Letter to Clyde

Dear Clyde:

I feel like writing you.

It’s an overcast, sultry morning at the Sanctuary and I’m hanging out in the back yard with Bonnie and the rest of the canine crew.

I sorely miss you my friend and your comically fiendish mania for treats. I lost a little of myself when you left this world and haven’t adjusted yet.

Below me, the river barely trickles. I just took a wonderful three mile walk with my friend Glen and we discussed the various and ongoing debasements of our culture that seem to intensify every day. Glen and I always try to devise new or unearth old methods to combat the debasements.

My time with you and Bonnie along the riv-re engaged me in this combat.

Everything is exploding green around the Sanctuary. The damn blackberries I cut in the winter are returning and I need to launch a spring counteroffensive.

Bonnie is resting in the wet grass a few feet away. She’s doing okay, but always howls when I leave and the howling breaks my heart. I know she’s not howling at my departure, but, rather, your absence.

We all ran (gimped) so well together. I’m still struggling to move forward with my life but I know I will always be connected to you, Bonnie and the Sanctuary.

I like writing while surrounded by dogs. I used to write everything surrounded by dogs. I hope to return to that sort of writing group one day.

It’s starting to rain. Droplets are landing on my notebook paper. Writing in the rain to you, my friend. I know you can hear me.

Matt