Tribute to a Good Boy

Clyde was a Five-Star, G-rated sorta dog, full of love and a fair amount of whimsy.

He was well-mannered, and adhered to prescribed boundaries. With some exceptions when instinct prevailed, like the time he uprooted everything in my luggage in hope of finding the pecans buried there. He found them, and I was afraid he was going to die from pecan poisoning. But he did not. At least not from that, and not then.

But, all of us die, especially, it seems, the good ones.

Clyde’s departure from this world happened quickly on Sunday, September 6, at a hospital in Milwaukee—cradled and rocked into eternity by his loving family.

He was adopted from a Milwaukee shelter after arriving with other dogs inbound from Georgia. We know nothing about his earlier life, but what we know for sure is the Clyde we knew was always a very good boy, except perhaps for the pecan caper.

Clyde was a red-bone coonhound, with courtly manners.

Folks at the shelter had already named him Clyde because it seemed a good name for a north Georgia boy. My family honored their choice and also gave him a well-suited nickname—David Niven.

The younger among us may not recognize the name. But others may remember the popular movie actor

known for his English accent, the well-groomed mustache, the easy dignity he lent to every role.

That’s why a little girl in Southern California fell in love with him all those years ago, watching his movies on black and white television.

And all that class wasn’t a contrivance, either. It was genuine, as others have noticed.

Following his death in 1983, his biographer Graham Lord wrote, “The biggest wreath, worthy of a Mafia Godfather’s funeral, was delivered from the porters at London’s Heathrow Airport, along with a card that read: ‘To the finest gentleman who ever walked through these halls. He made a porter feel like a king.’”

Fare thee well, dear Clyde. Say hello to David.

Mary Patricia Trainor 2026

David Niven