In Memory of Clapton

I remember finding Clapton at the animal shelter near the San Antonio zoo. He was pacing around his small area, it looked like he had a lot of energy. I was looking for a dog who would be, in part, a running buddy. I took a couple dogs out for a walk that first day, but out of all of them Clapton struck me as “the one”.

I came back the following two days and took different dogs for a walk, each time also taking Clapton. At one point there were children playing in one of the dog play areas, and I decided to see how he’d do around them. They wanted to play with him and he was interested in playing with them, it seemed like he liked kids well enough, although he was generally indifferent about people.

He seemed indifferent about me too. He liked our walks, and wanted to keep going. After all, the alternative was remaining in his caged area. But we walked and jogged well together. Each time I took him we went on a different route. Once we went through the park, once we went up a hill and around the amphitheater, once we went up to the school area nearby. He pulled and was too anxious on the leash, and he needed some work in learning to jog with me, but those were all things I was certain he could learn.

He seemed smart. He wasn’t afraid of people, he was extremely interested in his surroundings, he was generally good at reading what I was trying to do and following along. It helped that I wanted to do the things he wanted to do, and he wanted out of that cage most of all, I suspect.

After that third visit I told the staff I wanted to take him home.

“Really? Pickles?” They asked.

“Yes, why?”

“He has been here two years, we wondered when someone would take him.”

He moved into my apartment, and I kept him in his crate whenever I wasn’t there and when I was sleeping. He whined about that quite a bit, and I was only able to ask him to get in or trick him into it a couple times before I just had to shove him in there. I moved some sheets to the floor next to his crate and slept there so he wouldn’t be alone, and he stopped whining.

After maybe a day I let him stay out of his crate when I took a few minutes to leave the apartment and get a coffee or something. When I came back, nothing was chewed on or broken, nothing was peed or pooped on. Over the next couple days I gave him more and more time out of the crate when I was out of the apartment. In just a few days I was able to leave him out of the crate completely, and I experienced no significant problems.

That’s not to say that he chewed nothing up. One of the first things I got him was a pull-rope, and we destroyed the first within a couple weeks. The second we destroyed in a week. The third, fourth, fifth… we destroyed in days. I saw this as fine. I was happy that he was destroying the rope and nothing else. After many ropes destroyed, some bits pooped out, some scattered all over the apartment, the destruction slowed. They lasted a month, then a year, and the one I have now has lasted several years and is inherited by Biscuit.

Clapton and I went on walks down to the Pearl market on the weekend, and walked along the riverwalk most weekdays. Once or twice a week we’d walk down to a bar on the riverwalk, get a beer, and walk back while drinking it. We jogged up the hill from the apartment on Broadway, jogged over to the zoo and his animal shelter, jogged down the riverwalk and back.

Clapton and I would go out to the State Parks a few times a month. We’d walk at Guadalupe River State Park, or Government Canyon, then often we’d stop at Raisin’ Cane’s for some chicken and french fries. I’d always give him some bites as he rode in the back of the Tacoma.

On one of those hikes early on we were at Medina River State Natural Area. I was fairly certain that we were buddies by that point, but you never know what’s going on in another animal’s head. It was a quiet day, nobody was around, and very few people were ever on that trail. I didn’t see any animals, so I let Clapton off his leash to walk near me and explore. He was mostly listening to my commands and obeying, but he was also running off into the bushes and getting excited about all the smells. Then he smelled a deer, and saw the deer, and then he was off chasing it into the woods. I ran after him to the edge of the woods but couldn’t see him.

Clapton was crashing around in the woods for a couple minutes, I could hear him and the deer. Occasionally they would cross somewhere in front of me, but I could only hear it and couldn’t see him. I was shouting for Clapton to stop.

The chase sounds stopped and the woods were quiet for another few minutes. I started shouting Clapton’s name so he would know where I was, I figured either he ran off and I’d never find him again, or he was lost and needed to be able to find me. It was no use looking for him in the woods, they were too thick and I had no idea which direction he was in by that point. I wasn’t even sure if he was nearby.

I called for Clapton for ten minutes before I started to hear something running through the brush again. It was coming up from almost behind me. It was Clapton tearing through the woods as fast as he could go, straight for me. I squatted down and he crashed right into me, breathing extremely hard, bleeding from a couple small cuts from branches, and relieved to see me. You never know what’s going on in another animal’s head, but sometimes you can be sure about some narrow thing. I was sure right then that I was his best buddy, and he was never going to leave me on purpose.

He stayed at my parents’ place for three weeks when I drove out to Dayton to attend an Air Force class, and when I started dating Sarah. They loved hanging out with him and he got along very well with their dog at the time, Susie. Clapton was a good road trip companion. He’s big enough that the back of the truck isn’t comfortable for him, but he was able to find a way to ride for a time. Road-tripping with a dog means you have to stop and smell the roses every now and then too, which is better than allowing yourself to go all day without break.

Dogs have a way of making us slow down. That’s another thing I was looking for when I found Clapton. I was a single guy living in San Antonio with a job that was high-stress for me. I took care of a dog named Aggie for about 6 months and found out that a moderate/high energy dog can really pull me out of my own butt. They need exercise, they need attention, they need food and bathroom breaks and (some) need to be held back as they try to tear someone’s face off. All of those things require me to focus on that dog for a not-insignificant amount of time each day, and when I’m focusing on the dog I’m not replaying things that happened at work. I’m not playing video games on the couch, I’m out hiking. It’s nice to have a buddy that forces you to do the things you’d want to do, if only you had the presence of mind to do them.

Clapton could never handle a bath or swimming. He was afraid of the water. I got Clapton in March of 2015, and he had spent about two years in the shelter at that point. When they got him to the shelter he was about one year old (before being in the shelter he spent a little time at someone’s house in Austin, with several other street dogs, where they called him Flaco because he was so skinny), and I think he spent most of that year on the street in San Antonio somewhere. I suspect in that time he got rained on, or washed out in a storm drain (lots of San Antonio stray dogs shelter in the storm drains), and the rain left him very cold and afraid. I don’t know why I think this, but I’ve always thought that was the cause of his fear of water. It was like pulling teeth to get him to stand in the Guadalupe River with me, and whenever I bathed him I always struggled to keep him in the bathtub without hurting him accidentally.

We went through several moves together. From the apartment we moved into a wonderful house in Columbia, MD, with a backyard. He was allowed to roam the backyard, but had to remain on a long cable because it wasn’t fenced. Still, he loved it. He occasionally saw a deer and took chase. Once I went back out back after breakfast to take him for a walk and most of the cable was gone along with Clapton. I was very worried about him - it was a suburban neighborhood and someone might run him over while he ran around like an idiot. He could be anywhere around the neighborhood. I walked the streets quickly, looking for him, fanning out my search, calling his name. Eventually I found him only across the street from my house, part of the cable and his collar stuck tight in a bush where he had run himself. I was glad he hadn’t strangled himself, but he got a strong talking-to and I got a stronger cable.

We loved walking around Wilde Lake and the other lakes. We went on a few six mile runs together, but in Columbia I decided he couldn’t really handle those anymore. We did jogs of only a couple miles, and he was generally fast but paced himself well-enough for a dog. We walked in the state parks there near Ellicott City, and near the Appalachian Trail. We lived in Columbia for 3 years.

Clapton and I drove out to Idaho Falls, ID, together, in advance of Sarah (who was pregnant with Gigi) and Fatty. I got us to Dayton the first day of the drive, pulling a trailer full of plants and personal stuff we didn’t send with the movers. It had taken a good chunk of the morning to load the trailer and get started, so it was nearly midnight when we were pulling into Dayton. Part of me wanted to keep going, but part of me knew it was much safer to get some good sleep. We pulled into the Wright-Patterson “fam camp”, I setup the tent I had in the trailer, and Clapton and I got some sleep there next to the truck. Before light the next day we were up and back on the road.

A day later we pulled into Denver and stayed with my brother-in-law Henry and their dog Toby. Clapton and Toby got along very well. The following day we pulled into Idaho Falls, and within a few days we had setup the new apartment in advance of Sarah. I checked Clapton into a vet’s boarding facility, and flew home to drive Sarah out.

I think Clapton liked our year in Idaho. We lived in a two bedroom apartment, and the lack of a backyard didn’t make him happy, I’m certain. But I had plenty of time from work to take him on good walks around the area. We went hiking around and up small mountains, regardless of if it was snowing. He got along well with the cat by then, so the small apartment didn’t cause them trouble. Half of that year was COVID, so I had a lot more time home with him than usual.

We moved back to San Antonio after Idaho. He and I rode in the truck while Sarah, the new-born Gigi, and Sarah’s sister Michelle rode in Sarah’s Kia. We stopped at the dinosaur gas station in Denton, CO, and got a picture of Gigi on the back of the dinosaur.

Our house in San Antonio was wonderful for Clapton. We were fortunate enough to live there for five years, and he could roam the fenced-in backyard freely as long as he wanted. He dug small depressions in a couple spots where he could curl up in the dirt, one was under the bushes along the “sun room” windows.

Clapton made good friends with Max, Zoey, and Bowie, in the neighborhood, and had a couple other dogs he liked too. But Max especially was Clapton’s friend. They looked alike. I’m not sure what breed Clapton was, whenever someone asked I would say, “mutt”, or “San Antonio Street Dog”. Someone told me once their dog was just like him (it was a common look in San Antonio), and they thought theirs was an Australian Kelpie, which is a type of sheep dog. Perhaps Clapton was an Australian Kelpie, he had some herding-type behaviors. The shelter had him marked as German Shepherd, which is insanity but perhaps he had some of that in there… Whatever type of dog Clapton was, Max was too.

Any time we’d walk near Max’s street, Clapton would ask me to walk down there. We’d be walking along and Clapton would stop, and stand still. He’d gently resist my small tugs to tell him to keep moving, and he’d look at me, then look down Max’s street. He and I communicated very well, but he didn’t always care what I was telling him. More often-than-not, I’d walk down Max’s street with him.

Max and Clapton were about the same age, as far as Max’s dad Ron knew. Max was also from the San Antonio streets. They acted like they had known each other since the litter, the first time I introduced them. Perhaps they did. Clapton never acted quite like that with any other dog. I got the impression that both thought of the other as a brother.

Any time we walked past Max’s house Clapton would look at their door to see if Max was looking out, and available. He’d try to linger at their house to give Max time to come out, he’d pee on something to let Max know he’d been there, he’d give a little bark to see if Max heard him. If Max noticed, he would start barking to ask Ron to let him go see Clapton. We’d hang out and let them run around off leash.

Zoey was a little older than Clapton, and we’d run into her on a part of our walk up a hill. She and Clapton loved playing off leash, and Clapton would play tag with her, drink some of the water her mom would leave out, sniff all around. Zoey would chase Clapton around the yard a bit. Zoey was an old girl, and it showed in the way she’d walk. Right up until, that is, Clapton arrived in her yard. Then she acted like she was years younger. She just loved when we’d visit, and if she wasn’t outside we’d regularly see her looking out her window for us (and her other friends) when we’d walk past.

Bowie and Clapton got along like boyfriend and girlfriend. Bowie was much smaller than Clapton, maybe 20 pounds to his 50-ish. They loved hanging out, and we’d get together with Jamie and Joe, Bowie’s parents, and their kids, and Clapton and Bowie would just chill together. A few times we watched Bowie at our house while her family was out of town, and they definitely got up to stuff in the backyard whenever we weren’t looking. Bowie was not fixed, and was in-heat a couple times. While Clapton was fixed he still knew what to do.

Bowie and her family had to move away in 2023. Max started getting fatty deposits all over his body in early 2024, and died later that year. Zoey died of age-related issues in 2024 too. Clapton always looked for them when we walked past their houses after that. I guess he probably understood death: he found or killed a squirrel once and left it on the back deck. I certainly don’t know how to tell a dog that his best buddies have died. As the months went by he asked to play with his dog friends less and less, but he always perked up a bit and left a Pee-mail for them when we went past their houses.

Ada was born in San Antonio in 2023. Clapton didn’t know what to make of Gigi as a baby, but he knew a little more when Ada showed up. I think initially Clapton and Fatty were jealous of Gigi because she was some other animal that took my attention away from them. Babies demand a lot of attention. I made sure I still gave the pets plenty of attention, and babies also like walks so Clapton got more walks than ever before. Once Gigi was able to feed herself a little, she was also able to drop some food for Clapton, and I think that was the point where he started to realize babies could really have up-sides.

Once Gigi started to walk, I think Clapton realized she was going to become one of those kids he liked interacting with. Kids were his height, they sometimes threw balls for him, and they generally gave him nice pets that weren’t too hard. Georgia would become one of those, living with him all the time. I think he started to realize he was getting a pretty sweet deal, and maybe I was giving him a little less attention but maybe that was okay.

Then when Ada came along, Clapton already knew the deal. I don’t think he got jealous of her at all, but I do think he acted resigned to getting a little less attention again. Gigi was paying him more attention, so maybe that was enough offset. Plus he had his friends and his backyard and a nice house to hang out in, and he was getting older and had less energy anyway.

I’m so thankful that I could give Clapton so many experiences in his life. He helped me out so much, I’m glad I gave him what I could. From our long walks and travels together, to the family we built and friends he made, the little cuts of meat I dropped him and the cat after I smoked meat, to the new street-dog we got that he shared his home with and helped to train those last few months (Biscuit). I think he loved his life, and loved having a friend all those years. I’m so grateful I went into the shelter that day and took him home and trusted him.

The end came quick. We moved to Virginia in June 2025. Clapton and Biscuit rode in the truck, Clapton in the back of the cab as always, and Biscuit in his covered crate in the bed, out of the elements but crammed in the only place we could put him. We stayed in a hotel for a week and had fun going for walks around the hotel. Clapton and Biscuit dug all the chicken bones out of the road-side that they could find, after pigs had flung them from their cars. We went for walks in the neighborhood, on the trail through the woods behind our town house, around the pond nearby. We took the girls to the playground. Clapton calm and friendly on walks, always, and Biscuit an insane idiot but improving.

He got sick for about a week in August. It wasn’t unusual, he was a little sluggish and off-his-feed, and he got a little skinny. Then he started eating okay again. He got sick again, off-his-feed and sluggish, in mid-September. He had a couple instances where he lost his balance, probably flare ups of vestibular disease. His weight hadn’t come back yet though, and after a week and a half I took him to the vet. “Perhaps the vestibular disease was making him nauseous, and causing him to not want to eat”, I hoped. He was probably about 13 and a half years old.

“I have some bad news for you.”

“Oh.”

“He has a very large mass in most of his liver, and it has spread to his spleen.”

“Oh.”

“He only has a couple weeks.”

“Oh. Thank you doc.”

Clapton and I went for a long walk near the vet’s office after that visit. His walks had gotten very slow, and we took our time. I texted Sarah as we were finishing up, but we went until I thought it was probably unwise to let Clapton spend much more energy.

Over the next few weeks I gave Clapton some medicines for nausea, appetite, and liver health. It was only to make him more comfortable, and to help him get as many more walks as he still wanted.

On one walk he collapsed a little coming up a big hill, and I stopped taking him up big hills after that. We found a nice place to go off-leash in what felt like the woods, so we went there until he stopped being able to make it that far. We found a nice rise among some trees to walk to at the end of the block, so we walked there and sat on that rise until he couldn’t really make it that far anymore.

On one of his last walks the girls wanted to come with him. He loved their company on that walk. He gave it a little more razzle-dazzle than he had been, and he wanted to keep going past the end of the block, past the little rise among the trees. He got pooped shortly after that and they played while he lay in the grass resting. They were very patient for him, much more patient than usual, and petted him while he recovered. He stood and wanted to go on, but I knew that he didn’t have the energy. We coaxed him back towards the house, and to the end of the block, where he dropped down into the grass and fall leaves to recover again. The girls were being very patient but have their limits, and I told them they should see if they could run home. I lay in the grass and leaves with Clapton for a bit, then carried him most of the way home.

He ate fewer and fewer things in those last weeks. The appetite medicine helped him a bit. Previously he ate a lot of kibble and a little canned meat. I started feeding him a little kibble and a lot of canned meat. He’d have some peanut butter to get the pills down. Then he stopped eating kibble, but could eat half a can of meat. Then he could only eat a little canned meat, and some pulled pork. I’d put some peanut butter on the side after he took his pills. Then he’d only eat some pulled pork and hot dogs. He stopped being interested in peanut butter. Then he’d only eat a little pulled pork. He ate what he could, but wasn’t hungry. He got weaker and weaker.

He needed help to get standing, but once he was standing he wanted to walk somewhere.

I fed him some pulled pork and brisket on his last morning. We ambled out into the backyard and he lay in the grass alongside the woods for a long time. I sat with him and wrote this.

More Photos

• Share this article: