Big Heart, Lots of Love,
He Is The Life Saver!

Olá tudos! Tudo bem? // Hi everyone. How’s everything? In advance I wanted to warn you that today’s post is not specifically about Portugal. As the title says, this post covers how I am discovering big heart and lots of love. But the post is about Portugal in a way. About what this place allows me. That is, the space — a place — to get clarity on my life and the world around me. Life in Portugal — with its slowness, its rhythms, its welcoming generosity — has allowed me to rediscover me. And now onward with this week’s post.

In last week’s post I shared that it was Saga’s birthday on 2 June. Tomorrow, 10 June, is the 13th birthday of our other Sealy, Tucker. I note, with a lot of trepidation and existential angst, that the average lifespan of a Sealy is 12 to 14 years. Tucker is anything but average and everyday with him is a treat.

So in celebration of all life and Tucker’s in particular, today I would like, if you do not mind, to share Tucker’s story. It is also my story. Tucker came to live with us when he was 2. As I write this, we are just months shy of our eleventh anniversary together. This last decade, including our move nearly three years ago to Portugal, is worth a celebratory pause.

The Story Begins

Carl and Marianne Metzelthin, two extraordinary humans, rescued Tucker and eight other Sealys from pretty horrendous circumstances. These nine had been breeders in a puppy mill. Like many rescues Tucker and the others suffered extreme neglect. When rescued all nine dogs had feces matting their fur; starved and infested with fleas and worms they resisted human contact. Tucker’s abuse was more severe. Someone had kicked him, probably repeatedly. Broken jaw and broken ribs resulted. He was still breeding however.

I saw Tucker on a rescue website. He appeared in a group photo of the nine rescued Sealys. Taken in the Metzelthin’s kitchen, Tucker sat in the photo’s background. He looked straight at the camera. His eyes filled with knowing sadness, his ears drooped down. The other Sealys around him were either lying down or actively sniffing about. They all ignored the camera.

Carl and Marianne and their colleagues at Sealyham 4ever Rescue had put Joseph and I through a grueling application and interview process. But Tucker, nonetheless, came to live with us. I met an 18-wheeler at the end of our block on the southeast corner of 86th Street and Broadway in New York City. The driver got out of the front cab, put Tucker in my arms and then he drove off into the night. It was 10:30 PM on November 22nd, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.

That Big Heart With Lots of Love

Tucker shook in my arms as we walked the short distance home. At our apartment he huddled at the back of the crate we had set up for him. I laid a bowl of food out in our kitchen and I carried him to it. He took a tiny bite into his mouth and scurried back to his crate to eat. I carried him back to his food; he did the same. He took a small nibble. Then he ate only when he reached the safety of his crate.

Finally I sat on the kitchen floor, my body blocking his exit. I filled the cup of my hand with his food and offered it to him. He ate, wanted to depart but could not, so chewed and shallowed. I offered him more from my hand until all the food was all gone. And so it continued for months until he had enough trust. This was indeed his food. And no violence would rain down as a result of eating.

Our first walk that first evening was short. Tucker was unsure of everything. Each new sound — a front door opening, a car driving by, a bus stopping, a couple passing — seemed to elicit terror. The walk was stilted, slow. It became excruciating for both of us.

Tucker’s fear passed through the leash to my hand. Sensing his fear I would often kneel beside him, pull him close into my leg and rub him slowly. Once, as I knelt on the ground, a woman asked if I was alright; perhaps Tucker’s pain shown on my face? From Tucker’s heart to my heart, that is the way it would be from here on out. Our hearts melded into one big heart of lots of love.

Into The Park With Heart and Lots of Love

Walk after walk was the same albeit we would go further each time. We walked up and down blocks, zigzagging our way north between Columbus Avenue and Central Park West. The plethora of new, interesting and indeed exciting scents began to overwhelm Tucker’s nostrils and his terror. Our walks remained slow and time consuming affairs but they where tipping gradually towards something like normal. 

After a number of weeks, it was time to dive into Central Park! Here there were so many more scents as well as hundreds of happy dogs running about unleashed. Play was not something Tucker was comfortable with and he has never grown to enjoy it. I imagine the forced competition for food and sex created a gladiatorial atmosphere at the puppy mill. There, play was likely a life and death matter.

But in the park and on our unleashed walks Tucked ignited in new joys: the fifteen minute sniff fest is one, and another, the rat/squirrel chase. The park became Tucker’s psychotherapist’s office, a place where he could learn to trust himself and the world around him.

My burgeoning relationship with Tucker became my park, my psychotherapist’s office. Three hundred and fifty-nine days before that truck driver placed Tucker in my arms, I had had my last drink. My relationship with alcohol had become unhealthy. And I finally was forced to recognize that I could not have a healthy relationship with it.

Alcohol would not allow me the vibrant and emotionally fulfilling relationships with those whom I loved the most: Joseph and my dearest friends. Physically leaving alcohol behind, for me at least, was easy. I have never, not once ever since that last drink, felt the need nor the desire for another drink. 

There’s A Special Bond

What was not easy? Contending with the hole in my life that alcohol had once filled, or, if not filled, then masked. Who am I? Where does this anger come from? What brings me joy? What is important to me? How do I love someone else? Can I share what I fear? Why do I need to control everything? Do I need to win every argument? Why do I feel so inadequate, as if I am an utter failure? These questions swelled and belched up into my life from that enormous hole. And the hole seemed to grow wider and deeper with each passing day since that last drink

Marianne Metzelthin once noted that Tucker and I had a “very special bond”. She had seen Tucker and I interact together. We four had met up in New York City so Carl could fulfill a lifelong dream to walk a Sealy in Central Park. Yes, Tucker and I are soulmates, united in our own deep brokenness and hurt. Equally matched by our long journeys of healing, together. We have become one big heart bound by mutual love.

With me in tow, Tucker recognizes that he can count on life’s most basic necessities — food, water, safety, hygiene. These can be taken for granted. And life’s joys and pleasures — an orange traffic pylon upon which several dozen dogs have already peed; an early morning chase through a long stretch of the park after a squirrel or a rat; a friend who senses your terror, knells beside you and rubs behind the scruff of your ear — he can trust these too. But these should not be taken for granted.

Poderia Ser, Mas Não Sou

Tucker learned to trust me and so I began to trust myself. He lay in my arms with openness, receptivity and complete vulnerability; his throat and soft tissue exposed. It is an extraordinary feat of trust for a dog. So I could be vulnerable too. Tucker adapted to a radical change in his life. I could as well.

In Tucker’s strength I would begin to find my strength in order to sit in the deep, empty hole of my own darkness. To listen to the questions as they bounced, reverberated and echoed about me. And I would begin, slowly, to understand and to formulate tentative answers.

A big heart with lots of love can still grow bigger. Neither Tucker nor I are finished with our journeys of discovery and healing. If my foot moves too quickly to dodge this way or that way, Tucker might whimper and scatter to avoid an imagined kick. The real, true memories of past hurt are deeply ingrained. And I, if confronted with the mildest, most innocuous stressor, will still find a surge of adrenaline that overwhelms my reason and unleashes a torrent of destruction.

Poderia ser, mas não sou. // I could be, but I am not. Neither of us is the same after a decade. Both of us — Tucker and I — have changed each other for the better and for good. Our journeys of healing may never be complete, but together Tucker and I have come so far. And we will travel further in the time we have remaining together.

I am grateful to Portugal, especially to Santa Luzia, for providing a place and the space where I can more deeply appreciate all of this, both the heart and the love within my life. Obrigado!

Special Notes

If you have the time, be sure to click the “for good” hyperlink above or here (for good) and give a listen.

On the self-portrait, ”Special Bond”. I will tell you that close-ups of human eyes from a side view are really difficult! Especially when you do not know what you are doing! Lol! But eyelashes that do not look like fake stick-ons, well, exceptionally hard! Tucker, of course, is simply perfect!

Até breve os meus amigos. Um abraço forte. // See you soon my friends. A big hug to you all.