Cob Jockey

Young Tucker on my parents' farm

June 2018

For the past few years he'd go downhill, plateau for several months, go downhill again, plateau again.  He's been dealing with cataracts and arthritis for a couple of years, and in the last six months he'd also gone mostly deaf.

With my sister and my mom's dog

He had a really bad downhill a few months ago in March, after our friend and roommate Mark moved out.  The two of them were best buds, and Tucker stopped eating for a week after he left - even cheese.  We took him to the vet and they did every senior diagnostic on the planet and found nothing physically wrong with him.  He resumed eating a couple of days later - and left me firmly convinced he was mourning Mark.

Best buds on their routine walk to the coffee shop downtown, where they'd share a scone while Mark drank coffee.

After that, it was a plateau until recently.  In the past month, I noticed him breathing a lot harder than usual.  He also was falling more regularly, and he couldn't always get back up due to how weak his hind end had become. 

For a dog as stubborn and independent as this one, it was terrifying for him to be in situations where he was down and couldn't get his feet underneath him.  He also started pooping on himself where he laid, sometimes out of fear/being stuck and sometimes out of just not wanting to get up, or not realizing he was pooping.

Way before arthritis set in!

Even with all that, I wrestled with putting him down, because it wasn't the absolute end.  But he's not one I could let get to that point.  He's always been his own man, more of a roommate than a pet, and I could see the less independent he got the more he lost his love of life.

Hated. Cuddling. Passionately.

Finally, two Fridays ago, he fell into one of the window wells in the backyard and I found him there, terrified and helpless.  Nick and I had to hoist him out with two lead ropes around his stomach, and although he wasn't hurt, we decided that night that it was time, before he truly hurt himself and we had to put him down in extreme pain.

I had to wait on Nick to come home and help me get him out since 110lb me couldn't get 75lb Tucker out of that hole alone.  Otherwise I wouldn't have taken this picture, but at the moment I took it, there was nothing I could do for him.

For the next week, we gave him all the cheese and hamburger he could eat.  I didn't tell very many people but I did tell his pet sitters, both of whom came to say goodbye.

In his happy place.  His personality totally changed anytime we had more than 3" on the ground.

When we went to the vet, I brought Bitsy with and sat with her in the waiting room while Nick went in with Tucker.  I wrestled with that decision too, but given their unique relationship, in the end I decided it was important.


For the past few years, Bitsy was completely devoted to taking care of Tucker, even though he seemed pretty indifferent to her.  She would always come get us and alert us until we got up and followed her when he was stuck (just like Lassie!), and she would search the whole house for him after coming back from solo trips without him.  I didn't want her to see him put down and be afraid of the vet, but I felt it was important to give her some closure.

Out to dinner downtown

The vet told Nick we made the right decision to put him down.  That heavy breathing I noticed was the beginning of his diaphragm failing, and he didn't have much time left.  He went quietly, and afterward I brought Bitsy in.  She sniffed his leg, walked around him, sniffed his face, and then came over to me and stood behind my legs, like "Okay, I get it, let's go."  When we got her home 20 minutes later, it was the first time in her life she didn't search the house for Tucker.

We made him cuddle anyway.  Every once in a while.

Tucker was a giant pain in the butt his whole life.  Destroyed two doors, a dog crate, a window, a few shoes (including my wedding shoes), escaped any real or perceived confinement like it was his job, and was never 100% housebroken.  He didn't like being petted, hated being brushed, and preferred that you would please meet his basic needs and then leave him alone, thank you.  He's still the only dog I've ever seen flip me off with body language that couldn't have been clearer if he'd yelled "F*** YOU!" across the room.

Dog and his handiwork

But that said, you could tell he loved us in his own way.  He always got excited when we came home and panicked when we left.  Life won't be the same without him, but I'm so grateful for the 8 years we had with him.

My husband used to say that this was going to be his campaign picture someday.

Rest in peace, our sad flat fluffy thing, our big fuzzy, our Tucker truck.  You were the worst pet but the best dog.