Tuck and I do not attend any manmade church or temple; our place of worship is the woods—or other place of wilds when the woods are off limit due to heat, fire, or snow. 

It was heat that kept us from our usual house of worship on this holiday marking Spring, the rise of the Sun (the Son), and the renewal of life. Also, Tucker seems to prefer ocean over forest anyway, so we drove to his temple of choice.

He had been having a rough go of it as of late. Due to his incessant scratching that was still undiagnosed, he had popped a hematoma. For those who don’t know what that is: it’s essentially a blood blister on the ear. A scratch or hit breaks open the capillaries between the cartilage and skin on the pinna (the floppy part) of a dog’s ear, and it creates a gap, filling with blood. It can be pretty painful. But dogs don’t know that wacking it into things repeatedly (by shaking one’s heads) or scratching it (because it feels funny) will just make it worse. Like human blood blisters, there isn’t much one can do. It just recedes on its own. If you try to drain it, it’ll just fill up again. You could also do surgery, but that seems a little excessive to me for a non-life threatening condition. He’d had a couple before in prior years. One went through numerous drainings, the other with just one draining, then receded on its own. I hoped this one would go down on its own without any draining.

So, Tucker was forced to be bonnet boy again to keep his ear still until it healed.  Donned in his blue bonnet, Tucker and I headed to our oft-frequented place by the ocean: the Carpinteria Bluffs and Tar Pits. 

There is some open meadow

A good sea breeze,

Some sea lions hanging out,

A few places where we are not allowed,

A grand view or two,

And some tar.

I had forgotten how bad the tar can be. Tuck’s paws got a little sticky, so he gave up on the walk back.

Not sure how this is in any way comfortable, except that his paws aren't sticking to anything but themselves. He looks like the main character of a fairy tale either at the beginning or the end of the story... hard to tell which.

Tucker dramatically came to life after I gave him a few moments and then we headed to a second stop I had seen on the map that looked intriguing and close by: Oak Creek Winery.

It was near closing time when we arrived, and it being Easter, there were few people there. We got a little cabana-like sitting area to ourselves with a view of the vineyard. I let Tuck take off his bonnet since I would close by to stop any major ear-wacking. He seemed to like the freedom for ears and the view.

Easter Sunday for many is about church and family. They go to church is the morning and then spend the afternoon with family. Tuck is my family, and so we spent it together in our own house of worship: the bluffs above the ocean, then sat together for a beverage, looking out over nature groomed by humans, and contemplating new beginnings. For Easter is just another way to celebrate Spring—the time when Mother Nature paints the world  anew.

Here's to the unblemished potential of the year ahead and life renewed, however you choose to honor it.

Scotts Valley is a little mountain town above Santa Cruz, deep in the woods where it smells of pine and forest. I loved it from the moment we arrived the night before.

The vet clinic was a little small town clinic with a tiny waiting room and a few small exam rooms. Tucker seemed to like Dr Scholl, but he was having his panic-like attacks throughout the entire consultation. In fact, he scratched so hard, he got a hematoma on his ear (yet another medical ailment I’d have to treat when I got back to Los Angeles).

Dr Scholl was willing to give it a go with Stelfonta, and if he couldn’t handle it, she’d abandon the procedure.

I liked her willingness, but I knew this would be Tucker’s last shot. With Stelfonta, they only recommend two injections if the first doesn't work. And with this so close to the original site, it was hard to say if it was the same one or just another that popped u nearby. I felt like we had only one shot to do it. And I wasn’t 100% confident Tucker would let her do it. He couldn’t even sit still for her to pet him.

She recommended we figure out his scratching/feet-chewing situation first (which was a new development since January), so I had some work to do with that. And I had some consideration to do if this was where I should place my bets.

It was only 10am when we finished with our consultation, leaving us all day to meander down the coast and get home for work the next day.
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We had explored Monterey pre-pandemic, so we might have been retracing our steps a bit, but I don’t think you can see too much beautiful coastline too often.
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So we took a stroll through Asilomar State Beach, along the boardwalk,

And placed out feet deep in the crisp sand….

And explored the tidepools….

And climbed on rocks that were works of art…

We watched the waves crash against the rocks….

And took in the fresh ocean air.

This is what life is about: experiencing—and sharing—as much beauty as you can in the little amount of time we have here in the physical world. The rocks and waves have been here long before us and will be here long after is. We are here for just a blink, a moment, and then we are gone.
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So we take it in, and make it a part of us, an experience that shapes our future and responds to our past. Tucker and I are soulmates. We have known each other for millennia, and we are connected and intertwined for all eternity. We have been blessed to share this brief time on earth,  to experience and share in the beauty that is the physical world together. And I plan to experience as much as possible with him for as long as possible.

Destinations are good goals, but if you don’t make the journey just as important, you’ve missed a whole lot of beautiful experiences. And so while our destination was Monterey and Scotts Valley for a couple of veterinary consultations, we were going to make this trip about much more than doctor appointments.

With COVID protocols in place at all the vet specialists for the unforeseen future in Los Angeles (ie, pet parents aren’t allowed inside), combined with Tucker’s numerous health concerns that dictate some preface before examination, getting consultations in the Los Angeles area was a no-go for me. They were still acting as if pets were like vehicles to be dropped off for an oil change. And while that was a necessity in the beginning, being two years in… it was time to get real.

Luckily, up north at independent veterinary clinics, they were allowing pet parents in wearing masks and reducing indoor contact. They understood pets and their parents are much less stressed when they're together.

So I had booked two appointments to discuss re-treating Tucker with Stelfonta: an injectable cancer-killer for mast cell tumors that he had been treated with by Dr Sue Ettinger back in February 2021 in Connecticut. A new tumor had grown near the original tumor’s site on the leg. I didn’t want to drive all the way back to Connecticut now that I knew the procedure and knew ultimately it really is about one minute that’s needed to get this done. However, I needed to find the right vet who had the confidence and experience to do it, and who Tucker was comfortable enough with to get it done. If necessary, of course, I’d make the drive back to Dr Sue, but I was hoping we could resolve this a little closer to home.

And for us, Northern California is home, so why not? 

Our Monterey appointment with the oncologist Dr. Arteaga was scheduled for Monday end of day so we’d have all day to drive, hike, explore, and then go to the appointment. Our Scotts Valley appointment with Dr Scholl, a general practitioner who had used Stelfonta before, was first thing the next morning, leaving us an entire day of exploring and hiking before heading back down the coast.

Not taking out usual route up into the Bay area, we had a little more exploring through the Central California heartland. Then onto the beaches to a place we hadn’t yet been, and is supposedly quite dog friendly: Carmel. It did not disappoint.

​The stunning coastline and beautiful ocean views made for a perfect walkabout.

​There was a little beach to explore, and then we headed up onto the bluffs, which is our favorite place. Tucker can smell the ocean without getting wet, and I love the chaparral and plant life that blooms with the ocean breezes.

The trail took us through the wilds at first, a bit of one-track path with open land and sea.

But eventually we hit civilization again. The homes lines up along the coast for stunning views and fresh ocean air.

There was still a bit of wild to enjoy between the houses and the sea.

The walk back took us again away from civilization where we could enjoy nature, hearing the crashing of the waves and listening to the call of the seabirds.

With a joyous afternoon of of sea breeze and sunshine, we headed into Monterey proper for Tucker’s appointment.
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The exam room was a lovely set up. I felt more like we were in for a therapy session than an oncology appointment. Despite a nice cozy dog bed, Tucker took his position in the chair… because always with the chair (and it was the seat closest to the treat jar on the bookcase).

Dr Arteaga was extremely kind, and having a pittie with mast cell tumors, this was personal for her. We all have to make decisions on what is best in our own situation. She treated her own dog with Stelfonta, and it worked. For Tucker, she did not want to risk it. She aimed to have 100% success rate, and with the size and location of Tucker’s tumor, she wasn’t confident it would work—or that she could do it. Tucker’s inability to be sedated is a big sticking point. Dr Sue managed it well; but she’s a rarity. Dr Sue gave Tucker the time he needed to accept the situation, and even gave him a timeout while she saw other patients before returning, having a talk with him, and finally being able to treat him. Tucker isn’t an easy patient, and finding the doctor he trusts and who trusts him, is imperative.

This vet did give me some hope. She said, “Maybe you just have to come to terms with the fact that you have a lumpy dog.” She had read Tucker’s medical history and knows the breed and risks. Because the tumors are usually low grade (but sometimes numerous) with Staffordshire Terriers, the choice to not treat is an option. It’s possible Tucker may develop many more. Of course, with each tumor, there is a risk of metastasizing--going into the organs and spreading. MCT is the great pretender: it can look like anything, act like anything, be completely benign, or cause death within a couple of months. However, sometimes the simple act of treating it (surgery, radiation, etc) can cause stress and activate more tumors into existence. It is all a gamble with no odds published.

My main concern for Tucker was the location. Without surgery as an option due to no sedation, if it gets bigger, it would impede his mobility. She suggested a course of steroids to reduce size should it come to that.

Overall, it wan’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted Tucker’s tumor to be treated and gone. I didn’t want to wonder if one day I’d wake up and he’d be unable to walk. Or that the cancer load would be too much for his body or that it would spread.

But it was what it was. I appreciated her honesty. I will never be upset with a vet who says, “I won’t do it.” I’d rather they know their limitations and stick to a standard. If she was completely confident that she could administer Stelfonta and it would work, she would do it. 
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And so we took our leave just before sunset and then headed north toward Scotts Valley.
But the sun was still up, therefore there was still some coastline to see before night fell. Pulling off to a little parking area along the main highway, Tucker and I sat and looked out over the ocean to watch the sunset. 

I pondered what the vet had said, and thought about all we’d been through since the pandemic began. Tucker was first diagnosed in June of 2020. He underwent electro-chemotherapy, he had numerous consults inside with vets whom I never met. He had even been treated by Dr Sue while I sat in my trusty steed as a Nor-easter roared up the coast, and buried us in snow.

The fact is Tucker doesn’t know he has cancerous tumors. He feels fine. He enjoys life. All is well. The burden is on me. Any time a tumor exists, there is a chance of metastasis. It’s all a gamble. Once metastasized, there isn’t much one can do. Chemo… or supporting his body to try to keep it at bay—which is what I had been doing since everything began. But still, it is a gamble.

I hate gambling. I don’t go to Vegas, I don’t like slot machines, and I don’t like risks. This one is more than losing a little money. It’s losing Tucker. An accurate risk assessment was important, but was so finding the right vet. It’s why I drove 3000 miles through ice storms and a pandemic before vaccines Connecticut last year. Dr Sue was the only one I trusted to do this. And it may be she’s the only one again.
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But we still had one more vet to see in the morning.
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And so I enjoyed the moment with Tucker, as we watched the sun go down on a day of adventuring, with hopes and wishes for many more sundown to watch and many more days - and years - of adventuring ahead.