I also know that he was an example of living a life in perfect communion with how one is Created.  He was perfectly himself, if that makes any sense.  There's a trite saying (probably on a bumper sticker) that goes something like "I hope I can be the person my dog thinks I am."  I would much rather be the person my dog was; someone who loves unconditionally and fiercely, and who seeks to make the people around them happy.

Clancey was a good boy, and I miss him terribly.