The story goes that my mother was admitted to the hospital to deliver her second baby the same day my father drove to the train station to pick up his new dog. Mom presented dad with a bouncing baby boy and he introduced her to Clancy, a purebred Great Dane puppy.
I have no memory of the event – I was 14 months old at the time. I’m sure my mother’s recollections were somewhat cloudy too – she might have been a little overwhelmed with her life at that stage of the game.
Mom entertained us kids for years with stories about Clancy. Apparently he arrived with an appetite they could hardly satisfy. She told us he ate raw eggs by the flat (farm seconds that mom would have to strain colorful chunks out of before mixing them into his supper – the story was horrifying, gory and thrilling to little kids). He grew like a weed and drooled like a faucet. Between entertaining a steady stream of guests who dropped by to meet the new baby mom had to chase after me and feed the puppy, she must have been exhausted.
We moved from Winnipeg to Port Arthur a short time later, leaving family and friends for the great unknown (mom was pregnant with their third child at the time). My dad was starting a new career in sales – promoting Corn Flakes for Kellogg’s in the lake head region. I’m told they moved into a brand new house, on a brand new street – they had a baby boy, a puppy, and me. They had a lot going on. Any help mom might of had at that time was situated 700 kms west of where she was struggling – she was on her own.
The new neighborhood hadn’t been landscaped prior to the arrival of that year’s Ontario winter, nor had the sidewalks been poured. Mom had to navigate wooden planks that meandered from their front door to the road. The pathway was repeatedly buried under the snow and prone to drifting when the thaw finally came. I’m impressed mom even remembered having a dog, let alone the stories she told about him.
I only have one actual memory of Clancy — I was sitting on him one sunny afternoon when he decided to stand up. In my mind’s eye he was the size of a horse – but I was only two at the time.
Mom’s memories were vivid and funny – time has a way of changing the focus of things. She’d laugh and tell us about Clancy stealing the neighbors butter – milkmen delivered all dairy products to back doors up and down the lane in those olden days. Clancy apparently pilfered a lot.
Clancy accompanied us on our move to Regina after my sister was born.
Regina is a blur to me. I can vaguely recall my dad heading out the front door one night; fedora, wool coat and leather suitcase. He was traveling for work. He told me that when he got home we were all going to move to Calgary.
This time Clancy didn’t make the move with us – they apparently left him with a young man on a farm who had fallen in love with him. I don’t remember missing him but I think my mother did – for years.
