Tugboat Hamiliton (1995-2004)

Tyler Hamiliton wrote this moving tribute to his beloved and faithful companion Tugboat, a golden retriever. Shortly after losing his dog to cancer, Tyler dropped out of the Tour de France stating a back injury as the reason. After reading this, I have to wonder which was hurting him worse, his back or his Heart.

Godspeed Tugs...

--ryan



Tugboat and Tyler


Back in 1995, my parents owned a dog named Bosun. They
bred him with a female named Baby. Tugboat was the
pick of their litter. I chose him because he was the
most animated of all the puppies. Quite often, Baby's
owner would find Tugboat out of the puppy kennel and
perched on its roof. He was an entertainer, even at a
few weeks old.

When Tugs was born back in Massachusetts, I was living
in Colorado. When he was old enough to be separated
from Baby and his eight siblings, he spent a brief
hiatus at my parents' home in Marblehead. A couple
weeks later he was loaded onto a plane, all by
himself, headed for Denver. It would turn out to be
the first of his many trips across the country.

Bike racers generally don't have dogs. Especially
bachelor bike racers, which I was back then. But I had
just bought my first house, and wasn't so sure at that
time where the bike-racing thing was heading. In my
mind, it was almost a fluke that I had morphed from
collegiate cycling to the pro ranks. I thought my
lucky breaks had probably run their course and that
I'd be settling down in Colorado before too long.

As the months passed and the racing calendar heated
up, Tugboat and I started living out of our suitcases
fairly consistently. I would head off to the races and
Tugs would shack up at a friend's house. I was lucky
because Boulder has always been a dog-friendly town.
And I had lots of friends who were willing to take him
in while I was away. It was a pretty good system.

Then a few big changes impacted our lives. First, the
team I was riding for, Montgomery Bell, got a new
sponsor - the U.S. Postal Service. There were big
plans for this organization to go to Europe and ride
in the Tour de France. That meant the better part of
1996 was going to be spent on the road in the U.S. and
going back and forth to Europe so we could prove
ourselves as a developing team. Tugs and I were
spending more time apart than together.

Then, a girl named Haven came on the scene just before
Tugboat's first birthday. She had grown up with a cat
and a goldfish and had been chased by a neighbor's dog
when she was a kid. So the odds of her and Tugboat
hitting it off were a little slim at first. But
together, we eased her into dog life. Our first
challenge was convincing her that golden retrievers
weren't vicious. Our second was getting her to pet
Tugboat with more than her fingertips for a
millisecond. It was slow going, but she came around.
Tugboat could charm the socks off of just about
anyone.

1997 was my first full season in Europe. Haven was
working in Boston, Tugboat was staying with my family
in Marblehead, I was living in Girona, and friends
were renting my house in Colorado. Our lives stayed
this way until 2000 when Haven moved over to Europe.
We hesitated about bringing Tugs over at first,
because we worried that the 15 hours of crated travel
to Europe would be inhumane. So he remained in
Marblehead in-season, and then came to live with us in
the off-season. This situation made Tugboat kind of a
family dog. But he never seemed to mind all the
transitioning. He just rolled with the venue changes
as if he understood that my career required him to do
so.

Finally in 2002 we decided the in-season separation
was too much. His place was with us on the road,
wherever that led. So we loaded him up in his
all-too-familiar crate that had shuttled him between
Colorado and Massachusetts so many times and brought
him with us to Spain.

The airline we chose made us fly him in cargo instead
of baggage, which meant we had to pick him up in a
different terminal. The flight arrived just before 6
p.m. We made a mad dash to the cargo terminal and
arrived there by 6:35 - only to find out that the
cargo office closed at 6:30. They wouldn't let us pick
Tugs up until 10 a.m. the next morning when the
processing office re-opened. We were horrified.

We protested and pleaded. My wife even cried. But they
didn't care. But they did agree to let us see him and
let him out for a walk around the cargo warehouse,
which looked like the inside of a Home Depot. Tugs was
pretty happy to be released and immediately relieved
himself at the end of an aisle of shelves holding
boxes of pricey imports. We practically cheered, but
we couldn't because we were laughing too hard. Tugs
was a trouper. He had to spend his first night in
Europe in a cargo warehouse, and he accepted the
challenge like a champ.

Tugboat was one of the largest dogs in Girona.
Reactions to him were always mixed. Sometimes kids and
adults would scream and run from him like they had
just seen a two-headed monster. But there were just as
many others that warmed instantly to him. Like the
lady across the street from our house who owns a café.
She always had a slice of queso ready for Tugs. In
fact, it was hard to get him back in the house if he
didn't get his customary treat.

I think Tugboat liked his vagabond life. Unlike dogs
who live in one house and walk around the same block
three times a day for their entire lives, he enjoyed a
variety of experiences in his nine years. He traveled
extensively in the U.S. and Europe. He covered a lot
of ground in New England, and out west. And overseas
he visited Spain, France, Belgium, Italy and Monaco.
He traveled through the Dolomite Mountains with us
while I previewed stages for the 2002 Giro d'Italia.
He drove nearly the entire route of the 2003 Tour de
France. He ran through fields in the Pyrénées and
Alps. He swam in the Atlantic Ocean and the
Mediterranean Sea.

Aside from his travels Tugboat also got to do a few
other fun things. He appeared in a documentary aired
on Danish television. He'll be featured in the IMAX
film "Brain Power," which premieres worldwide in 2005.
He posed for countless photo shoots for magazines and
newspapers. My wife thought it was funny when Tugboat
would be invited to media interviews and she wouldn't.
He even received fan mail and CARE packages from his
admirers. But he never let his fame go to his big boxy
head. At the end of every day he was still good old
Tugs.


Click image to enlarge
by Tim DeWaele


Tugboat demonstrates the art of 'lazy-dog fetch'


There were a few things that never changed about
Tugboat. He loved tennis balls. He could sit with a
tennis ball at the end of his mouth for hours. He even
invented his own game where he'd sit at the top of a
staircase and wait for you to throw the ball to him.
After he caught it and gave it a good chewing he'd
drop his chin to the floor and push the ball out of
his mouth with his tongue. It would roll down the
steps back to whoever was in charge of tossing it back
to him. We called this game "lazy-dog fetch."

Tugboat liked to eat. He never turned down food and
often sought it out. He figured out that kids in
strollers equaled sticky treats, and pigeons crowded
on the ground equaled breadcrumbs. He remembered where
the cafés set up their tables during the day, and did
his best to help clean up after the patrons at night.
The city of Girona could have hired him as a street
cleaner.

He liked to sit in the front seat of the car and lean
his head on your shoulder while you drove. He would
lick the tears off your face if you cried. He would
rest his head on your feet while you watched
television. He would lie under the kitchen table while
you ate dinner. He would bite your wrist gently to
tell you he was happy to see you. He loved to roll on
his back and punch the air with his paws. He yanked
the stuffing and squeakers out of every one of his dog
toys. He swallowed his dog food without chewing it. He
loved helping with the dishes.

He was a truly special dog, who supported me through
thick and thin and was by my side all through the 2003
Tour. He knew I was hurting and he comforted and
protected me in a way that was nearly human.

On July 12 he collapsed. He had been sick for about a
month after a reaction to an anti-inflammatory
arthritis drug that badly irritated his stomach. An
edoscopy revealed multiple ulcers. It looked like he
had road rash on his insides. The internal bleeding
caused by the ulcers made him very weak. We can only
assume he had been in the early stages of suffering
from cancer when the drug reaction occurred. We think
his system was so weakened from the blood loss, the
cancer pounced.

After his collapse the vet recommended emergency
exploratory surgery. They found carcinoma and tumors
throughout his body. One had ruptured on his liver,
and had caused the collapse. They recommended putting
him down immediately while he was sedated. They gave
him no chance of survival.

My wife and I spoke that night, and decided that Tugs
had one last road trip in him. I needed to say
good-bye and thank you to my trusty companion face to
face. Haven brought Tugboat home Monday night and set
out for Limoges, France, the next morning. Tugs made
the final journey in good form. He was heavily
sedated, so he never walked again, but he was alert
enough to know he was with the two people who
cherished him the most.

Tugs and I slept side by side that night. Ironically,
one year after he had done so for me, I was comforting
him at the Tour de France. Before the start of stage
10, I said my good-byes. My wife drove him back to
Girona where the vet was waiting for her call. On the
way into town she stopped at a bakery and bought a
whole bag of pastry. It had been weeks since Tugs had
been well enough for a treat. But Haven's brother
Derek, who traveled with her to France, suggested they
take Tugs to a park for his final feast. They carried
him out of the car and sat with him under a shady tree
and fed him his chocolate and sugar and cheese-covered
desserts until there wasn't a crumb left. He was still
on earth, but I think, in that moment, he must have
been in heaven.

At the end, Haven tucked my jersey from stage 9 under
one of Tugs's legs and his last Credit Lyonnais Lion
under the other. He was a bike racer's dog from start
to finish.

My wife's favorite memory with Tugs is walking down
the Champs-Elysees with him last summer at the finish
of the Tour, and asking; "Tugboat, do you know how far
from Marblehead you are?" Somehow I think he knew.

My favorite memory was ascending a 14,000-foot peak
with Tugs when he was a puppy. We got caught in a
snowstorm at the top, but that was just part of the
fun.

He was such a good friend. Such a good traveler. Such
a good companion. Everyone who knew him felt a special
bond with him. He loved unconditionally, and will be
missed by many. Especially me.

Tugboat, thanks for everything.