Shortly after we moved to the new house, my parents gave my sister a Scottish Terrier for her birthday. She named him Clancy. Like Pepsi before him, he also took off when he got out, but since he didn’t have an old house to run back to, he ran down the road to a neighbor’s house- ironically enough the grandmother of the ones who had earlier shot Pepsi.
She would feed him steak and other treats, and before long he stopped coming home altogether. Eventually, he officially became her dog. I guess that family was determined that we wouldn’t have any pets.
I have no idea how long Clancy lived or what happened to him. I don’t remember seeing him after he moved down the road, so he must not have lived too long.
I have never seen a photo of Clancy and as far as I know, none exist.
Later, I went to work for that same lady, cutting her yard and the field behind her house for $20 a pop. I remember riding the tractor and listening with one earpiece to a little red AM radio I’d won playing bingo at the beach. Stone Age iPod and all that.
One day I found that a cat had her kittens in a shed on that lady’s property. I told her I would find a home for them, but by the time I went back the next day, one of her other men had killed them.
I guess she ran hot and cold as far as pets go.
All of that notwithstanding, she was a generally nice lady. I liked her and was sad when she died, at a very old age.
Coming up next is Buck- the closest thing I have ever had to a brother.
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