"Poor Tucker," my mother sighed. "He always gets left out. He's the good child, the one who does what he's supposed to and never causes any trouble, so everyone forgets about him."
By and large, she's unfortunately right. The older Tucker gets, the more he sleeps. 'Let sleeping dogs lie,' the adage goes, and we do. His face is white, his hips are going, and I'm fairly sure he's almost deaf. He has to be coerced into going outside, even for basic functions.
But the good ol' boy still has interests, demands, and a sense of humor. He refuses to eat unless he gets some home cooked food along with his kibble. (Why should Champagne get everything good?)
By and large, she's unfortunately right. The older Tucker gets, the more he sleeps. 'Let sleeping dogs lie,' the adage goes, and we do. His face is white, his hips are going, and I'm fairly sure he's almost deaf. He has to be coerced into going outside, even for basic functions.
But the good ol' boy still has interests, demands, and a sense of humor. He refuses to eat unless he gets some home cooked food along with his kibble. (Why should Champagne get everything good?)
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