Mishka (Part 1)

Mishka, age 10… in our Texas home.

Her breathing was really heavy. I lay in bed every night, listening to it get progressively worse. This is something she’s struggled with bouts of since she was 6 or 7 years old, the result of pneumonia brought on by kennel cough (if I can impress upon you any form of wisdom, it’s to get your dogs vaccinated…). Since then, scar tissue and swelling have formed in her lungs, slowly taking them over. It’s cruel that I have had to resort to locking her out of my room just so I can get some sleep myself. She and Blitzkrieg (my younger, German Shepherd) opt to sleep right outside my door instead. Still, through the thick bedroom door I can hear her heavy wheezing; I put on rain sounds to block it out as silent tears roll down my cheeks. I’m watching the end of a long story…

So I might as well tell it, so I’ll never forget her. So we all don’t forget her. After all, she’s been a part of several peoples lives from my exes who shared custody of her with me, to those of you who have watched her through my social media feed, to my various roommates, to my partner, to my family who has baby sat her when needed. Mishka has the distinction of not really being my dog, but “our dog.”

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It started in spring of 2011, just before we bought our first house. My ex husband, Nick, and I got Mishka when she was a puppy. Our friend Zack was living with us at the time in this rental house we got; it wasn’t anything special but it was a complete bachelor pad complete with a beer fridge, video games, and a poker table. My friend Jessica had two husky puppies, a brother and a sister; after someone decided they couldn’t keep Mishka they gave her to Jessica to re-home. It was March 2nd, 2011… 11 years ago nearly to the day. So many folks responded to Jessica’s post about her, but I beat them all to the punch. Both Mishka and her brother Nikita were only a few months old when I met them. They both had the same blue eyes and cream color, but Mishka was significantly more “fluffy” than her brother, something we came to learn was a recessive trait called “wooly coat.” She was cream white everywhere except around her eyes. She had these markings around her eyes that looked like someone had dipped a pair of binoculars in shoe polish and she unwittingly looked through them, just like in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Her color patterns would change yearly, incorporating reds and browns and everything in between (as evident from the pictures down below).

Mishka as a puppy. The first picture I ever got of her.

We named her “Mishka” which is a Russian name for “little bear.” Come to find out it’s actually a boys name… lol. Truthfully, it’s a unisex name now a days, so we’re not too far off. It’s also a nickname for “Michael” which we thought was hilarious that we named our dog after our roommate.

I always wanted a husky, but I failed to realize just how much work they required. I should have known better, seeing as I grew up around dogs and in a vet clinic in my formative years. My mom had warned me that this was a really big undertaking, but when you’re in your early 20’s you think you know best. Her first months as a puppy were unremarkable. She would dunk herself into any and every puddle she could find (SHE STILL DOES THIS). She loved to dig non-stop… she never was a chewer, rather she developed a need to dig and escape…. Something husky’s are known for. The funniest thing was that we would buy her those blue, plastic kiddie pools to keep her cool during the summer (contrary to popular belief, you do NOT shave a husky… but letting them soak in pools helps them during the summer months). The record for the time it took for her to dig to the bottom of one of those was 10 minutes, which then proceeded to flood the yard. She loved water more than food… and the one time we took her to Zack’s house to swim in their pool we couldn’t get her to stay out of it. She’d jump in and swim to you like you were an island… truthfully she’s a terrible swimmer, but she loves the water.

She was never really vocal either. Most husky’s howl and belt these loud, long bellows… she never did. Instead she’s give you a little growl (not vicious one) when she’d want your attention. The only people she’d really howl and talk to were men… specifically my brother Tim and my ex-husband Nick. She was enamored with all men, but she would only sing for them.

When we moved into the new house we made a pen for her on the side of the house that we had to fortify with rail road ties and chicken wire because she would literally dig her way to China to get out. She was quick about it too! One moment you have her in the pen, the next we’re getting a phone call from animal control. She’d rip off fence boards, dig holes 2 feet deep, or even climb shorter fences. She was a natural Houdini.

There was even one time where she may have murdered a cat; I’m embarrassed to say. I peaked out the sliding glass door to find her hoping around happily, nudging a dead cat to come play with her. Mortified, I called animal control and had an existential melt down. In hindsight, given that there were no external injuries and the positioning of the cat, I’m 95% sure the cat died of secondary rat poisoning… especially now that my own cat died of the same thing and another small dog in the neighborhood also succumbed to the same issue. Now that I think about it, why the fuck do all these animals come to die in my yards?! Am I cursed?! (honestly, it’s probably because we had the only house in the neighborhood with cool grass and vegetation to hide in).

Anyways… stop using rat poison, people.

She’s never had any other issues with cats though, but with her high prey drive it takes her a minute to realize that small dogs and cats aren’t toys and they will thwap you right back. She and our cat Pikachu had this unhealthy relationship where they’d spend hours laying on the floor where she’d gentle chew on him and he’d lay there thinking it was a bath; he’d come up sopping wet.

I tried rehoming her twice. She was a LOT to handle. Every time someone who come up with an offer to take her, I’d find little things to disqualify them…. they had a cat, they lived in an apartment, they lived too far away… etc. This dog has caused me so many, many tears… for the entire duration of her life. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried because she’s frustrated me, or because I thought she was dying, or because she’s destroyed something. I’ve grown up around plenty of dogs, cats, and even horses… but this dog has literally cost me thousands of dollars and frequently gets herself into trouble. I have cried more over this dog over any other animal I’ve ever had.

We once watched her rip the baby gate off the wall with her own teeth…. It was metal and BOLTED into the wall. Nothing could contain her. During the summer months, we’d keep her inside during the day because it was so hot. We’d often isolate her to a contained area (baby gates or crates) because she would destroy the house when we were gone. She once ripped the blinds off the office window (see gallery below)… we replaced all of the carpet in the house with expensive “pet proof” carpet because she peed everywhere. She’s often get pissed off that we weren’t paying attention to her 24/7 and turn around and pee in the office just to spite us. She once pooped on the guest bed because she was upset that my former brother in law (who was visiting for three weeks) left… so instead of being sad she just decided to shit on the bed.

She counter surfed too. Once she ate half a tri-tip off the kitchen counter as Nick and I were eating dinner. She then proceeded to have diarrhea all over the house as Nick frantically chased her to get her outside. She did the same thing with at least two loaves of banana bread… in which Nick and I initially blamed each other for eating it.

One day, she escaped during her heat cycle. I had to pay a huge amount to get her spayed ASAP. The vet, who did the surgery, gave me back my dog the same day (which is NOT common as they are super doped up and can be a danger to themselves and others). They gave me her back with a swollen eye, which eventually spread to these giant red, bleeding patches all over her face (see pictures below). Mortified, I had to march her up to the vet clinic up the hill to figure out what was going on. We never did find out exactly what was wrong, but this was the beginning of other strange and bizarre health issues we’d experience with her.

SHE FIGURED OUT HOW TO OPEN THE FRONT DOOR IN OUR PLACE IN CAMARILLO! I thought after her weight gain and her slower gait that she had grown out of her escapist ways, until one October day when my ex and I pulled up to our house just in time to see her walking down the sidewalk, her dumber brother in tow. A door… she figured out the damn door.

After my divorce, it was agreed that I would take the dogs as I had the most knowledge on how to care for them and their special needs (Mishkas bronchitis and Blitz’s allergies/chronic ear infections/elbow dysplasia. I have two very large, special needs dogs). Logistically, it’s extremely difficult to own these two dogs. Not only do they require special diets, routines, and a slew of expensive medications but logistically it’s difficult to do anything with them. Blitz can’t load himself into cars and climb up stairs so I have to lift and carry him. Mishka has to be watched at all times or she wanders away. Boarding them costs $90 a night, so that has to be factored into every vacation, holiday, or weekend getaway. Her coat is bad due to it’s nature and her age, so grooming her is expensive and laborious. They’re also extremely clingy dogs, and I can’t go from one room to the other without them following me. Megan told me last night that she sees how incredibly exhausting it can be.

So I sat in the vet clinic that February morning, tears welling every minute, because I know we’re at the last point. What makes it so much harder than the other cases of my pets dying is that there is no clear-cut answer to if she is suffering or not. Each breath seems labored, and crows with stridor… but her gums are nice and pink. She goes on bouts of not eating, then going back to eating everything. She’ll loaf around the house without energy, but bolt right up and run as much as she can. She shows every sign of having Cushing’s Disease, but her tests are negative. She has bouts of incontinence, followed by bouts where she’s not having any accidents at all. There are days where her mind is there, and others where we think she has dementia.

It’s both emotionally and financially draining to have a special needs dog on palliative care. As the vet told me a month ago, it’s like I’m her nurse… constantly administering her meds, patching her boo-boo’s up, washing her butt off because she gets poop on it sometimes.

What do you do with a dog that isn’t sick enough to be put down, but isn’t healthy enough to have a normal life?

There are days where I see people with their mutt dogs, roaming free in their yard. Junk yard dogs and other people who take zero care of their dogs. I get envious… I do the right thing for my pup and she still doesn’t get better. She is up to date on her shots, is fed a high quality diet, has plenty of toys, (the only thing I wish I was better on was grooming her, but her coat is so hard to manage)… but Joe Schmoe with his junk yard mutt he leaves in the yard all damn day doesn’t have to deal with ANY of that stuff. He just throws his dog in the bed of the truck and hauls ass down the beltway, without a second thought. Meanwhile, I LITERALLY BOUGHT A SUBARU CROSSTREK SO I CAN TRANSPORT MY DOGS EASIER.

Mishka follows me all damn day. She lays in the office with me, listening to me type at work while I listen to her wheeze and have the occasional puppy nightmare in her sleep. I find myself instinctively distancing myself from her… because every time I think about making that hard decision it’s like she grows closer to me.

Everyone is probably thinking “fuck… all you did is talk about how difficult it is to have this dog,” and you’re right… it’s been incredibly difficult, but rewarded nonetheless. She is absolutely THE BEST dog for road trips… she doesn’t whine, she doesn’t breathe down your neck… she loves to just sit in the car and go on adventures. She’s also really great with navigating stairs and figuring out how to get in and out of the car.

She’s the best for company. She knows no stranger and we don’t need to have this long introduction with new folks into the house. She just accepts them, then mooches for pets and snuggles. Unlike Blitzkrieg (who shits himself whenever he gets excited with new people) she chills like a giant fluffy loaf. She’s really great with kids too.

She farts very loud, and is terrified of her own farts, which is hilarious to watch her bolt up and run away when she lets out an audible toot.

She has good days and bad days. Days where she doesn’t want to eat, along with days where she’ll eat everything in sight. Since realizing that her disease is essentially terminal, we’ve been trying to get her out and explore. We’ve gotten ice cream from Freddy’s, taken her shopping in Petsmart, let her roam leashless on the doggy park (WHICH SHE HAS NEVER BEEN ABLE TO DO BEFORE), and even taken her to Louisiana where she ate a live crawfish (it escaped our cooler). Her lungs got better this past month… but this second round of medication is taking longer to have an affect.

I feel like I’m holding my breath along with her… the enormity of it all is so suffocating. The hardest part has been the in-between… the point where she isn’t so sick to be out down, but not healthy enough to not require constant treatment.

I think about where I want her to go… maybe Camarillo where she had her second chance at life, after all it’s where I laid Pikachu and Copper to rest. She loved it there. I ended up getting an ink pad to capture her paw print so I could have a memento of her and so I could send my ex husband a copy of it as well.

But more of that, on Part 2…