Love, Clancy: Diary of a Good Dog


 Contents
 
 Title Page
 Copyright Notice
 Dedication
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 Thirty-Seven
 Acknowledgments, Meandering Thoughts, Song Lyrics
 By W. Bruce Cameron
 About the Author
 Newsletter Sign-up
 Copyright
 
 
 
 Guide
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 One
 Acknowledgments, Meandering Thoughts, Song Lyrics
 Contents
 Copyright
 
 
 
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 Table of Contents
 About the Author
 Copyright Page
 
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 For Scott Miller: a rare, decent man who came into my life as my literary agent and has remained as a friend.
 
 
 
 Dear Diary:
 The cat is despicable.
 Even her name is dreadful: Kelsey. My name, Clancy, carries with it all the fun and love that a wonderful dog can bring to the world. The name Kelsey has none of those qualities. The name Kelsey sounds like, well, a cat.
 I don’t understand it, but before my person, JayB, brought me home, he was living here by himself with this deplorable creature.
 Meanwhile, I had been looking for JayB in the world. As a puppy, I lived with a nice woman with many dogs, then a tired woman with a baby, then a man with wonderfully dirty fingers, but never with anyone who felt quite right, because they didn’t seem to have the time for me. A dog needs more than shoes to chew and bowls of food to eat—without a person, our person, we are lost—and we know who our person is: it is the human who commits to loving us unconditionally. All the people liked me, of course, because I am a wonderful dog, but none of them completely opened their hearts to me.
 Then I met JayB, who I loved from the moment I sniffed his outstretched hand.
 When I bounded in the door for the first time, Kelsey was standing in the hallway. Let it be known to all dogs and humans that I was willing to be friendly, even loving, toward this tiny, strange animal. I could only assume she would feel the same way about me. Who doesn’t love a happy dog?
 Kelsey, that’s who doesn’t love a happy dog.
 Her eyes became slits and her sneering lips drew back from her evil teeth and her back arched impossibly high and her claws extended and she emitted the most awful spitting sound, like a snake, or something getting ready to attack a snake. Then she turned and fled—something she came to do less and less as she became accustomed to my presence. Now she is not at all intimidated, which is humiliating.
 She pads around the house, silently looking for victims. Oh, she has JayB fooled: his pants are often befouled with her rank odor from the way she presses up against him, rubbing her head and making that hideous, weird purring sound she emits while pretending to be an