The Sacred Tartan of Clan O'Clancy

Hey, friends--it's Buster, back from a trek across the tundra! It got down to -26 C last night, which means it's time to put on the Sacred Tartan of Clan O'Clancy to keep my little blue tush warm! My tartan has magical powers derived from its singular role in the mists of time.



We four-legged Celts do cherish our tartans! They're more effective than three pints of Guinness Stout in making us brave and foolish.


When I'm scared, or freezing cold, I put on the Sacred Tartan of Clan O'Clancy, and somehow, things always work out!



Clan O'Clancy is especially distinguished. Years ago, my great, great grandfather, Seamus O'Clancy, attempted to drink his way from County Kerry to Australia, sampling every pub along the way. He made it as far as Connecticut, where he sired a litter of Kerry Blue pups and died of exhaustion.


Brendan Behan, the Irish playwright who claimed that his career as a drinker had been nearly ruined by unfortunate bouts of writing, said it best:

The Irish are a peculiar race, whom God created mad, For all their wars are happy, and all their songs are sad.

Seamus bequeathed to his descendants both his curious genetic legacy--a propensity to bark loudly at nothing in general--and his sacred tartan, which had been passed down to him from the remote and murky past.

Okay--so the motto's Scottish! It's the thought that counts...

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a sense of pride and responsibility! Anyway, warmed by the mythic powers of my tartan, I accompanied the male human on a secret mission to the local Chinese restaurant. I was entrusted with guarding the PT cruiser against potential threats by badgers, chipmunks, and lite beer salesmen.


With nerves of steel, I rode shotgun during the perilous journey! Dad was indeed impressed by my calmness in the face of danger.

At journey's end, I led my terrified, trembling human companion back to the warmth and comfort of the house.

Dad wanted nothing more than to relax--but first, he had to be cheered up with a demonstration of my highly choreographed, precison whirling-and-barking. Pretty fierce, huh?

Then, and only then, did I choose to relax my guard and adjourn to my bed.


It has been a good day! My Mom gets back from Florida Monday night. I must conceive new ways to torment her. Any ideas? Cheers,

Buster