Tucker: In Memoriam

What can you say about a thirteen-year-old Maltese who died?

That he was beautiful. And quiet. That he loved going for walks. And suppertime. And my novelist. And me. One time when I was feeling particularly generous, I let him snuggle up on the chair I happened to be sharing with my novelist. I even let him lie to the left side of her whilst I, of course, lay on her lap. I am normally quite stingy when it comes to these things. But in retrospect I wish I had let him lie next to her more.  

On Saturday, the day Tucker passed away, my novelist could not stop crying. She was stronger on Sunday but on Monday I heard her sniffling and trying to hold back tears. Every so often she would look over at the chair he used to lie in, and a deep sadness would fill her eyes. She has his collar properly buckled and sitting near the door. Perhaps with the hope he will someday come home.

I too am adjusting to the loss of my companion. I found myself checking his empty bed and a couple of nights ago I ran over and barked at the beanbag chair hoping he might hop down and romp around with me. And then I realized he wasn’t there. I even checked under my novelist’s bed where he liked to hide, but my efforts were in vain.

Tucker was a rescue dog. His original owner was an elderly lady who passed away when he was three years old. My novelist had owned a chihuahua poodle mix who’d died in surgery several months prior. The woman who was fostering Tucker was my novelist’s groomer. The groomer agreed to part with Tucker and my novelist paid her and gave Tucker a home.

It took Tucker some time to adjust to living with my novelist. He did not know how to be carried at first. His elderly owner must not have picked him up much. My novelist tells me when she first started carrying him, he would lose balance and tilt in awkward ways. But after a while he got used to it. I dare say he enjoyed it. He was a Maltese and a lapdog after all. He loved curling up in her lap which I could not stand because I always wanted to curl up in her lap. Sometimes I just had to accept I needed to share. And I hate to share. I think for a long time Tucker missed his original owner. My novelist tells me it is very hard on a dog to lose their owner. What he went through was traumatic, she told me, and there was a small room inside his heart where he always kept her.

My novelist procured me from the same groomer. I was the groomer’s poodle’s puppy. My twin brother had already been sold and I was still for sale. I am a parti poodle, but my brother had pure black hair. My novelist purchased me, but I couldn’t go home with her at first. My brother and I were too young to leave our mother yet. And so, my novelist had to wait about a month before she brought me home to live with Tucker. Tucker was displeased with me the moment he saw me. But after a while he came to understand it was my abode and he was merely allowed to live there. My novelist disagreed with my philosophy and often scolded me or gave me a time-out when she thought I’d crossed a line. But it was only because she loved Tucker and wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

Some of the good times I remember included Tucker and I going on road trips with my novelist. We got to stay in some lovely Airbnb places together by the beach. There was one in a rather remote and quiet area which was quite wonderful. It was cavernous and my voice echoed magnificently throughout the house. We both enjoyed the sea air and exploring new places.

Tucker’s decline came upon us slowly. He started to bump into things and my novelist said his eyesight must be going. Others were skeptical but it turned out she was right. His eyesight indeed left him, and he was blind for the last portion of his life. Last year the vet noticed he had a heart murmur. I thought of his first owner. Perhaps she is the reason his heart started murmuring. The weight of the loss had finally broken him. 

Tucker died in my novelist’s lap. He just fell asleep and never woke up again. My novelist went out to the car a little later. She says she saw a small white butterfly flit around the passenger side window. Perhaps that was his way of saying goodbye.

Our home is much quieter now. I used to start barking and that would get Tucker barking, but I don’t feel the urge to bark much these days. A little here and there usually when UPS drives by. But not as much as I did. I go about my daily routine. I go for walks. I lie around the house. Mostly I just feel a little sad. I know things will get better with time and I know he will never be forgotten. I feel sorry about the way I treated him sometimes. But I guess there is something to be said about love meaning never having to say you’re sorry. And he loved me. And I loved him.

-Gigi the parti poodle