Kim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grammarwoman) wrote2014-06-28 12:28 am
grammarwoman) wrote2014-06-28 12:28 am
Lost and Found, Gains and Declines
I had a very odd run recently of coming across small items that I'd written off as permanently misplaced: a USB drive that I'd emptied out my purse (twice!) to find, only to have it turn up in a mini notebook in the purse; an earbud cover for my work headphones that rolled up under my foot after being gone for months; and a mini Sharpie marker, normally kept in my purse, that mysteriously migrated outside amidst seedlings to be planted. I'm pleased to have them all back again, but at the same time I'm a little worried that karma or Fate or Something is softening me up for a bigger loss.
The impending loss that I'm most afraid of is my beloved dog Mika. We got her from the Humane Society way back in 2002, my husband's concession to me wanting company in our new home in a new town as I unpacked and hunted for a job while he worked. She was a skittish, scrawny, and neurotic beauty of a mutt. The staff thought she was a mix of Yellow Lab or Golden Retriever and Husky, with a result of looking like a golden wolf. The vet thought she was a year or two old; she'd been brought in as a roaming dog (either a runaway or abandoned, as she showed signs of domestication), went home with a family and was returned within a month due to allergies. She desperately wanted to be loved and belong to a family, but she found it hard to trust us and herself. The first time I left her for more than an hour, I coaxed her into a plastic kennel and fastened the door. When I came home, she was doing wild-eyed laps around the house with the door of the kennel still shut and the kennel itself flipped on its side. One of the (very narrow) windows had its wire cover popped out, so she must have flexed it open wide enough to squeeze her skinny body through. We gave the kennel away after that.
She calmed down eventually, giving up on chewing shoes in favor of simply moving them. We discovered that she loathes other dogs; they either have to submit to her authority or get schooled. When we brought home the Emperor two years after we got her, she appointed herself guardian and would wedge herself between him and strangers if we weren't in the room. Her weight stabilized around 70 pounds, but she acts like a dainty pooch half that size - or she thinks she's actually a cat, we're not sure. She's the neatest eater and drinker I've ever seen in the canine world: no splashes or crumbs outside the bowls for her. She stays off the furniture, unless it's thundering outside. She absolutely hates loud noises of any kind, in which case she'll try to cram herself in narrow gaps or jump on my bed, quivering like a canine Magic Fingers system. She loves her biscuit first thing in the morning and last thing at night; she carries it off into the next room with a jaunty step we call her treat trot. She hates being groomed with a brush or having her nails trimmed, so I have to let PetSmart take care of those. Our house is carpeted in tumblefur drifts made of her mutant undercoat. I would try to spin it if I had more patience.
Here she is snoozing in one of her favorite spots, the doorway to the dining room, looking into the kitchen and the length of the house:
But 2002 was a long time ago. She's at least 13 or 14 now, with the average life spans of her mixed breeds being 12-15 years, and slowing way down. She's reached an elderly, IDGAF state of mind, begging for table scraps with an eardrum-piercing teakettle whine and blatantly abusing my thumb-wielding status to let her out a bunch of times in a short span. She hasn't noticeably grayed in her muzzle, but she's definitely stiffer getting up and down, and I can see her visibly decide "Oh, fuck it" when wildlife dares to cross her line of sight. She'll still get her bark on when other dogs walk by her house on her sidewalk, and the doorbell and ringing of the phone are abominations requiring corrective yelps.
She's my pumpkin butter, my Princess Fluffybutt, my sweetheart girl. I still get an excited greeting when I come home, though most of that is her anticipation of getting to go outside and check out the front yard for peemail left by other critters. She's the first dog I ever had as adult, and she is mine and I am hers through and through. My heart will be absolutely broken when her time comes; I can only hope it will be quick and painless.
The impending loss that I'm most afraid of is my beloved dog Mika. We got her from the Humane Society way back in 2002, my husband's concession to me wanting company in our new home in a new town as I unpacked and hunted for a job while he worked. She was a skittish, scrawny, and neurotic beauty of a mutt. The staff thought she was a mix of Yellow Lab or Golden Retriever and Husky, with a result of looking like a golden wolf. The vet thought she was a year or two old; she'd been brought in as a roaming dog (either a runaway or abandoned, as she showed signs of domestication), went home with a family and was returned within a month due to allergies. She desperately wanted to be loved and belong to a family, but she found it hard to trust us and herself. The first time I left her for more than an hour, I coaxed her into a plastic kennel and fastened the door. When I came home, she was doing wild-eyed laps around the house with the door of the kennel still shut and the kennel itself flipped on its side. One of the (very narrow) windows had its wire cover popped out, so she must have flexed it open wide enough to squeeze her skinny body through. We gave the kennel away after that.
She calmed down eventually, giving up on chewing shoes in favor of simply moving them. We discovered that she loathes other dogs; they either have to submit to her authority or get schooled. When we brought home the Emperor two years after we got her, she appointed herself guardian and would wedge herself between him and strangers if we weren't in the room. Her weight stabilized around 70 pounds, but she acts like a dainty pooch half that size - or she thinks she's actually a cat, we're not sure. She's the neatest eater and drinker I've ever seen in the canine world: no splashes or crumbs outside the bowls for her. She stays off the furniture, unless it's thundering outside. She absolutely hates loud noises of any kind, in which case she'll try to cram herself in narrow gaps or jump on my bed, quivering like a canine Magic Fingers system. She loves her biscuit first thing in the morning and last thing at night; she carries it off into the next room with a jaunty step we call her treat trot. She hates being groomed with a brush or having her nails trimmed, so I have to let PetSmart take care of those. Our house is carpeted in tumblefur drifts made of her mutant undercoat. I would try to spin it if I had more patience.
Here she is snoozing in one of her favorite spots, the doorway to the dining room, looking into the kitchen and the length of the house:
But 2002 was a long time ago. She's at least 13 or 14 now, with the average life spans of her mixed breeds being 12-15 years, and slowing way down. She's reached an elderly, IDGAF state of mind, begging for table scraps with an eardrum-piercing teakettle whine and blatantly abusing my thumb-wielding status to let her out a bunch of times in a short span. She hasn't noticeably grayed in her muzzle, but she's definitely stiffer getting up and down, and I can see her visibly decide "Oh, fuck it" when wildlife dares to cross her line of sight. She'll still get her bark on when other dogs walk by her house on her sidewalk, and the doorbell and ringing of the phone are abominations requiring corrective yelps.
She's my pumpkin butter, my Princess Fluffybutt, my sweetheart girl. I still get an excited greeting when I come home, though most of that is her anticipation of getting to go outside and check out the front yard for peemail left by other critters. She's the first dog I ever had as adult, and she is mine and I am hers through and through. My heart will be absolutely broken when her time comes; I can only hope it will be quick and painless.
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We give these critters our love and we give them the best lives we can manage. I hope that's a gift for them; it is surely a gift for us...
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When I look at Mika and think of how much she's brought to our lives, I feel so blessed.
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She's such a low-key, low-maintenance dog that's it's been really easy to take care of her. Though I have to balance spoiling her (feeding her things that aren't good for her) with making healthy choices for her.