Still reeling from the loss of Bailey in March, we lost Tucker Friday afternoon. We knew he was 11, we knew he was old dog, but he didn't know it, and he was a puppy to the end. He never got gray, or crippled, or stopped jumping for joy or playing ball with the intensity of an Olympic athlete. In fact he played ball with abandon on Thursday evening, as it should be. He was gone within 8 hours of showing any signs of distress, so he didn't suffer. For that we are grateful, but it was so fast, so shocking, so unbelievable...I still can't wrap my head around it. He passed at the vet's office and we went there to say goodbye on Saturday morning. I didn't get the chance to do that with Bailey and I felt it was important to see him and stroke his beautiful red coat one more time. Some might think that strange or morbid, but, as difficult as it was, it was helpful. And it was all we had.

We would walk along the sidewalk above the beach with them, Bailey on D's left and Tucker between us on my left, a formidable phalanx of four. Countless people stopped to comment on their good manners and their beauty and to ask if they could pet them. Countless more said nothing but smiled at the sight of them, and we always joked we should charge $1 per smile. Tucker's favorite place on earth was the dog park across the street from the beach. We never brought a ball, we would just let him loose and he would always find one, that's how I think of him, like in this picture, resting on a bench at the dog park with a found ball, just waiting for someone to throw it for him. He's worn paths through the trees on either side of the driveway, the ball-throwing routes across the property. He was the definition of Golden Retriever -- sweet, smart, playful, polite, loyal, athletic. He was loved beyond measure and radiated happy. Right up to the end.