One year ago today, June 25, 2009, my best friend Tucker departed this plane.
I've only been able to speak about him without my voice cracking for about a month now. This is the first I've been able to write, and it is more difficult than I thought it might be.
I am not sure why I'm writing this to you, here.
It is not my intention to tug on your heartstrings.
Tucker was truly exceptional, but he wasn't unique in that regard.
It is cathartic for me but the real reason, I suppose, is a sense of obligation - to him, and to all of us.
I owe so much to Tucker and I can't ever repay him.
What I can do is tell the world that he lived and loved.
Tucker was a Border Collie mix rescued from a local shelter at seven weeks old.
The breed is known for its intelligence and Tucker was a prime example.
His vocabulary was immense, and he learned to spell some words.
We couldn't spell r-i-v-e-r or k-i-t-e without him catching on.
We couldn't even mentally visualize the word "cookie" without him perking up.
He was an early riser, we are not.
His initial solution was to knock the TV remote off the coffee table and step on it until the TV came on. When that happened, my wife Teri or I would get up -- from his perspective, problem solved.
We started hiding the remote. That worked for a while.
He discovered that the remote for our car alarm on the keychain was an even better solution. The neighbors stridently disagreed.
Early in his puppyhood he learned patience by sharing sandwiches with me. He would get the last bite, and it took no time at all for him to catch on. He would wait patiently until the last bite was available.
Of course, over time, we started arguing about what the last bite looked like.
One of my proudest showing-off-my-wonderdog moments was introducing him to a couple of friends. I had been bragging about him to them and their expectations were high though they were skeptical. I told Tucker "This is John, and this is Rich. Take a toy to Rich then go and shake John's hand".
The look on their faces as he did just that is priceless and they still tell the story to incredulous audiences.
I have seventeen years' worth of stories I could tell about his amazing feats of mental agility.
But it is his heart that I really want to tell you about.
When he was a year old I rescued another approximately year-old pup from the roadside, a Rottweiller/Labrador mix. Our daughter named her Tamika.
She was very skittish, she had obviously been mistreated. On her first day at her new home, she cowered in a corner with pleading eyes and wouldn't budge to eat or drink.
Tucker picked up his food bowl and carried it to her and lay down beside her.
She relaxed instantly and was calm while he was near her. At times when he was not, she reverted to her frightened and wary state. He coached her through that until she became the fun-loving (if a bit dense) member of our family we remember.
Tucker saved 'mika's life at the river by helping me pull her from the water. Tamika was built like a barrel and did not swim well but was cursed with the Labrador's infatuation with water. Teri and I were cooking and didn't notice that 'mika was struggling in the current.
Tucker barked and dove in, then grabbed a chunk of 'mika's shoulder and valiantly kept her afloat until I could get there to help, and he didn't let go until she was on the shore.
When Tamika fell ill from kidney disease he never left her side and if she was in discomfort he would come find us and lead us to her. After her death, he watched with knowing and compassionate eyes as I gathered her bed and toys to get them out of sight. When Teri or I would get misty about her, or about anything, Tucker would demand to be in our laps, something he didn't do at any other time.
Camping at the river was ecstacy for Tucker. As soon as the truck got onto dirt roads, he knew where we were going. He loved helping to gather wood and kindling, and running flat-out at warp speed just for the joy of running. As a herder, he cornered like a slot car, and poor 'mika was often left tumbling and rolling as she tried to follow him.
He also loved flying kites. When I got a kite in the air, he would take the spool and hold it. If the string became slack, he would run until the kite crashed or he got it back in the sky.
One day he discovered a jackrabbit in the back yard. His herding instinct took over and he finally corraled it into a corner where it promptly fell over dead. Of course Tucker had never touched it, it died of simple fright. He was heartbroken and felt guilty for days. He wouldn't go near that corner of the yard for a month or more. I tried to convey to him that he didn't do anything wrong, that it just sucks to be a rabbit.
He fought another dog only once, when an aunt brought hers to visit. The two got along fine until the aunt's dog snapped at one of our cats. That was unacceptable to Tucker and he let her know in no uncertain terms.
The cats loved him, and in fact he was the one who first adopted the feral cats that are also now a part of our family. They trusted him and cuddled and slept with him for weeks before we could approach them.
He was the world's best listener and a philosopher extraordinaire.
His advice when we were feeling blue was always spot on. It was always the same, of course: "Let's go to the river, Dad", and it was perfection.
He was born in 1992, and was 15 when he began showing signs of hip displasia. It worsened over the next two years. We treated him with joint and pain medications. It became unmanageable when he was 17 and the dosage of pain meds he required to be able to walk increased to the point it damaged his brain. He began having seizures once or twice a week. After a short time, when it became once or twice a day, we could no longer stand to see him suffer.
We were not prepared for the loss of Tucker, though we thought we were. We let him go and both fell into deep depression. I became a hermit, staying away from work for three weeks with no contact except my loving wife and our cats.
When 'mika died, Tucker was healthy but we knew his day would eventually come, it is just part of the deal. I saved 'mika's ashes, planning to bury them alongside Tucker's when his time on this Earth was done. I can't bring myself to bury or scatter his ashes. His and 'mika's reside on our mantle and we light candles in remembrance when we feel moved to do so.
For seventeen wonderful years he gave us unconditional love and challenged us every single day to simply live.
Tucker's legacy is us, Teri and I.
We are fundamentally changed people, better people, for having him in our lives.
I miss you, my friend.
I can smell your fur, and feel the softness of your ears.
I can see you in the trees, running with that beautiful long tail flying behind you.
I will never be able to fully express the gratitude and humility I feel for having known you.