Victoria Tulsi

Dear Gary and Sara, Kelly, Cera, and Kyle–Like the bat signal for Batman, if you yell “Maremma Mamma!” anywhere in North Carolina, you would have a mini polar bear named Victoria and her almost 6′ mama–me–appear. Unlike Batman’s scenario, though, I am not the superhero; it is, in fact, Victoria aka Tor who is the real-life canine superhero. She has been my service dog for close to a decade. In fact, the only reason that this Maremma Sheepdog retired: she was hit with a double-whammy of laryngeal paralysis and canine cancer. Until then, Tor was task-trained to do something no other dog did [at least as far as we know!]. Due to being a young adult ovarian cancer survivor myself, and now battling a progressive neurological disorder, I end up experiencing paralytic hypersomnia episodes. I have slept through fire alarms, tornado sirens–even a small flood. When I was at university, this was an almost daily occurrence. Only 100-plus pounds of Tor jumping on me, with the gentlest yet firmest of touches, would rouse me out of my stupor and get me to safety. While she served me this way, we also organically stumbled upon yet another task that she ended up performing for me. As I’d walk with her around campus, she would sometimes turn into concrete, becoming a statue unto herself, unwilling to move, remaining glued to that spot. At first, I was dense; I didn’t comprehend the message that she was trying to convey to me. However, within 45 seconds of her stopping us, it would happen: dizziness and syncope would set in after my blood pressure had been dropping due to my neurological issues, and I’d find myself hitting the ground, needing to lie down wherever we were. Soon, I began to understand that Tor literally knew my heart better than I did; now this became another condition to which she alerted me. I mention all this in her blurb because, when Tor’s laryngeal paralysis and cancers hit [she was initially diagnosed with two cancers! a liposarcoma and a mammary carcinoma], the shoe was on the other foot. This fur-angel who ferried me through cancer and my neurological disorder is now battling her own. This beloved gran-DOG-hter who gave her grandparents so much emotional support through her mum’s cancer journey now needed pastoral care herself. She has a giant liposarcoma on her belly, and a mammary carcinoma at one of her teats. But you would never know given her personality and her panache for life. She is *STILL* Tor. She still wants to take care of her Maremma Mamma, her Grammy and Grampy, while being Queen Victoria beloved by all her royal subjects. Because of her laryngeal paralysis, she couldn’t undergo anaesthesia, so she underwent metronomic therapy. While this helped slow her spread, the tumours are still there. We have named her large liposarcoma tumour Lumpina, if only to taunt this mass for inconveniencing our Tor-antula. Recently, she has been diagnosed with a third cancer: a hemangiosarcoma [RIP Suni]. This one scares us the most. It has appeared on her neck/ruff, and seems to be sapping her of her spirit more and more each day. Yet, when you see her, you would never realise everything that she is battling; you would never know the foes of cancer, GOLPP, and canine cognitive facing her down each day. Yes, she is moving slower. Yes, there is urinary and fecal incontinence. Yes, CCD has set in and she sleeps more each day, sundowning towards nighttime. But you still see the glint of mischief in her eye when the turkey slices and ham slices come out, where she’s trying to score a few extra whilst looking adorable. She still wants to sleep next to me, to the extent that I have been sleeping in our daybed for 2 years, since she struggled to climb the stairs. She is so loved that we have friends from my university days and family friends who Zoom call simply to “speak” with her [not the hoomans, just her]. Or peds onc patients that she visited when both of us were healthier who still stop by our home to say hi. Or veteran and servicemember chosen family from support groups we were a part of who adore her and ask about her. Cancer might be taking over my superhero’s body, but her demeanor, her heart and her wit are still classic Tor. When I was at school, friends would come over to my apartment to get “Torapy” sessions from her; she healed so many hearts and minds simply by her presence. From everyone she has impacted in her life, I already know that, when she crosses the rainbow bridge, her absence will leave a hole in all of our hearts that is as big, as heavy, and as deep as she is. Most Maremma Sheepdogs take care of goats and lambs, but Tor decided to take care of me, whilst giving me the gift of caring for her. She taught me the three most important lessons in life: listening nonjudgmentally, loving unconditionally, and always drink water after eating peanut butter 🙂 Tor was already an exceptional dog before cancer. After cancer, she continues to demonstrate that cancer–or any other illness–can never have her heart or her mind. Holding the mantle of “Maremma Mamma” and being mama to my superhero, my Victoria, is the highest honour on Earth. One day soon, the bat signal will start going unanswered on this side of the rainbow bridge because the cancer will get her. But this Maremma already demonstrates she is a superhero in everything she does: in her service doggo brilliance, in her battle with lar par, with cancer. When ovarian cancer touched my life as a young adult, I tried to ignore it. When breast cancer touched my mother, Tor’s Grammy, next, I was deeply saddened by her battle. But when Tor remains afflicted with three different canine cancers, I don’t have the luxury of ignorance or sadness. I am livid that cancer has come for my child, my superhero, my co-pilot, my fur-daughter. Perhaps by the time I cross over to join the rainbow bridge when cancer takes Tor, we will have made significant strides in canine cancer research and treatment. In submitting Tor as an entry for the National Canine Cancer Foundation’s 2027 Calendar contest, I consider this a bat signal of sorts for me to advocate as her Maremma Mamma to further canine cancer research, especially amongst livestock guardian dog breeds like Tor’s. Thank you for all that you do, Gary, Sara, Kelly, Cera, and Kyle, and Team NCCF, and thank you for considering Tor for your 2027 calendar.