It all started one faithful spring day in 1994 as my mom and I were returning home from a trip to San Diego to visit my older brother at college.
We de-boarded our plane and made our way to baggage claim to meet my Godparents who were picking us up. We saw Wes first—and for some reason he was holding a video camera and had a shit-eating grin on his face. It seemed strange, but being eight years old, I hammed it up and rolled with it.
A few minutes later, we saw Stephanie. She was holding a little black puppy in her arms wearing a big red bow.
It was love at first sight. I named him Tucson, a name I came across in an airline magazine I had been flipping through on our flight home that featured, you guessed it, Tucson, AZ. Ah, the creativity of an eight-year-old.
Our first night was a little rough. Thank God my Dad was out of town—we needed a night to prepare him for what he was about to come home to. It was then and there we realized we didn’t have an ordinary dog on our hands.
The first few years—okay let’s be honest—the first eight years were a little rough with Tucson. He spent the greater part of this day chewing on the siding of our house, tearing the stuffing out of our lawn chair cushions (after giving them a good hump, of course) and chasing his tail. Some experts say a dog chasing its tail is a sign of stupidity, but I think Tucson was the exception—this dog was too smart for his own good.
In his younger years, he loved running the loop of our backyard, working up enough momentum to run up the side of our 6 foot fence to peek his head over. He even got his foot stuck in between the boards once, leaving him dangling by one of his back legs 5 feet off the ground after trying to chase down a bird.
Even though he tended to get himself into a little mischief once in a while, he was a good dog at heart. Every day after school, I would find him waiting for me at our front window—sometimes even standing on top of the dining room table to catch a better view of my school bus.
I taught him tricks like roll over, shake and play dead, and we even took him on vacation with us to Disney World. He didn’t actually get to ride the rides with us, but he did ride on the tram from the parking lot.
Yes, Tucson was a pretty special dog. He loved his family more than anything (except maybe table scraps) and was the greatest watch dog around. The UPS man was so scared of him he would throw packages on the porch without ringing the doorbell, seeing it more appropriate to run for his life. And he frightened the Orkin man so badly once he never came back.
And like any other dog, Tucson loved his treats. Even if he wasn’t hungry, he would gladly accept them, hiding them for later throughout the house. He especially liked treats he wasn’t supposed to have, in particular, chocolate.
Once, we had a bag of at least six Cadbury Cream Eggs sitting on our kitchen island, and came home to just the bag on the floor. Positive he had ingested them all and was within minutes of puking all over the carpet, we watched him closely. But surprisingly, he was perfectly fine.
Two days later I sat down on the couch. Reaching in between the cushions I found a half melted Cadbury Egg. Needless to say we found a few more scattered throughout the house over the next few days, discovering the majority of his secret hiding spots.
Tucson always had a lot of energy, so it was easy to tell when he wasn’t feeling his best. A few years ago, our vet suggested an ultrasound when his labs reported his liver function was abnormal. Being home for the summer on a break from school, I had the pleasure of taking him.
As I walked into the emergency vet clinic, also a specialty clinic for things like this, I couldn’t help but look around at all the sick dogs. What was I going to do when Tucson was like this? In the midst of my thought, we were called into the room.
After the procedure, the doctor came in to speak with me. With Tucson at my feet, he showed me the pictures they had taken along with the ultrasound. The doctor explained to me that the right lobe of his liver was significantly larger than his left, which explained his poor labs, and was something that he could not diagnose without exploratory surgery.
Surgery of course, would require general anesthesia, which with his liver function, was a huge risk. As he continued to talk, my head began to spin. I was no longer listening to the words the doctor was saying. The only thing I could think about was how I could not imagine my life without the heartbeat that was at my feet.
As we were waiting at the counter to pay, I began to cry. Tucson could always tell when I was upset. Whether I was sad about not getting my way as a child, or upset about a boy as a teenager, Tucson was always there. I felt him nudge my hand, letting me know he was there. Realizing I had caused somewhat of a scene, I reached down to pet him. But before I could get there, Tucson took a huge dump on the waiting room floor.
- (Photo from ‘johannal’ via Flickr)
My sadness instantly turned to laughter and I bent down to thank him for saving me once again from my tears. No matter what, he always knew just what to do to make everything okay.
Tucson stuck it out for a few more years after what seemed like a terminal diagnosis. We almost lost him last summer before I moved away for my first real job, something I saw quite symbolic.
He hung on until this past June, just shy of his 16th birthday. He contracted a bad infection, which coupled with his bad arthritis, got the best of him. Tucson went peacefully in his sleep—something we all thank him for—cuddled up on his favorite brown blanket.
I know Tucson lived a good life. He taught us more lessons than we could ever have imagined, making us better children, parents, friends and people. He’s in a place now without sickness and pain, waiting until we’re all ready to go Home for good.
I’m sure he is up there somewhere chasing birds and eating Cadbury Eggs—but I have to say, I sure do miss him.
