Misha [Short Story - Reflections Mixed Media Collaboration Contest]

It was one of those autumn days that still felt like summer, with dashes of golden yellows and reds splayed across the landscape. No way in hell was Chris going to stay inside all day.

“Misha, come!”

They jumped in the car and drove towards the Canadian Rockies. Their destination was just shy of the tall majestic mountains—a two-hour hike with a gradual incline. A gold and crimson scene at the peak of the climb would be their reward. They jumped out of the vehicle. Misha stood proud, her golden fur absorbing the sun. Chris strapped on her leash. The path was dotted with trees on both sides. The fresh scent of pine wafted around them. It was a perfect day. Misha had to stop and catch her breath several times which was unusual. Chris gently tugged on her leash to encourage her but something was off. He bent down to pet her. Misha’s tongue lolled out of her mouth, but instead of the usual bright red, it was a dull grey.

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Three years prior, you couldn’t pay Chris to go on a hike. He would much rather stay in and order a pizza. If he did go out it was for other extracurricular activities, none of which were healthy. He had left home and was spreading his wings—a bit too wide, and a bit too far. In his mind, a thought simmered and wouldn't go away: he had the freedom to finally get a dog, a childhood dream.

He browsed rescue websites, peering over the cute dog pictures for months. When he saw Misha’s picture, her kind eyes grabbed him. Eyes that had no doubt seen pain but that had a depth to them he didn’t see in other dogs. He visited her for the first time at a dog foster family's home. They told him they had found her on the side of the road, pregnant with puppies. She had recently given birth. Chris got to hold one of the puppies for a little bit, while Misha watched him cautiously. She wouldn’t approach him and was very shy. He knew the feeling.

The first day he brought her home she bolted, straight out of the car before he had a chance to grab the leash. He ran after her. Thankfully some scent distracted her getaway and he got a hold of her. Lots of treats and toys waited for her at the house. Shy Misha lay on the floor. Chris called, but she wouldn’t come. He relaxed on the couch and smiled—after all these years he finally had a dog to call his own. A few hours later her muzzle pushed on his hand. He petted his dog for hours.

Winter came to the Great White North. Dog walks in frigid cold temperatures and thick snow are no fun when you barely want to get off your ass for any reason. At first, Chris would walk Misha around the block, a few minutes tops. But as the snow melted, as the sun shone longer with each passing day, the walks gradually extended. Misha had tons of energy, along with shedding a dog's worth of fur every few days. Funny, Chris wanted a chill dog that didn’t shed much, but expectations melt and become inconsequential. So do other things. Unhealthy habits fall off when a dog explodes out of their skin when it’s time for a walk. Chris began jogging, purely motivated by Misha’s energy. His diet improved. He was exercising again. He wasn’t sure if he was helping the dog or if she was helping him.

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Misha wasn’t getting proper oxygen and the hike had worn her down. Chris carried her in his arms, taking breaks to relieve the pressure on her chest and tummy. He watched her every move and that night Misha couldn’t comfortably lie down and sleep on the bed, retreating to the corner of the room to sit and gasp. The next day he hurried to the vet. Nothing particularly wrong, the vet said. Maybe it was smoke from the recent forest fires, maybe it wasn’t. After several frustrating visits, Chris opted to get a second opinion. At the second vet, she was diagnosed with a rare disease, chylothorax: fatty fluid was leaking into her chest cavity and constricting her lungs and heart.

They drained her chest cavity on a subsequent visit. Afterwards, Misha was back to her old self, bright-eyed and playful. They went to a nearby dog park and played fetch but the fluid built back up only after a few days. Misha was again straining for air.

The vet presented two options: a very costly surgery with no guarantees or to put her out of her misery. Chris didn’t hesitate—surgery it was.

The day came. Chris held Misha tight. He buried his face in her fur and dampened it with tears. For better or worse, soon she wouldn’t suffer. He had to leave her at the pet hospital and not visit for a full day after the surgery—she needed her rest. No other thought occupied his mind that night and the next day. When he was finally able to visit she was bandaged, tied up to an IV tube, on a respirator and drugged out of her mind. Her glazed over eyes recognized him and her tail thumped against the floor of her little enclosure. Chris fought back tears as best he could. Couldn’t cry in front of all those people. Back in the car, he lost it. This ritual continued for a week straight as Misha recovered, but there was a complication—a puncture in her lung, possibly from the operation or from the prior chest cavity drain.

Another operation was needed to remove the punctured lung lobe. There was no going back now. The operation was quick and a success. Another week of recovery and hospital visits and Misha was set for release.

When Chris went to pick her up, Misha couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, and neither could he. The vet and the aides all fell in love with her sweet disposition but Misha dragged him out of there before all goodbyes were said. Chris didn’t mind.

Seasons changed and wounds healed.

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It was a cold winter day, the sun bright and dancing against the snow. Chris and Misha were at the off-leash dog park close to home. She jumped in the snow and gobbled some up, but as she ran back to Chris she breathed in too much snow. She coughed, wavered, and collapsed. Chris ran to her.

“No, please God, no.”

He clutched her, frantically petting her coat, but she came to within a second, like nothing had happened. All those memories, the vet visits, the long hospital stay, had burst the dam and came flooding back. Misha followed at his heels for the rest of the walk. As he looked behind at her, Chris realized he had become one of those crazy dog people you hear about. The ones that love their pet a little too much. The ones that pay way too much for their surgeries. The ones that write stories about sick dogs. He wouldn't want it any other way.

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This is part of our (@zneeke's and mine) entry for @tinypaleokitchen's Reflections #1: A Mixed Media Collaboration Contest.

Please check out @zneeke's companion post here, and also his other excellent drawings/posts. He's one of my favorite artists on Steemit.

We brainstormed over Discord on ideas and we decided this time I would choose the theme, so hopefully there are more of these contests to come so he can choose next time. I couldn't help but think about my dog and how much I would love for zneeke to draw a picture of her. I provided him a recent photo:

He did a wonderful job with the drawing and I looked at it for inspiration while I wrote the story. This is a true story that happened a few years ago, so this is more a third-person memoir than a fictional short story. Misha is still with me and each day I'm grateful for having her. I hope the emotions I felt during that time period came across, though I did have to omit certain things for brevity. Thank you for reading.

A special thank you to @bex-dk and @jayna over at the Writers' Block for going over this piece and offering editing suggestions.