Prozac in heaven

We euthanized Tucker two weeks ago. He was our 90 lb, 9 year old goofy, neurotic, 80 mg of Prozac a day, forever puppy Golden Retriever. Out of all three of our dogs, he was all dog. Chandler and Pacey are thinkers. You look into their eyes and realize that there is more to them then just a dog. Tucker, on the other hand, was not a thinker. He was all dog.

Tucker was a son of a somewhat loose bitch that was bred twice by a full Golden and a Shar-Pei. Half the litter were full Golden and the other were mixes. Tucker was one of the full Goldens, but sometimes I wondered if any of the Shar-Pei crazy genes made their way into his DNA.

Bryan really wanted a Golden Retriever. I was not a big fan of the idea. Still in vet school, Bryan was renting a room in the Alpha Psi house. A ROOM...not an apartment...a ROOM. He already had one dog. (Did I mention that he was living in a ROOM?) I was insisting that the space was too small for two dogs...especially one that was going to at least reach 60 lbs (I really underestimated his weight). Bryan, of course, didn't listen to me...it wasn't like we were married or even engaged...yet. Don't tell him I said this, but this is the one time I'll say that I'm happy he didn't listen to me.

Much like Lennie from "Of Mice and Men", Tucker was a big oaf that didn't know his own size. His great loves were his "babies"--plush toys for dogs sometimes with squeakers and sometimes without. Pacey had no interest in the toys. She's too good for a stupid toy. Furthermore, a toy is not food. Chandler just tore them apart. Being the part border collie that he is, he wanted to figure out how the squeaker worked hoping to invent a new and improved squeaker. Tucker, on the other hand, would lovingly carry them around in his mouth...periodically laying to groom them ever so gently. The only time that Pacey would want one of these toys was when she felt like bullying Tucker. If you gave one of them to Chandler, they would be torn up with stuffing all over the house in a matter of minutes. Tucker? One toy would last for years. We had several of these babies. When we opened the door for him to come inside, he would bulldoze his way in and obsessively patter around the house searching for all his babies. He wouldn't stop until he found them all. There could be four or more at a time and he would stuff them all in his mouth and carry them around...his security blanket. He may have been a little OCD (did I mention the Prozac?).

When I became pregnant, his fear of hardwood floors (did I mention this?) was put aside because he now had a job. Tucker sensed that there was something different about me...sensed a vulnerability in me that was not there before (not to mention my belly was growing exponentially). He became my bodyguard barely leaving my side. I would leave the room...he would leave the room...I went upstairs...he went upstairs. It didn't matter if it meant walking on hardwoods or not.

We always kidded around that with our luck, Tucker would be the last one to go. However, it didn't turn out that way. He wound up being the first one to go. He had an innocence about him that made the decision harder than I thought. With the other two, I believe they will give us knowing looks and realize that it is time. With Tucker, I don't think he would have ever realized that it was time. Despite his bleeding liver and splenic tumors, he still acted like a completely goofy 90 lb puppy with a couple of episodes of being really lethargic and depressed.

Frustrating though he might be at times, he brought us much joy in the form of laughter. Now, I think of him running around in a heaven filled to the brim with plush toys...plenty of pregnant women to guard...where the rivers are full of Prozac.