What I Learned from Loving Mika

I first met Mika at my ex’s apartment when he was just a friend and had invited me over to talk about career stuff over tea. Mika had a sixth sense about cuddlers and she could smell the scent of one of her own. Within minutes of sitting down on his couch, she had jumped up beside me, nuzzled her head on my leg, and began pawing at me for attention. As a creature who has so often sought displays of excessive love myself, I immediately felt connected to her.

Mika was a little smelly, a little scratchy and stubborn as nails. Years later, I got to see the true nature of this incredible being Ryan had raised (along with a village of other friends, family and co-doggers). I understood why all of us fell and remained in love with her. It is a beautiful community to be a part of. Many of these people have reached out in the last few days and we are grateful for the abundance of love they have exhibited. One thing is certain: Mika loved humans and humans loved Mika.

I can’t speak about the years Mika was able bodied and chasing chuck-it-flung balls with the athleticism of a cheetah. She came into my life at the the dog age of 12 and I only knew her as an old girl, but one that still had the heart and determination of a puppy. She always coveted toys and balls with a level of raw, unfiltered desire most humans will never know. She never lost her love of being stroked. She continued to find a way to insert her various extremities between you and your computer (or any other important task at hand.)

At my brother’s apartment, where there was literally a basket of dog toys… Mika would take every single one out in order to find the one she wanted. She derived so much joy out of life. It didn’t matter that she made a mess. Why wouldn’t she try every toy in the basket? The world was simply moments of pleasure that were there for her to consume, and she ate up every last crumb of happiness without restraint.

Mika loved to swim. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up at our island house, look outside the window, and see her swimming around in the ocean. It was like she had just gotten up early and casually decided to take a recreational paddle. I think the weightlessness soothed her. She was brave in the water. It was never too cold, deep, or dark. She never hesitated before plunging in. I intend to honour her memory by always striving to be a fearless diver and a relentless seeker of the unknown.

The future is friendly to the owner of a puppy. You know the care and investment you put in to a young dog will (hopefully) be enjoyed for years to come. Learning to love an old dog is a different story: your care is around making every moment count, investing in the comfort of another being (for the time being), and allowing yourself to form an attachment despite the reality of them slowly breaking down. With puppies, you discover new ways to experience joy every day: the first snowfall, the first scrap of human food, new canine friends, new toys. With old dogs, you learn to cope and adapt as different joyful experiences become harder to attain: a walk in the park, chasing a ball, eating a hunk of cheese that wasn’t -really- meant for you.

For the past few weeks, I have watched as Mika stopped enjoying things. The light in her eyes dimmed. I changed her soiled bed flannels daily. I washed her hind legs with lavender soap, cleaned the sleep out of her eyes and the wax out of her soft and floppy ears. I woke up at all hours of the morning to check on her. I cooked her bland rice and boiled chicken. I carried her up and down from our apartment multiple times a day, slinging her back legs so she could “walk” and do her business. I talked to her in a quiet, soothing voice and told her all the things I was grateful for.

I thanked her for the times my ex was on the road and she slept in his dent in the bed every night. Mika would face the door (instead of wanting to be cheek-to-cheek) because she knew she had to guard the apartment. I thanked her for every moment — even her naughty habits like foraging in the garbage, shredding empty food packages and eating Barbie’s kibbles, which was a luxury she enjoyed later in life with the addition of an abstemious Shiba Inu to the family. It is strange how these annoyances and bad behaviors become the things you miss the most.

In a moment of personal strife, I kidnapped Mika and took her to Whistler. Ryan didn’t protest because, out of the two of us, he knew I needed her more. We cross-country skied each day with her slowly and valiantly plodding behind me — incredibly impressive as she was 13 years old at the time. Her mama bear instincts would come out as she ran to Barbie to protect her from other snow-caked lumbering hounds on the trail. They were an unlikely pair that selectively formed an impressive pack. Both with their own peculiar brand of loyalty that disintegrated when the concept of “sharing” was introduced.

At night Barbie would retreat to Grandma’s quilt, but Mika slept in a single bunk with me. Her warmth, her steadfast breath, the unwavering solidness of this dog calmed my jilted nerves and grounded the uncertainty of that moment. I will always be grateful to her for that experience.

I have learned a lot about myself caring for her in these final few weeks. Namely the limitlessness of my affection for a single being. How despite feeling crippled with sadness, one also feels strength in one’s own ability to nurture and alleviate suffering and that this eclipses the heaviness of personal despair. For this reason and countless others, I feel Mika has taught me so much in our short time together. She has absolutely made me a better, more patient person. I feel so blessed that we both got the opportunity to understand one another as aging dog and maturing woman in the very spiritual way that we have.

In her final days I loved her expecting nothing in return. I hoped not for a whisper of the joy she brought me, only that she would be comfortable, that she felt safe, that she knew in those critical, painful and joy-deprived moments, we were as solid and steadfast for her as she had been for us so many times. The truth is we can never give her what she gave us. Our hearts aren’t pure or big enough when held up to next to hers. But we learned and will continue to apply our own version of her incomprehensible kindness, her selfless love and her unwavering, often bull-headed commitment to extract joy and delight out of every moment.

Mika, I love you. I will miss your velvet ears, your demanding paws, your soulful eyes and your childish enthusiasm. You are in a better place…in the sunlight and the flowers, in the ebbing water, in the fresh and grassy field. And our hearts, Beagie, you are -always and forever- in our hearts.