Mr. Tucker and the Priest

I’ve heard a lot of people talking about how they wish they could have gotten the chance to grow old.

Do you ever wonder if you’ll grow old, when your hair will start to turn gray, or maybe even when your body will start to ache from old age? All of these have already happened to me, but it happens quicker when you’re a dog.

People think dogs don’t notice superficial things about themselves, like the color of our fur or our size. We notice, we just don’t attach meaning to those kinds of things. It’s nice to notice things without evaluating them too much. If you’ve ever watched a bird fly on a sunny day without the urge to chase it, then you know what I mean.

The humans call me Mr. Tucker. That’s what my best friend, The Priest, named me. I keep telling him I’m a dog, not a “Tucker,” but he doesn’t understand barks. Even Mr. Dog would make more sense…

Anyway. It’s fine. I want to tell you a story about us. I’m short on time and it’s kind of important. He’s snuggling me now, and he knows I’m not doing well. Let me explain.

I go everywhere with The Priest. He keeps me safe and he smells like hope.

We spend most of our time staying visible and walking the streets of the city. He says it’s easier for people if they can see us, since they need us so much lately. When I say he keeps me safe, I mean that no one is really safe anymore, but everyone keeps me and The Priest around because of something the humans call “Last Rites.”

I hear the humans talking about a food shortage and about the oceans being empty. It’s hard to understand an ocean being empty when it looks like a big, full water bowl to me, but I guess they mean there aren’t any animals in it to eat. The Priest doesn’t even let me drink out of it. I know it’s true, the food shortage, because most of the people we’ve seen for Last Rites smell hungry. I never used to smell that before, and it took a while for me to figure out that’s what it was, but I get it now.

They track us down in the street when a human is dying. They shout, “Priest! Last Rites, please?”

That’s been happening more and more. When we give them Last Rites, their souls are cleansed for the afterlife. We listen to the humans tell us things they feel guilty about. The Priest calls them sins. That’s where I come in: It’s my job to comfort them while they tell their stories. If they smell lonely, I try my best to lay close to them. If they smell scared, I rub my soft furry cheek close to theirs, and if they’re crying, I make sure to clean their face. I want them to feel loved while they’re telling The Priest stories about all the things they feel bad for. The Priest says I’m good at it, and he says most people understand now that the afterlife is the only way they’ll be at peace, because there’s really no living in peace on Earth anymore.

When The Priest had holy oil and eucharist (little bread cookies, if you ask me), he would anoint people with the oil and give them a cookie. He says he can’t find those two things anymore. He never did let me have those cookies, but I snuck one from him a few times. Now he just prays over the people, and his prayers are about hoping they don’t suffer, and hoping they find peace.

The Priest doesn’t use his car anymore, no one does, but I remember how it used to feel to have my head hanging out of a car window. Have you ever done that? It felt like running without having to move, it felt like smelling all your favorite things at the same time, and oh, the breeze. It sure felt free. I wonder if that’s what the afterlife is like. I hope that’s how the humans feel after Last Rites.

When we walk, he often talks about how people pray much more when they’re scared and dying, and that he’ll provide comfort to anyone who needs it, even if they’ve never prayed before in their lives. He says it’s not about religion, it’s about love. Everyone deserves to feel unconditional love when they’re dying. I thought unconditional love was something only dogs gave people, but I’m glad The Priest gives it away too.

He also talks about how I’m lucky. We’ve seen people eating dogs, but my best friend says since I comfort the dying, I get to stay. He says humans are more worried about the dying part of their lives now than the living part, and that eating me wouldn’t make much of a difference at this point anyhow.

I trust him. He doesn’t smell like lying. But I think he trusts the other humans more than he should, because I know some of them want to eat me. That’s actually what someone just wanted to do, and why I’m telling this story now.

Just a moment ago, as we were walking the city street, a woman’s feet caught my eye, because they moved really fast, and her body trembled. She definitely smelled like fear, but even more, she smelled like desperation.

I’ve wondered if dogs need to do Last Rites to go to the afterlife, because I don’t want to be left out. Especially if it means I can be with The Priest there, too.

I know my job isn’t just to comfort people, but also to protect The Priest, and I wasn’t sure the woman knew that we were Mr. Tucker and The Priest. She looked like she was slithering as she moved, and my hair stood up and felt all tingly when I saw her. My eyes locked onto her fast feet as they moved closer and closer toward us, except we were walking in the street and she tried to look invisible near the curb. Her hair looked messier than mine, but I get it because there aren’t groomers anymore. She was wearing dirty rags that were big and hanging off her bony body, exposing a heart shaped locket necklace that shined in the sun. It was so shiny when the sun hit it, it hurt my eyes and I didn’t notice the other shiny object she had.

When the locket stopped blinding me, I noticed she had pointed a shiny metal gun at The Priest. The Priest and I, we’ve seen this happen before to other humans. It usually happens when people fight over food. I realized, as she pointed the gun at my best friend, that she didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to eat me, and that she wanted to get The Priest out of her way so she could have me for food.

It’s not her fault, I know he’d tell me that.

Not everyone, he’d say, is ready to accept that Planet Earth is dying along with all of us. I don’t know what the humans did to make Earth so mad, but I hear them call her Mother Earth, and I know that when I was a pup with my momma it was a big no-no to make her mad.

As the woman’s trembling finger pulled the trigger, I knew I had to jump in front of The Priest. He hadn’t noticed her, so the sound of the gun made his head whip around to see her, and I’ve never seen his eyes open so wide before.

I was quick enough to save my best friend, The Priest, and now he’s comforting me, stroking my fur and putting his cheek on mine. I guess he paid attention to my snuggling techniques and that I’ve taught him how to comfort the dying like a good boy.

The Priest always told me that my job was the most important part of Last Rites, because comfort is something so hard to find now, but I know I only lasted as long as I did because of our partnership, our friendship. He couldn’t see what I did- that when we visited with the dying, he was the one they looked at for reassurance. They looked at him like their portal to freedom and hope. He didn’t know he was hope, to not just me, but the humans too.

Sometimes he’d call me man’s best friend during our walks, and what I hope he meant was that I am his best friend, just like he is mine. I’m worried he’ll have to do Last Rites without me soon, and what if I don’t get into the afterlife because I can’t tell my own stories to him for Last Rites like the humans do? I hope he’ll understand all of this. I’ve licked his hand and I hope he knows I’m trying to tell him I’m sorry for having to leave him. It also means I’m sorry for the times I stole his bread cookies. Lastly, I’m trying to tell him I wish he could come with me.

His tear drops are hitting my fur now, and I think maybe he does understand me. I hope he remembers that I was an old dog anyhow, and that he has more time left than me, to help more people. His hand is on my chest, feeling my breathing slow down. That lady, she disappeared. As soon as the others wandering saw what she did, they scolded her and told her who we were. She really didn’t know. Don’t be upset with her, I’m sure she’s so hungry.

I hope The Priest gets to see his hair turn gray one day. He must have saved some holy oil and eucharist for a special Last Rites, because I just felt him anoint me, and he finally let me have one of those little cookies. I don’t know what’s next for The Priest, but I know my soul is cleansed.