Tribute to Tucker

their best Christmas ever

On February 3, 2010, a precious 4 month old golden retriever puppy named Tucker, while being walked in his neighborhood by his owner, was viciously attacked and killed by a dog. Tucker was a gorgeous, happy and healthy puppy from the repeat litter of Scurry and Finnegan, born October 13, 2009. He was adored by his human family, especially three children.

Nothing will ever take away the horror and pain of Tucker’s untimely death. His family didn’t do anything wrong– it was an unexpected attack by a clearly unstable and dangerous dog. But how can anyone explain to these childen that terrible things happen sometimes for no apparent reason? That Life can be horribly unfair and cruel?

I can only hope that the children always remember their connection with Tucker– how he climbed into their laps and their hearts and curled up there. I pray that they don’t give up on the miracle that is the human-canine bond. And when they have healed enough, I hope they will once again take the risks that loving another living creature always entails. Most of all I hope one day they come to realize that what they have gained is greater than what they have lost.

For myself, I am comforted by the vision of Tucker frolicking at the Rainbow Bridge with kids who love him as much as these children and their parents did, licking their faces and making them squeal with joy.

Tucker, you will never be forgotten. My most heartfelt condolences go out to his breeder Denise, her family who helped dam Scurry and Denise raise this special litter, and Tucker’s loving family, the Carlsons.

Arete’s Tucker Carlson, 10/13/09 – 2/3/10.

Tucker at 3 1/2 weeks old

"Blonde Boy" at 5 weeks old

Early explorations

stacked at 6 weeks old

at the litter's 8-week evaluations

stacked at 8 weeks

Tucker with cream cheese on his muzzle

Blonde Boy liked his bird wing

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

-Mary Oliver