Tucker is gone. The only thing I will say about his passing is that I made sure he didn’t suffer, and he left this world from one of his favorite places in our yard where he could see and smell and hear the sounds of life around him and in our the woods. I cradled his head in my lap, telling him what a good dog he was and that I loved him deeply. Brian was next to him, touching him. Jasper and Lilah were right there as well. I’d rather write about his life, and I will, when I can get the words to flow instead of—or in spite of—the tears. Last night, Lilah kept looking for him, asking to go outside, looking around the yard, and then coming inside and wandering the house. Back outside, she’d refuse to come in, as if she were waiting for him. Lilah, I am waiting for him, too. Jasper slept fitfully last night. This morning, as I sobbed while curled up in Tucker’s bed, trying in vain to inhale his scent, howling my anguish, Jasper cried at me, wagging his tail and offering a play bow. He looked around our bedroom, as if he wanted to give me a toy to make me feel better. Thank you Jasper. You are a sweet and caring dog. And Calvin—who was Tucker’s feline buddy—kept visiting me during the day yesterday, settling himself in my lap, reaching out with a comforting paw, and offering the solace of purrs. Calvin, you were a wonderful friend to Tucker, and a kind and empathetic cat. I am broken. Gutted. Bereft. There is a Tucker-shaped hole in my heart, in my home, in my life. I don’t know how to navigate this life without. Without my sidekick, my buddy, my full-of-life terrier, my friend. Without special Tucker hugs, offered freely and appreciated by anyone who he gave them to. Without his voice, telling me about the deer, the fox, the UPS guy. Without throwing a ball or a toy again and again, and having it brought back to me with joy and slobber. Without that sweet goofy, upside-down grin as he stretched in his bed. Without his nightly rearrangement of our couch or sofa, as he made a nest. Without being able to snuggle his warm, solid, furry body and whispering words of love into his silky ears. Without that rubbable belly, that silly grin, those adorable eyes, that ever-wagging tail, those ear tufts blowing in the wind. Without the dog who always knew when I was sad or hurt or upset, and would be the first to come and comfort me. Without petting his body in all the places—soft and scruffy—and the touch from his paw if I stopped, as he asked for more. I wanted more. More time with Tucker. He brought a effervescent brightness to my life. Perhaps he put all his living into the eight short years I knew him. Now, a light has now gone out, and I am plunged into darkness. The post Tucker is Gone appeared first on Life with Dogs and Cats.
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