Tucker Jackson Beagle

My heart is broken.

A month ago, I started noticing that my dog, Tucker, was losing interest in his food. This is particularly problematic because my other dog, Madison, has an appetite that knows no bounds...so I was constantly having to play referee to make sure she didn't eat two meals at each feeding.

At first I could coax Tucker to eat by adding a few treats to the meal. When that stopped working, I added sprinkle cheese. When that stopped working, I brought him to the vet. He suggested we try some medicines that coat the stomach in the event it was an ulcer or something.  I tried that for a week, but eventually he stopped accepting the cheese and peanut butter I tried to hide the pills in.

I had some success for awhile by heating up chicken broth and pouring it over his food, but eventually that stopped working too. So we went back to the vet.  X-rays showed a sizable mass in his abdomen.  An ultrasound taken a few days later confirmed the mass was a cavitated tumor on his spleen, as well as lesions on his liver.

Tucker was diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma, a highly malignant cancer with a very poor prognosis. Given his age (Tucker was 12.5), and given that the cancer had already spread, surgery was not an option. The other horrible thing about this cancer is there is a risk of the tumor rupturing, leading to sudden and severe hemorrhaging, and rapid death. My dog was a ticking time bomb.

Unwilling to let him suffer any longer, and unwilling to risk the tumor rupturing, we had Tucker euthanized last night.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. My husband and I both cried like babies as we watched him take his final breath.

My facebook tribute to the best dog I've ever known:

Today, with heavy hearts and eyes full of tears, we said good-bye to an amazing dog. Born January 11, 2002, Tucker Jackson Beagle proved right from the start that he was something special. 

At 3 months old, Tucker impressed us all by doing his business in a hole by a fence so as to avoid the unpleasantness of anybody stepping in it. He continued to show that same courtesy throughout his life, and when the cancer began to take hold at the very end, Tucker would still manage to seek out the most remote corners of the house whenever he got sick. 

Tucker proved time and again that he was no ordinary beagle. We were told to never let a beagle off leash during walks -- that he might catch scent of something and take off -- that we might never find him. Well, Tucker was let off leash often, and he never once strayed far from my side. 

We were told that beagles were small dogs (it was one of the selling points for JP when we finally decided to get a dog). Well, Tucker stood over 17 inches tall at the shoulders, and weighed 54 lbs at one point (he was put on a diet shortly thereafter). 

One day, his doggy day care provider sent home this simple note: "Today, Tucker reminded me just how smart a dog could be." I never did find out what it was he did, but it makes me chuckle to this day.  
 
Tucker was my constant companion on countless walks through the foggy hills of San Francisco, and along the quiet seaside streets of New Jersey. He followed me everywhere -- EVERYWHERE -- years went by before I finally had some privacy in the bathroom. 

It was hard to be mad at Tucker, though. He had a knack for knowing when you needed extra love.  Following my two miscarriages, he made a point to snuggle in extra close, refusing to leave my side. One of the best things about Tucker is that he did this for everyone, not just me. If anyone sat down on our couch, he would crawl into their lap, whether they wanted him to or not. 

Tucker never took "no" for an answer when it came to his job as a lap dog, and in the process, he managed to wiggle his way into everyone's hearts.  Paraphrasing the words of a Frenchman who used to take care of him when we were away: "Tucker is not beagle. Tucker is people."  RIP Tucker. You are missed. Terribly, and forever. 

How I lucked out to have such an amazing dog in my life I'll never know. Thank you for all the great memories, all the snuggles, and all the laughs. Until we meet again, my friend. Until we meet again. RIP Tucker.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

My engineering project wrapped up last month, and I've been able to re-focus on my writing again. I've been working primarily on my collection of short stories and poems, but I did finally reengage with Volume 3 of the Stewards of Reed as well.

Everything came to a screeching halt yesterday, when I learned of the death of Robin Williams.  I would not classify myself as a huge Robin Williams fan, though I did find him to be quite funny at times and really enjoyed some of his movies (namely Dead Poets Society and Good Will Hunting). It was the manner of his death that shook me so.

As someone who has struggled with depression, I know what it is like to contemplate taking your life. I know what a dark place you must be in for those thoughts to even cross your mind. It is heartbreaking to think that Robin Williams -- who devoted so much of his time and energy towards making the rest of us laugh -- was so tortured within.

I know there is a lot of ignorance surrounding depression and bi-polar disorder. I know it is difficult to understand why some people just don't "snap out of it" -- I know it is easy to think that such people are feeble-minded.  Perhaps I am feeble-minded. Somehow I managed to teach myself piano, graduate as Valedictorian of my high school, become an engineer...and yet, I could not teach myself how to be happy. It seemed like such an effortless thing for others, but no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get rid of the intense melancholy that weighed upon me.


My closest high school girlfriends were aware of my true thoughts, but my depression remained hidden from others. At one point, my friends made me sign a contract that I would not attempt to kill myself. It wasn't as though that was the magic trick that suddenly made my depression go away, but in those dark times, when I would start to entertain the thought of suicide, I remembered that I had signed a contract...and that was enough to stop me.

Fortunately, in my case, I found that my sadness lessened, ever so slowly, as I made my way through college.  I suspect it was the result of a combination of a change in brain chemistry and a change in environment.  Given my family history of bi-polar/depression...I know genetics played a big role. In any case, I eventually found the light at the end of the tunnel.  And while I am not a bubbly, happy soul, I am no longer burdened by sadness...and that is a beautiful thing.

I am just sorry that Robin Williams never had a chance to find his own light at the end of the tunnel :(

A Childhood Lost

When I was about four, I decided to go for a walk.  We lived on a dead-end street. At the end, down an embankment, was a canal that would occasionally fill with fast-flowing flood waters, but usually only conveyed a small stream.  On this particular day, I decided to follow the trail that ran adjacent to the canal farther than I had ever taken it before. It brought me to a fairly busy road, with four lanes of traffic. I was pretty sure it was the same road that my mother would drive on to take me to daycare. I figured I could probably find the daycare if I followed the sidewalk long enough, but that didn't really appeal to me. So instead, I sat on the sidewalk, content to watch the cars go by.

I am not sure how long I sat there -- perhaps five minutes, perhaps fifteen.  It was long enough for a police car passing by to notice me and stop.  The nice policemen asked me several questions, and then asked me to get in the back of their car so they could take me home. I remember being annoyed at how they stopped at every single house in my neighborhood, asking if that was where I lived. I had given them explicit directions to my house and told them my full address multiple times -- it was clear to me that the policemen were clearly not very smart.

I am sure my parents were quite shocked to find policemen knocking at the front door, with me in tow. They knew I was playing somewhere outside, but they had no idea I had wandered so far. The policemen had a few words with my parents, and then they left.  Afterwards, I am pretty sure my parents told me not to take the trail to the busy road anymore, but I don't recall. I do know that I continued to explore my neighborhood without my parents constantly hovering around, watching my every movement. And I know that my parents were not arrested for neglect.

But this was in the day-and-age before 24-hour news filled our insatiable appetites for all things scandalous and sensational. This was before we were constantly reminded, over and over, of all the terrible things that sometimes happen to people. This was before we, as a society, became convinced that predators were hiding behind every tree, just waiting to abduct/abuse a child. This was before we lost perspective on risk, and decided that any risk to a child, no matter how remote, was an unacceptable risk.  But this is not a blanket approach to risk -- somehow allowing your child to ride in a car and play sports is still acceptable, even though these activities are far more likely (by orders of magnitude) to result in injury or death than walking to school alone, playing in a park by yourself, or exploring your neighborhood.

As I read the news about yet another parent being arrested for allowing their child (aged 7-9) to play in a nearby park unattended (though equipped with a cell phone), I cannot help but shake my head.  I cannot help but wonder about the consequences of our overprotective tendencies.  There are benefits to letting your child explore the world alone.  It forces them to think for themselves. It teaches them how to be self-sufficient. It teaches them the importance of evaluating risk, of setting boundaries.  Plus, it's fun.

We constantly bemoan the fact that today's youth are addicted to electronics, content to sit inside and play video games all day. But can we really blame them? They are not allowed to play in the front yard anymore unless mommy and daddy can watch (and often times mommy and daddy are too busy to watch). They are most certainly not allowed to roam the neighborhood, and even if they did, they would be hard-pressed to find any friends to play with...because nobody lets their kids play outside unattended anymore.  The concept of knocking on the door of your friend down the street and seeing if they'd like to play has been replaced with the concept of a play date. Because these days, mommy and daddy must schedule all of their child's activities, and even if the parents did allow their child to walk down the street by themselves in search of a friend, they just might find a policeman knocking on the front door. And these days, that policeman might just arrest them.