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Brief de Design de Tatouage

I am looking for an artist to help me design a tattoo. Earlier this year, I lost my beloved dog Tucker. Tucker meant the world to me; he was my best friend and my true heart dog. I miss him unimaginably, and I had ink made with his ashes so that I can carry him with me for the rest of my life. I like designs that are floral, ethereal, involve space/time references, and are all-black in color. I am open to using words such as "with me always" or "until we meet again", but don't necessarily need text. I like to think that someday Tucker and my stardust will mingle again. Here's a bit I wrote when he died. It's long, but can give you some feel for what his life was like and how powerful of a presence in my life he was. I've also attached some photos.

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The day I’ve been dreading for nearly 10 years finally arrived on Tuesday. My sweet, valiant, constant companion Tucker died at home, surrounded by his stricken, heartbroken family. We knew it was coming, but no matter how long he lived, I never would have been ready. My heart dog. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. A true joy. And truly, I bet if you asked him, his only bad day was the day he died.
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Tucker arrived in San Francisco by way of Toronto in April of 2013. Big brother Eli was none the wiser that Tucker was coming, but he really needed a dog companion. Eli was a bit of an anxious mess, and tore up our house anytime we left him alone. When Tucker arrived, he waddled straight out of his crate, seemingly unaffected by the long journey, jumped into my lap and arms, and never would have left if either of us had a choice. But he grew fast. As a large breed dog (half Bernese Mountain Dog and half poodle), we were told to be extra careful of his hip development, so I carried him up and down the stairs of our condo until he grew well past 50lbs and I couldn’t do it anymore. The vet laughed at me, but I didn’t care. He could do the stairs with ease. But I loved carrying him.
Tucker showed up perfect. There was no puppy biting stage, no stealing things and destroying them… ok, maybe a little trouble with the potty training. But compared to our first year with Eli, I cannot even remember Tucker giving us any trouble. He took to me like a baby duck. His job was me. Keeping an eye on me, cheering me up, literally holding me up through some tough years of fertility treatments, pregnancy, and early parenthood. He quickly became the alpha dog with Eli, guiding and even disciplining him when he was troublemaking (often). We took that duo everywhere. Tucker was definitely a city dog, completely comfortable on a noisy street next to a train, in a loud bar, and had no issues with other dogs, but he was especially happy in nature. Give him a freezing cold beach or snow in Tahoe - pure bliss. That’s when you could really see the Berner in him. That, and in his giant loyal heart.
He was a great traveler, our Boo. He went everywhere within driving distance to San Francisco and well beyond. We traveled through all of Northern and Southern California, out to Tahoe and Yosemite, all the way up to Bend and into Oregon, to Arizona to the Grand Canyon, through New Mexico, and even to Texas one time visiting friends. But his favorite place was anywhere the pack was all together. Tucker’s signature freight-train run and high-pitched bird-chirp bark made him a sight and sound to behold. He was all love, but when that 90lbs was barreling toward you unexpectedly, you had to stop and wonder if this was the end for you for a second. He did everything with gusto - diving for footballs, basketballs, swimming in the ocean, soaring head first into lakes and bushes without regard for what was below the surface.
When Zach was born in 2016, Tucker had a little trouble. He wasn't sure why his boundaries were being tightened up and wasn't sure why mama didn’t have quite as much time for the beach and hikes and his velcro-dog proximity. But he eventually adjusted and I learned that dogs can be quite adaptable. Both he and Eli learned to love all of the kids, and Tucker devised a very sweet, gentle brand of keepaway that he played with Cal in particular. When Evie was born, he was protective of her, gently nudging the boys out of the way if they were crowding his baby sister and mama.
Three months after Eli died, about 18 months ago, Tucker started limping. His front left paw was injured. At first we didn’t think anything of it, and the vet said to rest it and come back if it was still bothering him. It was, and it started to feel warm to the touch so we were doubly concerned. An x-ray showed cancer. Lots of painful osteosarcoma in his wrist joint. We started researching like crazy and consulting different surgeons and oncologists and the news was grim. We could leave the cancer but he would surely die, as it would spread quickly and painfully. We could offer palliative radiation treatments, but the only sure way to cure him of this bone-crushing pain would be to amputate the leg. And still, we couldn’t guarantee much time beyond that. This poor dog. Losing his dog brother and then his leg all in a span of 12 weeks. Well, Tucker being Tucker, he never faltered. The surgeon was so impressed with Tucker’s rock-solid constitution, that he proudly showed us the amputated leg, with his ample musculature outshining the offending cancer. Tucker came home from the surgery sleepy from the anesthesia and pain meds. I slept by his side that night, dreading the next chapter filled with pain and rehabilitation. But I worried needlessly. The next morning, like clockwork, he popped up with a little help, hopped out to the yard and relieved himself. And then he moved on with his life. No down time, no complaints, just acceptance. That was Tucker. A chest full of staples and a missing limb couldn’t stop him. He even caught a squirrel in the backyard a few months later, and continued to swim in the pool. Did you know that dogs with three legs can swim?
Around this time, despite the din of three kids and everyday life, there was a definite void in the household. Eli’s job had always been noisemaker, and Tucker was doing fine, but I was thinking he seemed a little lonely without his companion. Something compelled me to join a poodle/doodle rescue network on Facebook. I wasn’t looking seriously, but in October 2021 I happened to see a post about a young goldendoodle very close by that needed rehoming. This wasn’t common, as this group aggregated posts from all over the country. So, being completely insane (I know), I messaged the owner and we arranged a meetup. Tucker didn’t particularly love puppies, so I figured that he would be indifferent-to-rude to this young pup, and we’d move on with our lives. Well, I was wrong. That day, Tucker chose Biscuit for our family. I hid tears in my eyes as the two dogs ran and played together, and we decided to take the pup overnight for a trial run. Tucker loved Biscuit, welcoming him into the pack immediately, and of course everyone else loved him too. I truly believe that Tucker picked Biscuit to help us through this difficult transition. Biscuit is the sweetest, best cuddling, smartest dog that I have ever met, and he is my new emotional support poodle.
Tucker was a joy to be around, a joy to love, and a joy to be cherished by. Friends often said that they thought Tucker was talking to them with his eyes. They didn’t know what he was saying, but he was saying something important. I always knew what he was saying with those big, brown eyes. They were golden brown, the color of a sun-drenched riverbed. His black and white curls were substantial and springy, but his ear hair felt like crimped down. And his chest was the most perfect warm pillow. The softest place to rest my head, which I did daily. I will miss our daily rituals the most, his companionship. All I ever had to say was "Boo Boo?" and he was there.
In early December, Tucker broke a tooth on a bone. We went in to have bloodwork done to have the tooth pulled and it showed an internal bleed. We had an abdominal scan and it turned out to be cancer growing on his spleen. A different cancer than the one that took his leg, but the same cancer that took Eli. They told us to take him home and make him comfortable, that he had probably 2-3 days to live. So we took him home and spoiled him, of course, and brought him to all of his favorite spots: to the beach and for burgers and out on the town with mama and papa one night. Well, weeks went by. As always, they didn’t factor in Tucker’s strength. He was still running in the yard every day with Biscuit. We had a really great Christmas, with lots of ham and whipped cream. He has always loved Christmas - like one of the kids- and I guess he needed one more. On Monday, he was playing basketball with us, jumping and barking and having a grand old time.
On Tuesday, he was slow from the start and I knew in my gut that it was his last day. He was having trouble getting comfortable on his bed, and despite eating treats and ham in the morning, had lost his appetite by midday. He tried valiantly to get up one last time, as we were on our way to the vet’s office to say our final goodbyes, and collapsed into my arms. As we were preparing to load him into the car, the life left his eyes. My great love was gone. I put my hand on his chest, and his giant engine of a heart continued to beat for two minutes before it flickered and stilled. That’s how strong my boy was.
I will forever be grateful for the things he taught me: unyielding strength, the simple value of presence, perseverance, and adaptability. As I was laboring with Zach in 2016, Todd made a series of motivational signs to make me laugh and keep me going through the monster contractions. KEEP GOING, YOU GOT THIS, and of course - WHAT WOULD BOO BOO DO? That one was the most motivational for me. What would Boo Boo do? I will have to ask myself that often now. What would Boo Boo do? Show up and give 110% until the very end. So I will try to do that, even though there’s a giant hole in my heart. Thank you, Boo, for every single day you gave me. I’m sorry your earth suit was busted. I hope you’re running now, with all four legs, with silly Eli. I can’t wait for the day our stardust can mingle once more.

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