There was interesting man named Clyde who lived in the whereabouts of Big Sur, I have no idea exactly where, or if it was full-time van and campfire life. I’m not even 100% sure of his name, I think I got it right.
Clyde bred and raised dogs. They were all white, blue-eyed, and some exquisite combination of wolf or coyote and Shepherd and/or Husky. Clyde was very precise about the combination, he knew whose mate was who and when and where and how old.
I’ll say this about the fellow’s very mixed reputation (which ranged from fearsome to deranged to saintly), he raised the most marvelous dogs you would ever want to know in your life. Angelic, healthy, beautiful, dispositions of poets, and providing companions for a lot of locals who were lucky enough to end up with one of Clyde’s dogs. There are a lot of all white wolf-like dogs in the Santa Lucia hills there now.
He never seemed quite firmly robust, and sometimes the dogs looked underfed. When we met he was in what are stupidly noted as the golden sunset years of a life, which I suppose I now qualify for myself and I can tell you for a fact it’s hard work and not often golden or sunny. That takes more work than it used to. I took these photographs around 2010. Aren’t they beautiful creatures? Wish I’d noted their names.
I heard that Clyde died two years or so ago. I never did have a long conversation with him, not once; he’d spend time with locals he knew near my The Hawks Perch Gallery off Highway 1, at the pub next door.
I took these photographs with his permission. That’s Clyde’s hand assuring these handsome animals I could be trusted to get near his vehicle.
May they all be blessed in their lives after the loss of the ruffian who did such a nice job loving them. You can see in their eyes how they loved him back. Not a bad legacy, old boy. Au revoir, Clyde.