Goodbye To Clyde
Bonnie will miss him the most. As his sibling they survived much together; born on the streets, then adoption. He was her adventure buddy, playmate and companion. She loved him more then he loved her, where Clyde went Bonnie could be found right behind. Most of the time.
Slowly anxiety crept in. I didn’t realize it at first, as anxiety is a tricky ghost. The constant questioning began to wear on us, where is he? Is he home tonight? Will he come back tomorrow? Bonnie always felt it too, she always looked for him, sneaking around the house, peeking outside. Calling for him. He was truly unaware of the effect he had on others, even his sister. Bonnie, I’m going here. Come or don’t, he’d say. Sometimes she would, and he’d leave her in the cold.
My new neighbor would ask about Clyde. He told us his wife had met him too when he hid in her closet. Oh! I’m sorry, I replied. He reassured me he liked Clyde and that it was fine, he could come over and visit whenever he wanted. Surprising, I thought.
Other neighbors didn’t feel the same. Some days texts would pour in. Does anyone know who Clyde belongs to? He comes and visits me every evening. Or others’ repeated phone calls and texts at night began to wear on me. Come get Clyde! They’d say. He’s scaring our children! Or yet another, We found Clyde in our garage, hiding.
Yet, Clyde was so lovable. After a long day of exploring outside he’d seek out a resting spot and let you hold him, his sounds of affection like a unmuffled motor. Seemingly uncomfortable in strange positions he’d snuggle for hours. He was wonderful with the kids, he seemed to be the favorite. As our most faithful door greeter, he’d be the first one to say hello. He was the welcome committee for the yard crew, a neighborhood playmate for the kids. Yet, there was just something he possessed that couldn’t be tamed.
My husband and I had cyclical conversations about what had changed in him. What happened, why does he pee on the floor and run away for days? Is this behavior okay with us? Our only insight was that of adventure. With our recent move, our goal was always for him and Bonnie to explore outside, we taught him safety and ground rules and unhooked the leash. When you love something, you let it go but this lesson didn’t boomerang as expected. Freedom had got his hook in Clyde and he wasn’t letting go.
We expected the freedom fresh air brings to help him flourish and allow for a better life took root in Clyde and burrowed deep. While he gained longing for wide open spaces he lost respect for others. Spending so much alone time in unsafe areas with predators and in garages that didn’t belong to him became addicting. Where he developed his hunting skills he then abandoned honor of his family. This confused us and increased anxiety in our home and in Bonnie. While his ambivalent attitude worked great for him, it provided enough anxiety for the rest of the family eventually we couldn’t ignore.
What we weren’t prepared for was the conversation to be had with the children. You’ll have to tell them, I told my husband. I’m not afraid of hard conversations, but I had already exiled Clyde to the garage because of his rebellious behaviors. Our children received this information so poorly I couldn’t bear to be blamed yet again. My husband told my youngest first, and as everything in parenting, I questioned why I had chosen this route. She came to me immediately seeking clarity why I wasn’t forward and honest about Clyde from the beginning. The roots of Clyde’s behavior and thur, my decisions are now penetrating my parenting journey. I was hoping to save my children from the disappointment of Clyde, but also avoid their blame. I chose to tell two more children at bedtime, which produced in one so many questions I was yet again not prepared for; why, who, how, can I see a picture? Loud cries prohibited her from falling asleep. The disappointment transforms into many shapes as she settles down. The other child I’m straightforward with as he prefers this style of communication. Immediately I have something to tell you. Something hard. Before I could finish my sentence, he had collapsed into his pillow. Silent tears make their way into the soft sheets telling the story of a lost friend. He tries to escape these emotions by shooing me out of his room. Goodnight mama, I love you. For the boy who had the least interest in caring for Clyde but the strongest opinion in keeping Clyde, his emotional response surprises me. My heart breaks over the death of this relationship, the loss of a friend and companion in the young life of my children.
My 11 year old would argue I didn’t provide enough chances for Clyde, but I assure you I did. This was not an easy decision, this goodby. What we had hoped for in our pet he delivered, and then he didn’t. In the end we had to rehome Clyde.
