Tucker. A Eulogy.

Most of my friends and family know that last weekend we euthanized our 12 year old Golden Retriever, Tucker.

One of my favorite pictures of our dear friend.

Much of me doesn't know what to say about it, as any words seem too small. But, when someone you love leaves this life, words may be the only thing we have to express our memories. I have legions of Tucker memories. He was a amazing soul.
Still, the Tucker we all loved for his smiles, and his sweet enthusiasm, his quiet obedience and his soft "grapes" scent was not always so perfect.
He was a gift from God, and from someone who for whatever reason, came to the decision to abandon him by tying the little puppy to the lamppost in front of my work place. For several years I had been telling all who were willing to listen, God included, that I wanted a Golden. When I arrived at work that early spring morning in 2004, I was greeted by the news that "Your Golden Retriever arrived in the night!" He was in the isolation unit, nose and eyes crusted over, draining awfulness. I suspect this sickness is what prompted the abandonment, so thank you, God, for viral disease with secondary bacterial infection?
He recovered quickly, and came to Cowfeathers, presented as a Father's Day gift for my Huz. It took a few years for Huz to appreciate the gift. For, Tucker was.... a difficult puppy.
I called him "Mother Tucker", not completely with affection.
Tucker was full of energy, and as if determined to prove his parentage, he worked hard to fulfill the "retriever" designation. He was always positive and sweet, coming to you when called. Except he could not arrive without a "gift". If called he would look up, and then dash about frantically, looking for something to retrieve. Anything nearby could fall victim. The nearest chicken, a log, previously planted flowers, eggs, and more than once, a helpless small child, dragged by their pant leg. It was hard to decide whether to praise the "coming", or scold the picking up of a chicken, or dragging of a child.  I tell you, the chickens and children did not enjoy their retrieval, although none were hurt. Even eggs were delivered a bit slobbery, but intact.
He was an incorrigible chewer of things. Often not things designed for chewing. The winter that Tucker was two, I recall sending the children down the lane to catch the bus, and not one had a back in their coat. The coats had been hung on low pegs for easy child access, but evidently that was also Tucker access. In exasperation, or desperation, I began giving him rawhides to chew- it seemed better than tying him back to the lamppost.
And, the pup loved mud. LOVED IT. And snow, and water, and grass. During his last week with us, he went outside and as I watched his old body, diminished by cancer, he purposefully went to the large snowdrift off our windmill hill, and flopped merrily in the snow, rolling and flailing until he was covered. The next day, he did the same in the snow-melted wet dirt.

Mudpuppy.

 Always up for assisting, even as a puppy, here helping Youngest water the raspberries.

And Tuck had some delightful quirks.

 He liked to sit in chairs. Here, after a mud roll, and subsequent bath, in an effort to not repeat the process, he is on a leash, attached to the chair to have a chance to dry. Or sit in the sun? He travelled in the car this way, with his rump seated, front legs on the car floor, he sat on the bottom stair, or on your lap...


And Tucker smiled. He looks a bit scared or vicious, but it is a smile, all the way. Every morning, I was greeted by a smile, sometimes, one sided, sometimes both.

As Tucker matured, his naughty habits diminished, and we were left with a practically perfect pooch. He was always trying to please, and that is a beautiful thing when training a dog.

 He helped Middlest and Youngest compete in Dog Obedience in 4-H, and even went to the Ohio State Fair with Youngest, patiently completing all the exercises, even while Youngest fiddled.

 He loved trips to my parent's house on the Chesapeake. He never dried off, prefering the water to the sun. He would paddle off after the sailboats or kayaks, and go where they went, leaving me worried he would get tired and drown.

Tucker was a great dog. 

In September, while Huz was scratching him under the chin, he noticed some thickness to his left lower jaw. This turned out to be a cancer, osteosarcoma, in the bone. 

That week, Huz took him to work, and 

Tuck had a CT Scan, and began a 5-day radiation treatment at the OSU College of Vet Med. He began to feel better after a few days of treatment, more lively, more involved than he had been for a while. After radiation therapy with Huz, he came with me to work to begin chemotherapy. He had 5 rounds of chemo, and did remarkably well. The cancer he had was terribly aggressive, and I hoped he would make it through Christmas, feeling good. 

When I gave him his last round of chemo, the tumor was once again visibly growing, and we were on borrowed time.  Still, he was bringing us his toys, and playful, and dear. 

But it was getting harder for him, and last Saturday, eating was painful. The tumor had grown to where it was hard for him to open his mouth. That was as close to miserable as we wanted him to get, so we had a few last cuddles and said our goodbyes.

Which, despite everything, he enjoyed.
Huz and I took him to my work on a Saturday evening. Tucker had always loved to accompany me to work, making his rounds, greeting and smiling at everyone, then settling under my desk for the duration. He wagged his tail and still greeted the small staff that was there for evening treatments. My longtime collegue, Henery, placed a catheter in his leg through her own tears, and we all told Tucker he was loved as he relaxed into death.
I miss him. Of course. I feel so blessed to have had his friendship, to have had his life entwined with mine.
Some girls have all the luck. 

Happy New Year! Or how Youngest got a "new room".

Greetings to 2016, to friends and family! It has been a while since I sat at my computer, and maybe longer since I opened this blog to share the goings-on of Cowfeathers Farm. We have not been idle. Certainly, life marches on, even if I don't share!
One of the things on the list- for there is ever a very, very long list- was spiffing Youngest's room. It is the remaining room in the house at Cowfeathers that has not gotten any sort of face lift since purchasing the property, and many spaces are ready for a re-do of my original effort. But Youngest's room had become, well, kind of a No Man's Land. When he was a baby, the room suited, in soft vanilla yellow with baby blue trim. The other rooms with their dark colonial finishings took the priority spot. As he grew, his room became the stuff of disastrous legend. One Christmas, as family who love my children inquired about gifts to send them for the celebration, at my exasperation point, I took pictures of the kids rooms. They were taken from the hallway, as that is as far as one can go, and I sent them, with the suggestion that for Christmas, family choose to contribute in some other way. I suggested a consumable, or a token for their savings account. Clearly, all were suitably horrified, and the gifts kindly did not add to the mess.  I will not post those photos here, as it is potentially embarrassing to my children (me too, if I had any sense), but also, might be illegal.
As the old saying goes "Is this the hill you want to die on?"
I ask myself that a lot as a parent. And, when it came to the kids' rooms, the answer was, "No." I was holding hard on the hills of homework, and caring for their animals, being polite and inquisitive, good readers and citizens of this world. Also, I figured that room care would work itself out, as I was likewise, not a good keeper of my room as an adolescent.
Both Middlest and Eldest came around to having their rooms be pretty and tidy, mostly on their own. But, also, I had given them a pretty, fresh room to inhabit.
In the past few years, Youngest had brought up the idea of painting his room, and I said "No can do, buddy. It's a mess." And, even when we did the biannual "hoe-ing out of the room" (one year I had a bad back and used a manure fork and trash bags-really) it was tossed so quickly I didn't see the point. Now, as I said, I did not keep my room beautifully as a child, but I realized my room, as a child ( also being a Youngest) was not a "decorated room" either. My elder sisters had adorably adorned rooms in an addition my parents had built, and their rooms were WAY better kept than mine. Could this have something to do with it? Room Pride = Room Care? 
So in 2015, I decided to give it one more try, but go big. Complete room face lift, and simplifying of contents. It took me nearly to the wire to find the time to get it done.
Here is the new inventory:
One bed- and this is a beauty. It is my great (great?) grandfather's rope bed, a beautiful antique.
Two lamps
One bedside table
One bean-bag chair
Books (hugely cut down selection)
Clothes- in a closet, created in renovation of 1986
Decorative items on walls

That is all.
So, after two days of making piles for Goodwill, the trash can and the few precious keeper items for storage, the room was empty, save for the bed, and ready for some freshening.









Now, to be clear, this is no ordinary room. This room is fantastic! Far from being a box with window and door, it has a fireplace, 9.5' ceilings, chair rail, crown mold, 6-8" ancient hand sawn oak floors, and two deep set, 6/6 wood mullioned windows. When they created this room- probably in the 1986 restoration- they divided it from the hall with a wall of random width tongue and groove boards and installed a thick, heavy, 6 panel wood door with original hardware. It's a small room, but a beaut. 
Youngest decided on color, and approved the deep cuts in his clutter inventory.
Middlest and Eldest pitched in when they could stand it, to move the process along, helping clean and then assisting in the re-making of the room when I had it painted. Youngest worked on acquiring painting skills- an ever useful addition to anyone's set.
We chose a Belgian White back ground color, Narragansett Blue for the lovely deep cerulean color and high gloss white for the abundance of trim.



And the finished product is a lovely, masculine room for a beloved teen boy. I do hope he treasures it, and nurtures his space, allowing for organization of mind as well as room.



 The room features the bed, but leaves a reading area next to the fireplace.


 

 The fireplace became the bookshelf, with a fresh coat of paint on the sooted firebox and bricks.




The closet is covered by heavy draping of french burlap.
 No. Lying. The closet is covered by a heavy draping of inexpensive drop cloths from the paint department. They are one of my favored cheap hacks for curtains. Youngest's winnings from showing animals give color to the space above.

 
Above his bed there is lovely wood "boning" between the windows. It left an area for stripes to pull the walls together, and another perfect square to feature a painting of Youngest with his sailboat, painted by his grandfather. A treasure for sure. 



The wood panel wall is a gallery of the things he wanted to keep in his room; a hat we brought back from our trip to China, a two dollar bill framed and bequeathed to him by his grandfather, a painting by me of our county fair, a framed checklist of his band uniform- a gift from Middlest. At the top is a chalk sketch of horses I sizzled out on brown paper years ago.



And, the best thing of all. Youngest, enjoying his new kingdom. Treat your castle well, Sir.