Racimo con Brio: In Honor of Good Dog Clancy

By Victoria Racimo Thursday, January 28, 2010

April 28, 1991, 18 years, 8 months, and 29 days ago, a rambunctious Jack Russell Terrorist, named Clancy, was born and shortly afterwards, came into my life. I didn’t think I would be able to write a column this week as just this past Tuesday he passed away in my arms at home. Of course, this is a seriously grievous time for us, but it’s also a celebration while we sit hour after hour laughing, crying and recounting stories of life with him, as they come to mind. So I decided I must write about him in honor of his extraordinary life.

The name Clancy is of Irish and Gaelic origin and its meaning is “son of Flannchadh”, an ancient Irish name meaning “red warrior.” (I did not know this at the time I named him but boy, did he ever live up to that name.)

I remember how, one day, I heard him barking in the bathroom. I jumped up from my desk and found him standing on the edge of the tub, looking in at his tennis ball. I thought “Oh, how cute, you dropped it in and are telling me to get it for you.” I reached in, gave it to him and went back to work. A few minutes later, I heard more barking from the bathroom. I thought “now what.” Went to the bathroom and there he was, leaning on the tub looking first at me and then at the ball. ‘Okay, here it is, now stop barking.”

Did he? Of course not. I thought to myself “are you clumsy or just a little slow”? But I was the dumb one – he purposely kept dropping the ball into the tub in hopes that I would “get it” not as in “get the ball for me” but as in “get it that I want to play and I’m trying to tell you that.”

One day, in New York, I came home and found all these strange pieces of brown rubber on the floor. Oh my goodness, it’s my Hawaiian rubbah slippah. Where is it? Where’s the rest of it. Oh no. Clancy ate my shoe!

Off to the ER. X-rays and sure enough there, in his stomach, were pieces and pieces of size 7. Into emergency operation, ASAP. Touch and go. But as Elaine Strich sings,”And I’m still here.”

As a puppy, he and I drove across country and when we got to Williams, AZ, we decided to take old Route 66 instead of staying on 40. Out there in the wilds, in the desert, at an abandoned gas station, I started to teach him how to go on the papers. I still have a picture of him and me together learning how. And through all my travels and hotel visits since then, wherever and whenever we were away from home, and could not “go out”, all I had to do was set down a spread of newspapers in a corner of the room and he would go – even until a week before he passed away.

When I lived in Studio City, Los Angeles, I would go to the local park every afternoon joining loads of other dog people and their dogs in playtime.

Picture this: a short, Jack Russell herding and leading a whole pack of hounds from the neighborhood round and round in large race track circles. One day, an “outsider” arrived, a big German Shepherd who was new to the hood. He took over. And, worst of it all, suddenly picked Clancy up by the throat and ran away with him. Clancy was clenched in the Shepherd’s jaws like a rag doll. That my heart is still beating as I write this astounds me!

The owner, I, and the whole neighborhood, stood frozen in horror, too stunned to move. My dear Clancy’s throat a millisecond away from sudden death! By some miracle, we were able to catch the German Shepherd, wrest him to the ground and retrieve Clancy from his teeth. Clancy promptly got up, looked at us as if to say, “What’s the big deal - I had it covered the whole time.”

And what about the ten thousand dollar iron gate I had put in at my house in LA so that Clancy could run in the front yard without getting into the street? Oh yes, countless times I measured him, his width, his length, his chest and also measured sample gate styles and sizes, getting  estimates from several companies. I made sure I was ordering everything to the T. Finally, a decision was made and construction began. I would have a perfect gate for my Clancy.

It was a two-day affair as we sat on the front step watching the workers ensure the safety of Clancy. When work was done and we were about to christen the new fence, out ran Clancy. As he reached the gate, he somehow deflated his sides, sucked in all his air and whoops, squeezed thru the bars! There went ten grand but more importantly there went Clancy!

This past November 20th, Clancy went into cardiac arrest at the vet’s and actually died on the table. His warrior namesake to the fore – after CPR, intubation, epinephrine and the great work of Dr. Lessinger and her team here at the Animal Clinic and Wellness Center, he roused, came back, came home with me and lived until this past Tuesday, passing away in his sleep. The chances of surviving cardiac arrest in the first 24 hours are almost nil much less 2 months and eleven days later! And, also special note of thanks for Dr. Schumacher’s care of Clancy since that “reborn” day.

Many more Clancy stories, sad, wonderful, trying. I know that you animal lovers out there all have countless tales (pardon the pun) to tell. These creatures are our joy if we allow them to show us/tell us their specialness. It’s as if they are put here to teach us something. As the days go by, I am remembering all that Clancy has taught me. He more than lived up to his red warrior name.