85 Pounds.

That is a big dog. Tucker, is a fluffy, fun-loving, energetic 85-pound golden doodle. He has always had a ton of energy and can be mischievous at times. I mean when he was only eight months old, this big dog jumped on our counter as my mom cleaned up Christmas dinner. He grabbed the piece of leftover, uncut Prime Rib the size of a football. My cousin had to pry the expensive, uncut piece of meat out of his mouth because it was too big for Tucker to chew. Mischievous I tell you.

But we all love him and every pound he has. We didn’t expect such a big dog, but Tucker just kept growing. He hit 85 at about one year old. Crazy how a small 10-pound dog came to us in April, and almost exactly a year later he is at 85 pounds. We were told he would be about 50-60 pounds, too. Tucker always exceeds our expectations, I guess.

An 85-pound dog - that is hard to lift.

Especially for a small 5’3 woman. My mother used all of her strength to carry Tucker out of Tim’s home, the man who had been watching Tucker for the weekend and lift him into the back seat of her car. My brother and I, both scared, watched as his limbs swayed while my mom lifted him into the car. We wanted to give him a big hug, but he wouldn’t hug us back like normal. Tucker couldn’t stand up straight. He was lifted into the trunk of the SUV and we heard him sliding around in the trunk. Clunk, he slid into the wall. Clunk, now the other wall. He had no control over his limbs or his body. This was something we had never seen before.

We checked him into the dog hospital when my mom got a call from Tim. Tim, a 55-year-old professional dog watcher, called my mom, crying. He was blubbering on the phone as he explained that Tucker suddenly just lost control of his body. He wasn’t sure why at first, he thought maybe Tucker was sick. My mom took the call outside.

Tucker had no bodily control, and that included control of his bladder. He was treating the back of my mom's car, the nurse’s office, and the parking lot as though they were the nice green patch of grass in our backyard. He was off in his own world. A world with no rules, no sense of location, and no control. A world where he could dream of whatever he wanted. He probably was thinking about lots of bones. And steak. He is a big fan of steak. Apparently, the dog food steak doesn’t cut it, too. He goes for the Prime Rib.

Tucker was enjoying his time at Tim’s the first and second day. Tucker loves to play fetch, and Tim had a huge backyard. But, on Tucker’s third day he started to act loopy and disconnected from his body. This is when we came to pick him up.

All of a sudden my mom came back into the doctor’s office and walked sternly toward the nurse’s desk. My brother and I got up from our chairs and followed to listen to what was going on.

My mother chuckles with a face of shock as she says to the nurse, “Tucker got into a whole plate of brownies. Special brownies. A whole plate of pot brownies.”

I sit back and realize the date. 4/19. Tomorrow is 4/20, the unofficial holiday of weed. I think to myself how Tucker isn’t sick, he is EXTREMELY high.

Tucker, our 85-pound dog, an energetic and mischievous golden doodle, was high for four days. His eyes were dilated, he had no bladder control, and he was extremely dehydrated. The doctor said his memory might be gone if he were to recover. But, he did make a full recovery. Tucker came back home with us. His memory fully came back, including his mischievous and energetic personality. He definitely stole a couple more pieces of steak from our kitchen counter. Tucker was back to causing chaos in no time as my mother tried to unpack the rest of our house.

Tucker never went back to Tim’s place, that is for sure. But he always seems to want brownies now.