Oh Henry

Tucker at 576w

Earlier this year, I informed readers of some sad news: My 13-year-old golden retriever, Tucker, had died. He'd made an appearance in the column when I unkindly outed him as a Platonist. Tucker went downhill quickly with two cancers. As he lost strength, lost the use of his hind legs and his pain increased, I knew I had to take him to the vet. He really was a good friend to me. Useless in all ways but a great friend. The influx of letters that I received following this news was truly moving. One reader went so far as to write a poem in Tucker's memory, which we'd like to share below.


at end of day
when all is done
and u walked
wired and tired
from the michigan hospitals
and desks
and suits
he heard you coming
didnt he
from blocks away
had been waiting patiently
all day
from the moment
left that morning early
or night
for so many years
and his golden tail wagging
as you drove up
so happy to see
that you have returned.
and now
that he is gone
it is a different home
house to which we return
the world is different
the ground harder
the cool evening air less forgiving
the steps heavier
as though we too have gone
as though
we too
have left with Argos
have gone
that day
we said good bye
by Thomas Fiero


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