In Memory of my Little Best Friend, Clipper Joe Britton

The Adventures of Clipper Joe Britton

March 11, 2016-May 26, 2021
Five years old, much too young to die.
My late wife Betty bought Clipper Joe, a “Party Yorkie” colored black, brown, and white, after the death of her youngest son, Chris. Clipper was named in his honor as Chris had been a barber. Because her Dad’s name had been Joe, her eldest son was also named Joe and so too her first grandson. She always got a Joe in there somewhere.
At first, Betty called Clipper her “teacup puppy.” That’s because he was so small that in the first pictures the breeder sent, little Clipper was in a teacup, his front paws hanging over the cup lip. When Betty brought him home, she kept him in a padded crate by her bed. When my friend Ron came by, he looked into the crate and proclaimed, “That’s not a dog.” It wouldn’t be long before Ron enjoyed playing with Clipper—“You want to fight?”
For the first year of his life, Clipper was Betty’s Emotional Support Puppy and stuck to his Mommy like glue. He rode on her shoulders in the car and when she sat pretty much anywhere. From the beginning he was a babe magnet, with all the secretaries and cleaning staff at the college where I worked coming out to the parking lot to adore him anytime Betty and Clipper waited for me to come out after class. She carried Clipper in her purse whenever we went into the credit union which we shouldn’t have done, but the staff always loved seeing him.
Then Betty’s horrible decline began. She spent much of 2017 in a hospital, then rehab, then home, and then back in the hospital, rehab . . . a cycle that repeated four times until her death in April 2018. During that time, Clipper’s groomer, Shelley Merrifield, realized his blind Daddy couldn’t bring him for grooming so she came over, collected him, groomed him, and brought him home. When Betty learned about that, she asked Shelley to be Clipper’s godmother.
During those months, Clipper, “Doodles,” “Doodle-dog,” Little man,” “Little Boy, “Baby Boy” became my Emotional Support Puppy. I took him to see Betty in the hospital and rehab whenever possible as those two were so closely bonded. One of the saddest days of my life was when I took Clipper in for the last time and I knew Betty didn’t even know he was there.
Then it was me, Clipper, and Molly the cat. That little dog just filled my little house. He was so social, so loved by one and all. Whenever I walked him down Larue Street, the odds were pretty good any women out and about would want to come adore him. He was a babe magnet all right—for him. He never shared. Mainly, he wanted his belly rubbed.
He slept under my chin at night, a spot Molly and he competed for. He woke me most mornings wanting out, wanting water, wanting fed. He was my constant companion, beside me on the coutch, sitting beside me on my recliner, barking for human food every time I ate, running around his fenced in yard barking at whatever he was interested in barking at. I always knew where he was as his harness was attached to his tags and several bells. “Jingle-belly.”
He liked to sit on top of the couch, looking out the front window at the park. He so wanted to go to the park and interact with potential admirers. He wanted one and all to know he was the King of Larue Street.
Every day, I had to figure out if Clipper was going to get any walks. Was it too cold, too windy, too hot, too wet? Would he be in the mood? Often, he just wouldn’t cooperate. Five years old, and we still had to put puppy pads down for him in the drum room.
He was easy to carry around, even when he became a tad chubby at 11 pounds. He loved car rides and never got enough of them. He wanted to go anywhere.
He always loved it when my grandson Joey came down for a weekend during good weather. We’d leash Clipper up and walk him two blocks down to Linglestown town square. We’d go to the St. Thomas Roister coffeeshop and leash Clipper to one of the outdoor tables where Joey and I enjoyed some mocha.
There were times when he was all about his toys, especially that half-whatever-it was stuffed something. In his early years, he really loved his squeaky toys. With me and later Sandy, he’d play tug of war with his toys and sometimes fetch, but rarely for very long.
He was picky about his treats. His favorite were Puperoni sticks even when the vet told us we should wean him off them so he could lose weight and give him green beans instead. Sometimes, he was really into his Greenies and dental chew sticks. Each year, we’d walk him across the park on Memorial Day to watch the parade. There was always a girl who’d throw treats for all the dogs along the route. Clipper ignored them.
One horrible adventure took place while I was in Tennessee over Thanksgiving in 2018. Clipper was staying at my friend Cherri’s where her dogs attacked him and really tore him up. He required some serious surgery.
When I came home, he wasn’t his old self. For a little while. He never again gained the strength to leap on the coutch or bed so Shelley bought him a set of puppy steps so clipper could climb up to be with his daddy. His steps were out by the coutch during the day, by the bed at night. From that point forward, when I was out-of-town, Clipper stayed with Shelley and her boyfriend Jared where Clipper made friends with their dogs.
Then, my new girlfriend Sandy moved in on December 26, 2020 and Clipper immediately decided Sandy was his new Mommy. He took to her so much I sometimes felt twinges of jealousy. He waited for Sandy to go to bed and followed her back to the bedroom. He laid beside her on the coutch. He loved his new Mommy.

Then, it should have been a simple procedure—a dental cleaning at the Dauphin County Animal Hospital. We took him on that Wednesday morning and Sandy said he gave her looks saying, “Mommy—please don’t leave me here! Please don’t make me do this!” We have to wonder if he knew what was coming.
Hours later, the phone calls began. Apparently, they gave him too much anesthesia and apparently some sort of brain clot was created or loosened or something. Anyway, the vet said he was still alive, but his eyes were dim. Non-responsive.
When Sandy got off work, we immediately went to the hospital and heard the saddest sounds of my life. Clipper was breathing with sharp, penetrating cries like he was in constant pain. His eyes were dull—Sandy said she could tell he was no longer there. The vet went back and forth with advice, saying he might snap out of it. I wanted to give him a fighting chance even while listening to that torturous breathing. The vet said he wasn’t feeling any pain as his brain wasn’t registering any pain.
Then it became 7:00, the time the vet said was the time to decide what to do. Seemed time to pull the plug. Clipper took the decision from us by taking his last breath about 7:10.
This house is so empty without my Clipper. He was with me the last months Betty and I lived on Patton Street during my final semester teaching. With three exceptions when I took some out-of-state trips, Clipper spent pretty much every day here once we moved into this house. I attended to him first thing every morning, he was in bed with me and then me and Sandy every night. Sometimes he crashed on one sofa, sometimes the other, often on the carpet in the living room close to his people. Now my heart is just shredded. I’m too accustomed to grief.
They tell me I’ll someday need a new companion, a reason to get up in the morning, a reason to leash a new dog and walk him down Larue Street. Someday. No dog can replace Clipper. As Shelley and Jared say, he was just unique. So loving. So adorable. So magnetic. So charismatic to one and all. So cute.
God, what I’m feeling is just horrible.