Suburban Kvetch

Ode to a good dog

I walked around the house, picking up the bowls full and half full of water that we’d put every where Tucker liked to lay, so it was easy to give him a drink when he looked thirsty.  Some of the water was still cold.

I took down all the bones from the top of the fridge, the bones Tuck wasn’t allowed to have because they might irritate his stomach.  Those bones also  forbidden from the other dogs since May.  Giving one dog a bone and not the other is like giving one kid an ice cream cone and telling the other to watch him eat it.  I dropped the bones around the house in the used-to-be-usual spots for chewing  — under the dining room table, on the expensive living room rug, in the middle of the long hall leading to the bedroom where it’s easy to step on it if you’re not looking.

The rugs Tucker laid on the past few weeks, because it was easier for him to get up from a rug than the slick  floor, stayed.  They’re our bath mats really, because bath mats don’t slip, and by tonight they’ll be washed and back with their mates in the appropriate bathrooms.

Tucker loved the bathroom - it was a one-stop shop.  A bowl perfect for drinking that was always full (and in a house with three dogs, always flushed), a cold floor and a comfy rug, and visitors.  So many amenities!  As a puppy it was the place he’d grab the end of the toilet paper roll to begin his romp around the house - the canine caper that ensued was not unlike that of high schoolers and trees.   His antics got him a permanent place in the bathroom when I showered, because I never knew, as a pup, what he’d do alone for those few minutes.  It remained his routine always, the shower started by anyone here and Tucker knew it was time to lie on the bathroom floor and wait.  If you didn’t wait for Tucker, he barked outside the bathroom door to get in.  So we always waited.  The other dogs followed suit and many times there were three dogs in the bathroom at shower time, which was so sweet and very much like an obstacle course when wanting to dry off.

Tucker was 100 lbs of Golden Retriever sweetness.  A Retriever who never retrieved, he liked to be chased around the table on the patio in the backyard, changing directions every time he thought you were about to catch him.  He loved to roll in the mud out there too, and when we replaced it with mulch, he loved to roll in the mulch.  It was then we learned he simply loved to roll around.

He would never hurt anyone but was a good defensive strategy for a house with one mom and two kids, because to everyone but us, he was really big.  He was the dog, who when he got out of the backyard, came to the front door because he was no dummy - his bathroom was in there.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  Tucker was a dog who listened because he wanted to but could never quite get over his need to jump on people who came in the front door.  He loved company and any food they might happen to have under aluminum foil.  He was fiercely protective of us and loyal to us - and anyone hoarding treats.   Tuck was the dog who was in-touch with our feelings, lying still and quiet if we were sick; wagging his tail at our happiness.   He barked loud and deep at the doorbell but forgave you silently if you stepped on his tail or said no.  He hung his head before getting yelled at when he scavenged in the trash - and only threw up when he was sick - not when he ate sticks, grass, chicken parts, coffee grinds or apple cores.   Even with those escapades we knew he was very smart.  But more than that, he was gentle.  I called him Prince Charming.  And Tootles.  Once, I mentioned Tupperware and he came running.    He also had a sense of humor.

There were a few years — the two-dog years — when all of us slept in my bed.  Me, my much younger kids and two dogs.  Then, with kids preferring their own rooms , and the adoption of dog #3 almost five years ago, Tucker took to his spot in the hall most nights, where he could see every bedroom.  And keep his eye on the bathroom too, I’m sure.

I looked at the doggie place mat and Tucker’s food bowl.  I’d have put them away but Zachary said it was OK to use them for the other dogs.  The little dog bowl stand meant our biggest pooch didn’t have to bend all the way down to the floor for his food.  Frankly, he’d have eaten anywhere — and anything.  But why should such a good dog bend so far for his meals?

I let out the dogs - one and then the other - and tapped on the sliding glass door when I wanted them back inside - which was very soon after they’d gone out.   Fed and filled they chewed, pawed, snuggled, annoyed and asked for belly scratches in the way dogs do.  They walked off to their own favorite spots - one on my bed, head on the pillow (where else) and the other in the middle of the hall where she could see me, lest I go to bathroom, fridge, laundry room or basement without her.

Tucker never made a lot of noise, but Zachary and I agreed it was really quiet.

It’s morning.  It’s time to feed the dogs again –  and then shower.

Where, from now on, I’ll have just a little too much space to dry off.

Lizzie, Tucker, Mitzi - March 2009