Finding Fuzzybutt Four

Hudson turned 5 today and now that I’ve laid Murphy to rest and had my time alone to reconcile his loss, it’s time to find Hudson a brother.

I am starting a separate blog entitled Finding Fuzzybutt Four to chronicle the experience and open it up to the public and anyone who would like to be a part of the process.

We’re still working through how all of this is going to work but I’ve made a few decisions:

(1) I’m going with another Great Pyrenees. Meeting so many awesome mixed breeds on the road I thought back then my next one will be a plain ole American mutt, just as long as I always have one Pyr in my pack. But after losing Murphy I realized I’m 2 for 2. I couldn’t have been blessed with better mates than he and Malcolm - the jury is still out on Hudson. So life is short, get a Great Pyr, I decided.

(2) It’ll be from a rescue or shelter which makes (3) harder but it needs to be a puppy, 2 – 6 months old. I want it to be young enough to grow into our pack and full of puppiness for Hudsy. He hasn’t gotten to play a lot this past year and it’s his time now.

In setting up a separate blog I want to share what I learn throughout the adoption process and enable others to participate in it as well. If you’re a shelter or rescue you can post prospective mates for Hudson here as well as share best practices for a successful adoption, qualities to look for that fit your pack, and best ways to introduce them into their new environment. Other people will be allowed to share success stories with their adoptions as well which we can all learn from.

I am working with Sheila Rinks on this and she’ll be the blog admin. All you have to do is email her at sheila@2dogs2000miles.org what you want to post and as long as it fits the criteria, she’ll invite you on as a guest blogger (I know there are a ton of great dogs out there looking for homes but I’d like to keep the focus here on finding a prospective mate for Hudson).

We’re still working out the kinks in this concept but the process is probably going to take a few months and we want to get started with it now. Let’s find Hudson a brother…. Keep the faith and puppy up!

Happy birthday, my boy

Hudson and Luke

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Luke 12:48

I leave this evening to fast in the forest for 18 days.

I’ve done juice fasting when I lived in Austin because it was hippy and earthy though in hindsight I must’ve sounded like a pretentious boob back then talking about detoxing on milk thistle, wheat grass and organic carrot juice. The longest I could do it was for a mere three days which you’d understand if you ever had pork ribs at Sam’s barbeque.

Yep this is an experience of a whole other order.

First of all, though I’m leaving to setup camp tonight the fast will officially start Wednesday June 13th at 8am ending July 31st 8am. I hope my math is right anyway. At that time the cell phone and computer get shut off and the only line I’ll have is to Ginger to coordinate rendezvous times for water re-supply. She will also be bringing Hudson to see me so he won’t feel as though I, too, have left him.

I’ll be living in a tent near Wolf River the entire 18 days and subsisting only on water although electrolyte powders are needed given the extreme, constant heat I’ll be exposed to.

The first three days are the most grueling when the hunger pains are the worst after that my body will quiet down.

This is the critical stage and why I am fasting… to quiet myself and listen.

I’ll have with me a moleskin to write my sermons in stone and a camera to record them, too.

My relationship with my faith is deep and profound and it’s as much a part of my journey as the fuzzybutts are. It has blessed me with a righteous mission, has guided me throughout our travels, and enriched our lives with so many wonderful people.

Perhaps I will never understand why after the walk Murphy was diagnosed with cancer but I have at least accepted that that part of my journey has ended.

This is the next stretch and this one I must do alone. And when I return the mission will continue...

Post Mortem

Thank you to everyone who attended Murphy’s virtual wake Saturday evening which ironically I couldn’t participate because we’ve made too many friends on Facebook. Over 2,000 posts of pictures and stories about one for every mile we walked.

I’m going to keep the page open since it reflects just how many hearts Murphy left his pawprints on - here’s the link if you’d like to share your own.

Since I wasn’t available to answer questions I’ll try to do that here.

Why wasn’t Murphy euthanized Monday?

Quite honestly, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to do it despite all of the tough guy talk in my father’s day blog. But then I got over myself and since I did not want Murphy’s last moments spent indoors, there was a scheduling conflict with the vet on Tuesday.

Where was Murphy given rest?

Bartlett city park at Bartlett blvd & Stage rd next to the pavilion.

Why did you choose cremation over burial?

Personally I do not believe in burial for spiritual, conservation, and scientific reasons. I myself will never be buried.

What are you planning on doing with Murphy’s ashes?

I wish I could say I had that already mapped out but I don’t. They will continue on our travels as long and until…

Why did you post that picture of you carrying Murphy’s lifeless body?

First of all, there’s a lot more to that photograph than anyone knows. But it speaks for itself.

How is Hudson holding up?

He’s gotten fatter than a opossum in a peach tree. After radiation last August Murphy really couldn’t hike very far anymore and we only walked as far as he could. But Hudson’s been well fed on Honest Kitchen and Nature’s Variety throughout and well, he’s a whole lotta biscuits and gravy now. Hudsy’s so fat he’s not Hugsy anymore – he can’t even get up on his hind legs to hug people.

But he’s my butterball and since there isn’t a Biggest Loser Dog Edition, we’ve got a lot of work to do together. Monday we started walking every morning just a mile or so until he regains his fighting weight and then we’ll ramp up from there.

What’s next?

Tuesday or Wednesday next week I am headed to the forest to fast for 18 days. It’s looking like that’s somewhere near Wolf Creek in Memphis though I have to scout it out this weekend. The battle over the past year has exacted a tremendous mental, physical, and spiritual toll on me coming off of an 826 day walk. I’m not sure I can articulate my reasons any more clearly right now other than, it’s what comes next.

Hudson won’t be with me but he will be near enough that Ginger can bring him out every couple of days along with water supply. I’ll post more about it as details finalize. Yes, it’s dangerous but do not fear for me.

What can I do?

Remain steadfast for now. When I return from my fast I will be calling on each and every one of you. There’s a lot going on in the background which I didn’t have the heart to talk about until Murphy was given rest. I’m going to need a few things before I leave next week and will post them here.

puppy up!

Hudson & Luke

Invictus Manet

You know, when I lost Malcolm I cursed god and was alone. Murphy carried me through that hard sad time in my life. Then god gave me this amazing mission which I could have never undertaken without my beautiful boy by my side. Yesterday I carried Murphy back to god

Sermons in Stone

"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

I love this passage from Will Shakespeare’s As You Like It and for this Father’s Day, I couldn’t find one more appropriate. It speaks to the fascination and beauty found in the simple wonderment of nature. It’s reminiscent of my father who first taught me that and as a dad myself, it’s a lesson my own boys, Hudson and Murphy, always keep me mindful of.

Life is a messy thing but there’s no finer, more effective therapy for it than a good piece of wood in your hand, the path beneath your feet, and your sons at your side.

This Father’s Day for me is a bittersweet celebration. It was one year ago today we walked the final mile into Boston but it’s also Murphy’s last day. Tomorrow he will be given eternal rest.

A few weeks back Murphy’s left eye ruptured and I made the decision to have it surgically removed rather than euthanizing him then. He was still willful, eating healthfully, and in true Murphy tradition, full of piss and vinegar.

It was a controversial decision and one which tore me up internally. I suspected the rupture probably meant the tumor had breached the orbit, a suspicion that was confirmed by the vet during surgery. At most I hoped for a couple of months together and if we were lucky, a few more than that.

Since the surgery, we have seen a deterioration of mobility in his right hind leg which can only mean motor cortex involvement - that the cancer has finally spread to his brain. And though he has had some really good days this week in Eureka Springs and yesterday at 3 Dog Bakery, I know what comes next and that I cannot allow to happen to my boy.

I have no doubt now the decision I made to extricate his eye was medically unsound but it was not an inhumane one. I don’t write this because I feel a need to justify it to anyone. I absolutely don’t give a goddamn what people think about the choices I have made on behalf of Murphy.

I am writing about it because to me this is what being a father means. It means having to make extremely hard decisions often in the absence of any certainty and always in the face of adversity.

A father’s love is the grit and iron will that cannot be ground down even at the end. It’s looking into the eyes of your dying son and finally admitting, “I can’t save you.”

To all of the fathers who have had to say that and to the ones who thankfully haven’t – this is our day.

Reflections in Stone

Sunday is our one year anniversary for walking the final mile in Boston and not coincidentally, it’s also father’s day.

I got an email a few weeks back that asked simply ‘Whatever happened to that stone business you were writing about?’

My guess is they were referring to the series of blogs I published starting with 61 Stones not my Facebook discussion thread about medical marijuana for dogs.

If you haven’t been with us since last July, shortly after Boston Murphy was diagnosed with nasal adenocarcinoma and given 12 to 15 months to live. I went to a river basin in the Cheeseman valley west of Colorado Springs to collect a series of stones. Each week I resolved to remove one of those stones from a glass jar.

Maybe it was my way of celebrating his life while it remained or maybe I was deconstructing my own in a mathematically dissociative way. It’s hard to say exactly why we do something in the first place but at the time it made sense to me. Perhaps it was the only thing that made sense to me.

I didn’t always post a blog every week as there were many when the cruel irony of his cancer embittered my heart and kept me silent. I think the last one I posted was ‘9 Stones’ after which Murphy’s health spiraled downward, a deep descent that took me with it.

Since then I have made many medically difficult decisions on his behalf that only time will tell whether they were sound or not but I can’t stop fighting for him as long as his spirit tells me he is not ready to leave this place.

Zero stones came and went and Murphy is still here. We just returned from Eureka Springs where we spent many good hours on the swollen banks of Beaver Lake together (photo nearby).

How long Murphy has left is up to God and Murphy.

For me there are no more stones to remove. It’s time to start replacing them.

Dude, Mark it 10

Murphy officially turned 10 on the 31st and it was a bittersweet birthday. May just wasn’t a good month – twice I came damn close to euthanizing him but in both cases he rebounded. That lasted for a few days, a week if we were lucky and then it was something else.

It’s been such an up and down, side to side month every time I’ve tried to post an update here for everyone that’s not on our Facebook page, things changed so drastically.

First it was pemphigus which sounded to me like a disease caught on Sesame Street but can actually be quite problematic especially in a cancer patient. The scorched furless skin on his snout that radiation permanently branded him with started sloughing off until all that remained was like a bloody pulpy mess.

He stopped eating and consequently stopped taking his meds which is a frikkin nightmare since the only way you can administer pills when that happens is through an oral syringe. Dogs don’t like fluids squirted into their mouths so you have to hold on to their snout but that just tore away more flesh… for now I’ll spare you the graphic details of those fun nights…

Fortunately the pemphigus turned out to be a drug reaction to SMZ TMP and once we discontinued the sulfa drug the mucosal membranes affected began to heal. And the prednisone not only aided that process but it stimulated Murphy’s appetite as well.

We enjoyed almost a week of healing and healthy eating and then his left eye which had wept blood and pus on and off for two months shut for good. Initially, I chalked it up to the pemphigus and hoped steroids + antibiotics would resolve it.

Memorial Day, Murphy wasn’t mostly Murphy so I took him to Dr. Blackburn. The pain was so severe that we couldn’t open his eye so we had to sedate him to get a better look. His eye had ruptured. Probably from a cascade of events but we’ll never know for sure.

The following day the vet removed his left eye…

Bruised, bloodied, and embattled Murphy made it through May and his spirit remains undaunted. His fight is the same as every person and pet diagnosed with this dreadful disease.

puppy up! to all on National Cancer Survivors Day…

continued…

Mommies!

To All the Mommies We’ve Loved Before

A Duet by Murphy Iglesias and Hudson’s Willie er…. Hudson Nelson

Play the song here to the following lyrics:

To all the mommies we’ve loved before
We’ve travelled in and out their doors
We’re glad they came along
We dedicate this song
To all the mommies we’ve loved before

To all the mommies who have caressed
And may we say we nosed the best
For helping our lil walk
You guys just rock
To all the mommies we’ve loved before

The winds of change are always blowing
And though we would’ve like to stay
The winds of change continue blowing
They just carried us away

To all the mommies who share our story
It’s because of you our glory
We’re glad you came along
We dedicate this song
To all the mommies we’ve loved before

To all the mommies who care for us
Murphy can’t find a rhyme so he wants me to remind he’s a genius
You live within our heart
We’ll always be a part
Of all the mommies we’ve loved before

The winds of change are always blowing
And though we would’ve like to stay
The winds of change continue blowing
They just carried us away

To all the mommies we’ve loved before
We’ve travelled in and out their doors
We’re glad they came along
We dedicate this song
To all the mommies we’ve loved before

To all the mommies we’ve loved before
We’ve travelled in and out their doors
We’re glad they came along
We dedicate this song
To all the mommies we’ve loved before

Thank you to all the wonderful beautiful mommies who are so much a part of lives….

Happy Mother’s Day

Luv u Hudsy & Murphy

Murphy Writes His First Blog

It began with the camping trip that Papi and I took a few weeks ago. I decided to impersonate a “good” dog just enough that Papi let his guard down. I no longer had to be tied up or held with the white knuckled grip Papi has used all my life.

Freedom at last…

I really wondered like Papi did “what could I do with this new freedom”? However, I think we were looking at it in two different ways. Papi was thinking Murph has cancer, a low energy level, has blood, snot coming from his nose and/or eye… where is he going to go and how fast can he move that I can’t catch him? I on the other hand have been thinking when am I going to bust my move?

Last night, while camping with the “family” I was dozing off by that little puppy Dash when out of the corner of my eye I saw the most regal dog walk by. Her long auburn hair was flowing in the wind as she tossed her head from side to side. I caught a whiff of her scent as she walked by again. I even heard Papi comment on her beauty. Mommy G said something about an Irish Setter. I began thinking French meets Irish… love at long last.

I waited and waited. Finally, Papi began showing Mommy G how to cook outdoors (like she’s gonna do that since she doesn’t even cook indoors). Mommy is listening to him like she may actually try this some time. I continue to wait… once Papi puts the fish on the grill and is focused on cooking I slowly begin to rise. Once up I notice no one is watching so I tip toe out of our camp site unnoticed. Once I hit the road I pick up the scent of that beautiful creature and off I go. I am busting my move!

I made it all the way to her campsite before her owners heard Papi and Mommy G calling my name. They remembered walking past us (I hope that beautiful creature remembered too). I was busted! Papi made me get in the truck with Mommy and he walked back to camp. Mommy told me I was bad, but she understood that I just had to see that beautiful creature again.

Papi called me all kinds of not so nice names and tied me to the pole with Dash. I wonder how long it will be before I fool Papi again?

Murphy (not Mostly Murphy, but All Murphy and then Some)

Murphy Canvases are Ready

Finally!

And they look amazing...

These are limited edition canvases of three different photographs taken from our walk. Each are printed on canvas, signed and numbered by me with Murphy's pawprint. They come in 8x10 and 11x14 sizes and originally I was going to ship them out as just the canvas until I saw them framed. Absolutely stunning so I decided to have each of them framed as well. The frame nearby is a rustic walnut wood that matches the fencing in the background.

The three photos are:

McKewn TN (pictured above). This photo was taken while resting at a farm lined with Bradford Pear trees in November 2008

Tent (pictured above): Perfectly captures the three knuckleheads waking up after a night sleeping on the banks of the Youghiogheny River

Fuzzybutts (pictured above): In step and in stride this photograph epitomizes our cross country walk for cancer as we headed to the C&O towpath outside Hancock MD

The pricing for 8x10 is $100 and $125 for the 11x14 that includes shipping.

If you ordered yours awhile ago - thank you so much for being patient. They'll be arriving soon.

To purchase a limited edition canvas, click Here

If you have any questions, contact ginger@2dogs2000miles.org

Coeur de Lion

Prince Geoffrey: My, you chivalric fool... as if the way one fell down mattered.

Prince Richard: When the fall is all there is, it matters.

From The Lion in Winter

Quality of Life

I'm not entirely certain why I'm posting a sequal to my blog 'Mostly Murphy'. Maybe it's such a visceral issue and one of severe importance that just deserves it.

I doubt I'll shed new light on it for you but some of the responses I've received have caused me to further contemplate.

So I went to the park to ask questions and seek answers I had shelved five years ago when I was first confronted with the issue of euthanization with my dog, Malcolm.

There are people much smarter than me who have tried to quantify quality of life - the Tripawds folks posted a link to an article in the comments section of the previous post that's probably worth looking into though I haven't read it yet.

The two times I came close to euthanizing him this past week were based on 'criteria' like significant debilitation in hind legs, reduction of appetite, and neuralgia from nerve damage. Taken together, it's no stretch I was ready to let him go.

But I didn't because on one of our daily outings - last Thursday - he led me into the woods at Overton Park on his own. And then Sunday he surprised me again.

You see, in a big way I was looking at his symptoms to dictate my decisions. We know even the most advanced diagnostics or keen clinical evaluations cannot communicate the will and desire to live.

Yes I pray for guidance daily and I listen to Murphy as best I think I can but even the generally accepted 'He'll tell you when he's ready' just isn't enough for a father like me.

Honestly can you really tell the distinction between when your dog has tummy upset and malaise from mismedication and infection versus cachexia from cancer? And before you answer that - would you bet their life on it? When you're dealing with cancer there is a complexity and cascade of symptoms that makes a definitive assessment next to impossible.

Throw in the maelstrom of emotions all of us go through and that further complicates decisions. So when I was able to finally reduce the question of quality of life down to two simple words, 'Mostly Murphy', trust me I wasn't trying to be cutesy or soundbitey.

So long as most of the personality traits I've come to know and love as his dad continue to shine through, I cannot take his life. That supposes of course he's able to eat, is ambulatory, and has normal body functions but that assumption can be made for most of the pet parents I know.

What I have reevaluated through all of this though is the conversation we're having which should be about euthanizing too early NOT about suffering. Pain doesn't go with you when you pass so holding on a couple of more days just to be sure is not unusually or unnecessarily cruel.

I'm grateful I didn't let Murphy go yet because he still has so much love in him and quite a lot of pep in his step. In fact, I am taking him to Kentucky this weekend to see some dear friends of ours and I think a road trip can do us some good.

To misquote the late great Davy Crockett, former Senator from Tennessee, "Cancer may go to hell... We're going to Bowling Green".

Mostly Murphy

This will be my most difficult & perhaps controversial blog but it's a topic that needs to be discussed, debated, cried over, cursed about and maybe even one that we all need an ass-kicking for.

Murphy should be dead by now.

I've come close to euthanizing him twice. But each time he's rebounded and I thought better of it.

True, he's dying. No doubt about that. The tumor has overtaken his left eye and he's tired from the 10 month battle.

But how do we establish a criteria for quality of life?

I've finally realized that it's - is Murphy mostly Murphy?

1 Stone

It's not likely Murphy will survive the week

'His candle hath burned at both ends.
It may not last night.
But oh our foes and ah our friends.
It hath cast a lovely light.'

variation of one of my favorite poems by edna st vincent millay

11 Stones: Angel

It's been a frikkin awesome week. Murphy has been mostly smiles since our third anniversary.

The edema in his left eye has improved significantly. Too early to call it trauma unrelated to tumor but it's an improvement nonetheless.

His snout is still snotty but it's not draining as much... could be the spring pollen count in Memphis is plugging him up... dunno.

Another curious development is since late January, Murphy has reeked of decaying flesh from radiation necrosis of his nasal tissue I suppose. Some days it was pretty ripe. That's gone now, too.

I don't know whether taken together these are a new manifestation of the disease but I haven't spent much time chewing on it. We've been too busy.

We had an overindulgent St. Patrick's, picnics at Overton Park just about every day, and we recently had dance nite! I turned on my tunes from the 80s & 90s... Mommy G dressed Murphy up in a tux and top hat (yeah, that didn't last too long) but he really got into it and after a few songs kicked Hudson and Buddy off the dance floor.

Nearby is a video of Ginger and Murphy grooving to Sarah Mclachlan's Angel.

Hell, yeah, Murphy still has a few hoots and a hollerin left in him...

Arc, goddamnit

“Arc, goddamnit”

The last time I spoke those words, screamed them really, I was naked and dancing wildly about a campfire a few clicks south of Hancock, Maryland on the C & O towpath to DC. I had stopped in that interesting little town earlier in the day to replenish our water supply and pick up a bottle of Lignanore Terrapin White at a packy, or package stores as they call them in that part of the country.

The wine would complement the two ears of sweet corn I picked from a field the boys and I discovered just off the trail that morning. Farmers always plant a little extra for raccoons I had learned and probably wouldn’t mind us helping ourselves to a modest share of the harvest.

Our goal that day was the Little Pool campground right around the 120 mile mark, a primitive site with a pit, picnic table, and flat piece of ground for a tent smack dab on the bank of the Potomac River. Though it was late August the summer season had been kind and gentle to us and most of our three months on the trail system were slight, neither too hot nor too cold.

The breeze off the water, campfire at my back, boys at my side, a good drink, and roasted sweet corn fresh off the stalk, perfection doesn’t get anymore perfect for me. And yet my mind was caught on something and I couldn’t shake it.

Pittsburgh was more than a month behind us but a conversation I had there had crept alongside ever since. Over dinner with my future literary agent we discussed the idea of writing a book about the walk. Of course I had given it some thought prior to that evening but I didn’t want to get weighted down by it.

“One thing a great story needs”, my agent related to me, “Is a good character arc”. Now I knew what she meant despite never having published a book before. One of my favorite movies is Adaptation in which Charlie Kauffman struggles with the issue but I never really put it into a personal context.

Yet there I was 214 miles later, supping on sweet corn and swilling wine and reflecting on her words…

“What if there is no arc at the end of the walk? How does one make oneself arc? To sell a book you need an arc. The public demands that you arc. Arc me. Arc you…”

And so went the inner monologue until it became quite maddening. Stripped from all pretenses by the wine and fueled by the fire beside me, the rage I’d kept inside all those years since I lost Malcolm fulminated into a fury.

I tore off my clothes and danced feverishly around the campfire screaming at myself, “Arc, goddamnit. Arc”. As though the savage in me could some how summon the will of God.

Perhaps it was my own one act, one man rendition of Lord of the Flies. But trust me; it wouldn’t be something you’d pay to see.

Today is the three year anniversary since Hudson, Murphy, and I left Austin and although I have managed to keep my clothes on most of the time since then, that night still burns so brightly in my mind.

Looking back I guess I had hoped and prayed for, even naively believed that the walk would somehow heal my busted heart and crossing the finish line would forever close that chapter in my life. Instead, it’s more shattered now than when I started and if there has been an arc, it’s inverted.

Meteorologists say the second half, the one after the eye of a hurricane is the worst and maybe that’s why Murphy’s cancer has been harder on me than that of Malcolm's.

There’s no great quote, no profound metaphor or life lesson I have today.

Instead, I’m taking Murphy to a local Irish pub appropriately named Murphy’s to toast a pint that we’ve made it this far.

Happy third… cheers to the fuzzybutts. Long live the fuzzybutts!

Lily

Lydia Best, a long-time supporter of ours and a board member of 2 Million Dogs recently lost her beloved English Bulldog, Lily, after a long battle with chronic seizures.

The boys and I spent several weeks with her and husband, Pat, in Leesburg Virginia and let's just say Lily and Hudson had a, ahem, special relationship. Nearby pic almost says it all. We all know that Hudsy is quite the ladies man and Lily wasted no time in letting him know she was available.

I never got to meet Daisy, Lydia and Pat's first bulldog they lost

to cancer but Lily was really quite something. She had a complex set of emotions and grunts, snorts, huffs, and puffs to vocalize them and before I met her I had no idea dogs could emote so theatrically.

Our hearts go out to their family...

13 Stones: Bucket List

Two things have happened since my last post:

First Murphy has gone a little gammy in his hind legs. His mobility hasn't been affected yet but getting up and down occasionally gives him fits and starts. This I don't believe is tumor related. It seems more likely to me that it's a progression of the spinal arthritis I first noticed back in Colorado rather than motor cortex involvement.

Second, I discovered a white membrane developing on his left cornea Tuesday. My kneejerk reaction was the cancer had breached the orbital bone and it was threading through Murphy's eye socket like a kudzu vine. I thought to myself, well it's only a matter of time now, but an inconsistency convinced me to consult with Dr. Blackburn, his Memphis vet. Why wasn't there pronounced protrusion of the eye as I have seen in so many cases?

Blackburn diagnosed it as corneal edema secondary to Murphy's nasal cancer. He feels the tumor is commandeering the blood supply around his eye to feed its own growth and that's causing fluid retention. There is an outside, way outside, chance it could be as a result of trauma but regardless the consensus is Murphy isn't in any discomfort for now. We started him on topical steroids and hopefully that will reduce the swelling.

Both of these developments got me thinking with lightening speed and clarity. Time is running out on me and Murphy. What haven't we done together?

So I've started a Bucket List and since then we've checked off two things you should do with your dog before they die.

1. One word. Ragtop. Have you ever taken your pupper for a drive in a convertible? It's the ultimate ride for a dog. Smells coming in from all directions... a smorgasboard of sensations. Belt them in, take down the top, and turn on some badass driving tunes for a righteous experience. Cost: If you get caught giving the middle finger to cancer at any point during your drive you may have to pay a fine subject to the state you're driving in.

2. Art class part I. I should've known there was an artist inside of Murphy. We took he and Buddy to Seize the Clay to ceramictize(?) their pawprint and Murphy had such a whopping good time that his nom de guerre is going to be Murphyangelo. Bringing the clay out on a giant sized plate may have inspired him as he tried to snarf it down. But damn no artist for their indulgences... The nearby pic is his pawprint and the mold I chose. Cost: $10

Budman did good, too but he was restless and I think he had to pee. Perhaps he's more into performance art...

15 Stones: On Suffering

If the doctors are correct in their estimation of Murphy's prognosis, he will be dead in 15 weeks.

Why not kill him now? Isn't that the question we all ask at some point when we have a loved one with a terminal illness? Spare them the suffering? Spare ourselves the pain and save some money, too? That's certainly the subject of many emails I've been receiving lately.

Because I am a Christian, God's grace and will are something I think of just about every second of every day when it comes to Murphy's cancer. We pray for one yet know so little of the other. How can we presume then to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves?

I think that question will haunt us all til the end of our days.

With Malcolm after he was given rest - for months I replayed his last moments in my mind like being caught in an endless unrelentling video loop. I couldn't turn it off.

So am I keeping Murphy alive to avoid a sequel? Or is it my own arrogant belief that I can somehow fix him, that I can out-think the experts, beat the odds and save him?

I remember reading something someone said sometime ago about when you know you're going down the manner in which you go down is all that matters. How stupid was what I thought at the time...

Maybe not

How do you want to die? Peacefully and painlessly? Yeah that's the way we all want to go but we don't have that option do we?

Whether you believe that suffering is an extension of God's love or proof of his non-existence, personally I would endure just about any suffering to be loved completely. We all go down, surely some harder than others, but Murphy will not die from apathy, societal values, or a resignation of will.

As long as he feels loved I will fight for him against all odds and in defiance of criticism

Famous Memphis Area Pyrenees Dies from Mad Cow Disease

What Price Life?

I wonder how much Murphy is worth?

I mean not to me but in the marketplace.

Kim Kardashian gets $10,000 for every tweet she twitters. Two of those would get us to the breakeven point in Murphy's care. The cast of jersey shores make seven figures for acting like frat boys who honestly deserve a beat down.

Is this what we value in our society?

You have no idea how hard it's been for me trying to reconcile the generosity and goodness of the people we met on the road with the inanity, insanity & absolute dissolution of decency I've seen since.

That's why I haven't asked for any more money for Murphy's care. And won't. I want no part of this travesty.

I'll flay myself first and to the bone before I accept this is the best we can do.

17 Stones: Dei Gratia

If I had to sum up this past month it'd be: heavy hopes, long odds, hard choices, and secondary consequences.

With no evidence of potential therapeutic benefit, I chose to follow up Murphy’s 2nd course of radiation with chemotherapy and then to compound my temerity I decided on a cocktail never tried in canine nasal adenocarcinoma before; carboplatin and gemcitabine a protocol used primarily for osteosarcoma and lung mets.

Wednesday, January 19th, the day Murphy was to receive the first round of chemo his breath was stinkier than normal. We'd tented out the night before on the banks of Lake Somerville and the three of us were all a mite ripe, so I didn't think much of it until I unclamped his maw and noticed an ulcer on the roof of his mouth.

Radiation erosion. Goddamnit.

I knew this was a risk when he went under the Gamma Knife in December at CSU and I knew what it was the second I saw it. It looked like the pink rubber eraser students are required to purchase in grade school only carved out canoe-like.

Not everyone at TAMU was convinced it was erosion – some speculated the tumor was punching through from above, a sort of 'Here's Johnny' from a maniacal, axe wielding Jack Nicholson. Scares the hell outta you either way you look at it.

But I wasn’t particularly thinking about the ulcer that Wednesday. My focus was on stopping the tumor’s growth.

“Start the chemo”, I said simply.

Week one was uneventful and it wasn’t until several days after the second dose of gemcitabine the floor fell out beneath us. Murphy spiked a temperature Monday the 31st and spent two nights in ICU at Texas A&M Vet School. The chemo had wiped out his bone marrow, stripped him of his defenses, and made him susceptible to spontaneously bleeding out from even the slightest laceration.

To make matters worse I had compromised my boy’s immune system at a time when he could ill afford it. The ulcer in his mouth deepened and darkened ominously foreboding a serious infection. Murphy’s body was being thrashed about in a perfect storm, a collision between the maximum effects of both chemotherapy and radiation and we had no way of knowing if the eye was ahead or behind us.

I had convinced myself my aggressiveness, my absolute unwillingness to compromise in saving his life would be his undoing. Try as you may to remove your own ego from making decisions, it’s inextricable.

I picked Murphy up last Wednesday afternoon, late, and drove all night to Memphis not knowing whether he would even survive the drive. He received two days of IV antibiotics and fluids. We brought his WBC and platelets back up to within normal ranges and he’s shown signs of significant improvement.

And while we’re still weathering the storm…. yesterday, when I inspected Murphy’s mouth, the ulcer had almost completely healed. It didn’t perforate nor penetrate and it definitely isn’t tumor.

Go Stillers

Yes'm that's how Yinzers pronounce their own team (not Steelers like the industry which built Pittsburgh but Stillers as in Ben, the actor). That they butcher just about every part of the English language is one of their many endearing and charming qualities.

First and foremost I must disclose, I'm a Patriots fan but they're "Grrr...." not playing today so I won't go into why. But why I'm pulling for the Stillers has less to do with the team itself and more to do with the people of Pittsburgh.

We spent some time there on our way to Boston... we watched Fourth of July fireworks from the rooftop of the Western Pennsylvania Humane Society; had a police escort to Pup Nite at a Pirates game; and toured the Duquesne Incline. It's filled with hundreds of photographs that I stared at transfixed with tremendous appreciation for how hard life must've have been there only a few decades ago. The industrial parts of Pittsburgh were trapped in a permanent midnight from all of the smoke and soot from the mills. Daylight just wasn't let in and so many workers endured those conditions to make a decent living.

And when steel production got exported, they picked themselves up, dusted the soot off and a new city was reborn. Pittsburgh has lost 50% of their population in the past half century but you'd never sense it because their spirit remains unbroken. It's a city of grinders... it's a place where the average person can do the extraordinary. But most important for me, being born the year of the dog, is their loyalty.

I didn't know much about the Stillers back in summer '09 except that growing up in Cowboy country, many of the NFL's greatest rivalries were between the two teams. It was only when I was invited out to training camp in Latrobe to meet Big Ben (pictured nearby) that I began to understand that they don't have fans they have believers.

They care less about who's quarterbacking than the legacy of the team itself and they're so loyal that the mass exodus from the loss of the steel trade created Stiller bars all across the country like a secret cult. I must confess I've never been to one but being in Memphis today on this historic Super Bowl Sunday I should find my first one, hole up, and drink myself silly.

Go Steelers (Long 'e' guys, long 'e')

Love ya & puppy up! which you Pittsburghers (hah!) definitely know how to do...

NOVA Dog Magazine Blogathon Benefiting 2 Million Dogs

The folks at NOVA Dog Magazine have begun an 18 hour Blogathon to bring awareness to canine cancer and benefitting 2 Million Dogs. Thanks to Janelle, the driving force behind this & to the contributing bloggers - Chicks Love Beer and our Beloved Blogging Bob who is finally BACK!!!

Join the fun and if you make a donation you'll have a chance to win an Amazon Kindle - how cool is that?

This is the Blog I submitted....

That cancer has become the greatest scourge ever known is without any doubt, our own damn doing. Not so long ago 4 out of every 5 men smoked and almost just as many women.

Over the past century we’ve engineered and manufactured thousands of industrial chemicals, products, and materials that were either directly sold to consumers or otherwise introduced into our society without their full impact on our health and environment ever studied. The byproducts and waste were then discarded into landfills and even dumped into our water supply wreaking havoc on our ecological systems and forever corrupting our gene pool perhaps making cancer the inheritable disease it is today.

It should be of no surprise then that for the first time in history the World Health Organization recently revealed that cancer is now the number one cause of death worldwide beating out all other diseases. In the United States alone one out of every 3 females and one out of every two males will develop cancer in their lifetime. That’s 33% and 50% respectively in case you have a hard time with math like me. Has there ever been a pandemic so far reaching, so catastrophic throughout our recorded history?

And increasingly it is affecting our companion animals. It’s guesstimated that anywhere from 2 to 6 million new cases of cancer naturally occur every year in cats and dogs. Some breeds are harder hit than others. At least half of all Golden Retrievers, it is believed, will die from cancer.

I didn’t know all of this almost three years ago when my two dogs, Hudson and Murphy, and I decided to walk from Austin TX to Boston MA for cancer. Our story started out simple enough; my mother is a breast cancer survivor and my family has been touched by the disease but it wasn’t until my Great Pyrenees, Malcolm, died from metastatic osteosarcoma that cancer became my mission.

I just wanted to walk across the country and share Malcolm’s story and let people know that dogs, too, get cancer. But as I talked to more and more oncologists and scientists I learned that there isn’t a lot, if any, difference. That’s not surprising since dogs drink the same water we do, breathe the same air, and are exposed to the same environmental toxins.

At the tail end of our 2,300 mile walk we formed a foundation devoted to raising awareness, educating, and funding research about the common link between cancer in people and pets and area of science known as comparative oncology.

That foundation, 2 Million Dogs, has an ambitious nationwide effort that was launched this year to have 2 million dogs walk simultaneously throughout the country for cancer. On November 7th 2010 our first such event was held in 12 cities and 2011 will at least double that.

Please join us in our efforts to eradicate cancer in companion pets and people, too. Thank you and… Puppy up!

Hudson, Murphy, & Luke

My Prayer for Murphy

When I was first blessed with the vision of our walk it blinded me and laden with doubt, I turned away from it. Then you showed me it was your will.

Still I balked. "But the road will be too hard and too long and the risks to Hudson and Murphy too many". Do you remember that conversation?

You answered that you would deliver my boys safely from Austin to Boston. That day I set the date of our departure. You kept your promise. You even kept Murphy's cancer at bay until a week after the completion of the walk when he first showed symptoms but by then the tumor was already advanced and inoperable.

We haven't talked much since then or more truthfully I haven't been in the mood to listen. I've been fighting for Murphy's survival these past six months and making every medical decision to the best of my ability to save your servant, my son. Though tonight he lies alone in an ICU stripped of all defenses, susceptible to the slightest infection that could kill him.

So what do you want from me now god? Have I not given everything that I am?

I don't ask you for forgiveness because I cannot both serve you on my knees and walk righteously for my cause. I won't ask you for mercy for myself or to be spared any emotion or pain.

All I ask is don't take Murphy.... not my other son. He's not done here

Tumor Juices

It was never my intention to be deliberately or overtly critical of some of our friends on Facebook in my previous post - I was merely making an observation and a curiously funny parallel between a mock reality show and Murphy's tragic circumstances.

In hindsight I suppose it had a kind of twisted desperate hilarity to it like when my brother Mark referred to Murphy's nasal drainage as 'tumor juices', as in "You can stay in our house just don't get tumor juices all over it."

Later on when we were watching a Spurs game downstairs we heard a racket up in the guest bedroom where Hudson and Murphy slumbered. "What's that noise?" he asked anxiously.

I wryly replied, "It's probably those tumor juices congealing, organizing into a humanoid that'll take your kids away". Mark, having clearly watched way too much Sy Fy channel in his lifetime, said without hesitation, "I've seen it happen, man."

Some days I don't know whether it's absolute clarity or madness I see... whether I'm hearing the voice of God or haunted by Marlon Brando talking about a snail crawling on a razor's edge.

But I do try to keep humor about me. I'm starting to understand that it rarely translates unless you've had me in your home, know our entire story, and maybe even call us your own.

While I'll try to do better and be less esoteric, what a great title for a cartoon 'Tumor Juices'. If I could only draw...

Murphy's Dilemma

Guess I confused some of you recently with cryptic posts on Facebook. It's been no easy thing trying to keep up with the pace of change in Murphy's condition and communicate the bullet points to you throughout.

Coming up with a chemotherapy plan has been considerably complicated. Since we were already in unchartered territories by combining both IMRT and SRT radiation for Murphy's nasal adenocarcinoma, science hasn't been a useful guide for us.

The standard of care for nasal tumors of Murphy's size and location is radiation which we'd maxed out on in December with a double dose. Some of you have asked why would I even consider chemotherapy for Murphy after all he's been through and that's a valid question for which I have no valid answer.

When the first round of radiation failed - not only did it NOT stop the original tumor it somehow resulted in the formation of two new malignant growths. I went into berserk mode. His nasopharynx was rapidly being pinched down to pin sized. Murphy couldn't breath normally, he struggled to eat even though I pureed his food, and he slept only seconds at a time. I doubted Murphy would make it to Christmas but miraculously he did.

SRT seemed to reduce his nasal inflammation enough for marginal respiratory improvement but his prognosis was still rate limited by radiation's ability to regress the tumor (best case scenario) or halt its growth (least worst case scenario) without killing him that is.

All of the doctors with whom I've discussed his situation seem to agree if radiation fails again Murphy will be dead within weeks. But they also agree there is no further course of action. In their opinion, based on the preponderance of evidence, drugs would neither extend his life nor improve it.

This is the miasma in which I've been making life and death decisions on Murphy's behalf. And while I'm flying without radar here if this was the TV show Survivor, I feel like some of you on Facebook would've already voted Murphy off the island.

Perfect for Valentine's Day

Help Murphy, the love of our life, and give a beautiful gift to the love of your life ...

Thanks to our friend and supporter Roz Abrams Smith. She's donating of sales of her beautifully hand-crafted Swarovski RED crystal earrings to help defray Murphy's cost of care. “These stunning round multifaceted ruby red Swarovski crystals are combined with slightly smaller clear tapered Swarovski crystals. Dangling round ruby red crystals float beneath. Sterling silver ear wires and components, the earrings measure approximately 2 inches from the top of the ear wire. Every item arrives in a magical black organza gift bag! 100% of the sale of these earrings will go directly to Luke to help with Murphy's vet bills. 5 pairs have already been sold. Shipping is free with this item within the continental United States.” Please have a look at these stunning earrings at her web page.

You are also invited to friend her on Facebook. Search "The Wizard Of Roz."

For more of Roz's work, please visit her web page.

The Wizard Of Roz is also listed with Where To Get Engaged

To learn more about Roz and her work, please read the interview featuring "The Wizard Of Roz".

Thank you, Roz, for your generosity!

20 Stones: Unchartered Territories

I keep forgetting that our new friends and followers might be unfamiliar with the history of the Stone Series… my bad. Here are links to the first two posts; 61 Stones; 61 Stones 2

We’re camping out at Somerville Lake tonite on our way to Texas A&M Vet School where Murphy will receive his first dose of chemotherapy tomorrow.

It wasn’t an easy decision I assure you and it was one that’s bedeviled by my own personal doubts, a deficiency of scientific data, disagreements in treatment approaches, and a limited number of drugs to choose from.

But we’ve been in unchartered territories ever since the first round of IMRT failed, Murphy’s cancer spread, and he underwent a second course of radiation.

I suppose most would’ve given up by now but Murphy and I are no strangers to the unknown or the insurmountable.

22 Stones

Don't know where I left off last with Murphy's condition but Christmas week we reached critical mass. He was struggling and I wasn't sure if he'd make it.

I didn't think the massive radiation doses administered over three days would alleviate his airways quickly enough for him to breath sufficiently which is why I explored radical ideas like inserting a shunt or stent.

But the radiation did work and it didn't take the two weeks that was speculated. By Christmas day Murphy was playing with Hudson for the first time in weeks and it was a very special day. That's a photo of Murphy taking off with his X-Mas booty that I entitled, "Kthnxbye".

We were blessed with a mostly uneventful week following Christmas during which I turned 40 and then the Earth added another year to the 4.54 billion and change it has under its belt.

I say mostly because Murphy has had nosebleeds and down days but he's still markedly better than two weeks ago. However, that radiation was so effective so quickly suggests serious side effects are in store. Already Murphy's losing fur on his head and around his eyes that never fully re-grew from the first round but we knew that hitting the tumor hard would be risky.

We are due to return to CSU this morning for a clinical evaluation to assess whether he's a candidate for adjunct chemotherapy though my mind's pretty much already made up since the 'wait and see' approach after radiation last August was a complete failure. Had I run parallel courses then we may have been in a different place now.

Which is perhaps the lesson for the week. When it involves cancer always assume the worst and choose the most aggressive form of therapy. I'm listening to The Emperor of All Maladies on CD now (which I highly recommend) and while it's chocked full of interesting metaphors I'm a movie kinda guy.

While writing this blog The Terminator came to mind when Reese is trying to convey the seriousness of the situation to Sarah Connor. "It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity or remorse. And it absolutely will not stop. Ever. Until you are dead."