I first saw him in the back pages of the Auto Shopper — yes, a car magazine. If you are an animal lover, you just cannot help yourself. You are always looking for the animals, whether or not you can actually accommodate said animals, or are even in the search for one. At the time, I wasn’t even looking for a vehicle!
“Last one,” the ad read. The next week, the same magazine said it again, “Last one.” Again. Oh, for crying out loud. The most perfect pup in the world — one that would completely match my black-and-white fleet — was for sale in the Auto Shopper for $150. I went to claim him and he became mine. This was about 15 years ago.
Three months old and stunningly back and white (a cross between a border collie and a McNab), Tucker was a nice stocky pup with a fabulous personality out of the gate. Never mind he would get regularly turned over by the resident Queenie — not one with great manners or a welcoming demeanor — Tucker would bounce right back and still follow his older brother around, smiling as he went.
If there was a problem child among the pack, it was never Tucker. He was the happy-go-lucky chap, the one least likely to snap or bite. Foster pups would come along, as they do when you have an animal rescue, and he would sniff and smile as if to say, “Welcome to Solace whoever you are! You are most welcome here!” Despite his size, he always acted as if he was a small doggy and likely to get picked on if he made too much fuss. He is the only one of my pups not technically a rescue dog. Though I did rescue him from the pages of a car magazine, he was never a rescue per se and always insisted that I was his only dog if I tried to act in any other way. He would claim the seat next to me, the number one position by the bed and so on, quietly resisting if another came along to steal his place — one of the benefits of being a rather large chap, in the scheme of things.
Not to dismiss my amazing fleet of rescue canines in any way, but I could always trust Tucker, no matter what the situation. If there were children at the house, he always wanted to leave with them in the car, regardless. If there were youngsters in the pool, he would bark and bark, annoyingly insistently, to make sure that someone had noticed there were children in the pool, even if we were right there, which we always were. He absolutely adores kids.
I would take him out carol singing at the Eden Valley care home, where he would happily sport a Santa Claus hat and jacket, no matter the humiliation. We got him approved as a therapy dog at the same place, so that he could go in and visit with the dog-loving folk. We were so accustomed to being there that I could just unleash him in the lobby and he would go off to visit with his friends. Such a delightful boy and a major cheerleader to those, deep in sorrow or loneliness or pain, who need it most.
Tucker became a blood donor and would wander around the vet office with a syringe stuck out of his neck, visiting with his friends while he, whole-heartedly, gave of his life-saving liquid. I remember the vet telling me about the day he’d saved the life of a large breed that had needed his blood so badly. We were all so proud of him for that.
I applied for Tuck to go into the prison system, once I learned that they were looking for a therapy dog to come in and replace Winston, their former therapy dog that they missed so much. Tucker would wear his special shirt and, fresh from his bath, hang out of the window with delight when he saw the, rather imposing, penal buildings before us on our weekly trip to the prison. His tail would wag as if he were going to the beach with a bunch of children, his favorite humans on the planet, aside from me. Inside, he was so excited to go to work.
We would wait on the rather harsh plastic chairs while the inmates were brought down to visit from their cells. Some of them would lean into him and hold him tight, often with tattoos all over their faces and tough life lessons written all over their bodies. Tucker loved them all. He would lean back in and take all the hugs he could get. Not everyone wanted a Tucker hug, but sometimes those who refused one came back later. He even visited the inmates who were not allowed to come out to the chairs. He’d stand by their cell doors and listen to them talk to him. One chap actually started talking to Tucker about the dogs he’d had in his youth and the care worker remarked with surprise that he hadn’t spoken in years.
Tucker was a dose of magic for these folks, who all remembered, no matter how many years it had been, when the last time was that they petted a dog. I think that 38 years was the max time I heard and that is a very long time. Many had dog memories from their youth and an equal amount desperately wanted to have another dog in their life when they could. Hero was going to parole out, and he already had the rescue shelter designated from which he would rescue his own dog. Tucker and I learned a lot from our days inside. Tucker would sleep for a long time after his prison work was complete.
Then Covid came along — no more public visits — and Tuck was forced to go on some medications that meant he couldn’t be a blood donor or a therapy dog anymore. He started to slow down, and lumps and bumps could be found all over his body. The glory days had passed. Our Tuck was now in his retirement phase. But he still wanted to leave with the children when they came to visit, always pushed to the front of the pack for coveted treats and forever claimed the place next to Mama by the bed.
Then his bladder started to fail, and we knew it was nearly time. Those are never easy days. Time is so precious when it becomes limited. I was abroad when he started passing blood and I sent messages through the ether to tell him to hang on, Mama is coming home. I needed to hold him and kiss him and tell him he was the best dog ever. I arrive home and he rallies a bit, though still not eating much. He was so glad to see me again.
He’s still hanging on, my glorious boy, holding on tightly to the wonderful life he has had at Solace and all the lives he helped along the way. I’ll miss him so much when he finally slips away, likely with little to no fanfare and I will always deeply love him. Love like that transcends.
