The Final Confirmation

When my husband and I rescued our dog, Miko, we thought that we were merely giving him a safe and loving home to die at. He was eleven years old when his family told us that he was not going to live for very long. They said that he had given up eating and that he was depressed, spending his days in the bathroom staring at the wall. My husband had known Miko’s family for years before I came along and Miko, as a puppy, had fallen in love with him at first sight. They had been buddies for years and after we started dating it was not long before Miko and I fell in love too.

We soon devised a brilliant plan and started making visits to the family with the pure intention of taking Miko for walks in the nearby trails. It was the only way the three of us wanted to spend our days; together. Miko was especially elated when we would appear at his door to whisk him away. You see, after the cuteness of puppyhood wore off, he was no longer fancied by his family and was viewed as an object of burden; a story that is heartbreakingly common and utterly stomach-turning. His adventures came to an end way too early and aside from the walks that we took him on, he spent the next ten years of his life inside, with no family affection, eating cheap food, and sleeping on the floor with no bed. He would have been better off if he was the ottoman, at least he would have been touched. His family had well-cared for children too. Thankfully they received hugs, ate well, and slept in beds, but as sweet as they were, I couldn’t help but to feel irritated with them for not bearing love and tenderness for this living, breathing, most-adorable Shiba Inu that was their own. When I was young I had a German Shepard named Happy. She was my best friend and she went everywhere I did. I loved her so much and was crushed when she passed away. How could these people not see who they had? Did they not know how blessed they were? Did they not know of dog love?

Upon returning to our house after days spent with Miko, our conversations would mostly be about him and how much we wished that he was ours. I wanted him, but was in no position to say much about it. My husband on the other hand, having known the family for years, was more forward than I could ever be. “I want him. How much? I’ll pay you for him,” he would say upon returning Miko to his depressing, loveless home after a day of fun, adventure, and bonding. The family would chuckle and brush it off, pretending that it was a joke, all the while knowing the authenticity of my husband’s request. Every time we returned to home Miko-less, we would wallow in a sense of bereavement. Sometimes my husband would cry. We knew in our hearts that Miko was our son and Miko knew it too.

It was summertime. July 6th. My birthday. I turned thirty-seven. My husband threw a surprise party for me and many surprise visitors came; my family, my friends, his family, my other family, Miko’s family, and best of all Miko. I received many nice gifts that day, including a food processor that I still love to this day, but none as nice as being able to spend my birthday with Miko. He was was so happy to be with us, especially since his family had adopted another dog; a younger, newer dog who was receiving the attention that he used to get. Looking back on that day now, I remember that I had forgotten to eat because I didn’t want to lose out on one moment with Miko before he had to go home. Eventually the party wound down and the crowd thinned. The sun went down while I sat on the grass, Miko by my side. I had to say goodbye to him again. I even whispered in his ear that he was my son and he looked at me with soft eyes in agreement. That day was different, however. The matriarch of Miko’s family pulled my husband aside to have a private conversation. They pulled me in a few minutes later. “She wants to know if we’ll take Miko and keep him. He’s not doing well,” my husband said to me.

The mother told me that she didn’t want her children to watch him die. I wanted to slap her across the face and tell her that dying is a part of life and that you never leave a family member when they need you the most. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I only imagined it for a split second. Instead I played it cool. “Yes, of course we’ll take him,” I said, all the while my heart was pounding and my stomach was full of butterflies. I glanced at my husband and immediately knew he was feeling the same way because he was playing it way too cool too. The deal was made. We agreed to spare this family of their obligation of seeing Miko to the end of his life. That night Miko had to go home once again, but it was the last time he would have to go there and it was the last time that there would be called home.

We picked him up when I was thirty-seven and one week old. Miko was eleven. We showed up at his front door as usual. He donned his dapper smile as usual. We grabbed his leash as usual. But this time, instead of heading out on foot to the trails in the pines as usual, we opened the truck door and helped him up and into the front seat. I gladly took the seat in the back because I wanted to wrap my arms around him and be his safety net. I could tell that he was confused that he was our truck, but I could also tell that he didn’t give a cat’s ass. He was with us, we were with him, and that was all that mattered.

Between the excitement of rescuing our son and the fear of it all falling to pieces, neither one of us managed to eat breakfast that morning, so we swung through a Wendy’s drive-thru to grab anything. It didn’t matter what. We didn’t give a cat’s ass. Miko sat happily in the front seat where he could see all of the action. His wet nose twitched back and forth at the smells wafting from the take-out window. We ordered two bacon cheeseburgers and french fries even though we were only eating to sustain ourselves rather than to satisfy a hunger. The excitement alone could have fed us for days. We paid up and parked to eat; our unofficial first picnic. My husband opened the first burger and saw that it had no bacon on it. Disappointed, he placed it on the console to check the second burger for bacon, but before he could say “No bacon,” we looked up to see that the first cheeseburger was hanging from Miko’s ear-to-ear smile. My husband and I looked at each other. But of course, we thought. Why wouldn’t it have been his cheeseburger? After all we were celebrating. Miko saw our reactions and paused for a split second before deciding to chomp it down. We sat there and enjoyed watching him enjoy it. We knew at that moment that we were new parents with a lot to learn. We also knew, when he claimed the cheeseburger as his own, that we were a family.

When Miko came home that day he pranced around smelling everything and he was so relieved to smell that everything smelled like us. He looped around and around from the kitchen to the living room and back again; he loved his new space. He had finally made it to the big time, he had made it to his forever home and he knew it to the core of his fuzzy being. It was the true meaning of forever too. It wasn’t a bogus forever with a cheap expiration date and stipulations. It was an unconditional forever. For him and for us.

That first night we had to improvise because the bed that we had ordered wasn’t arriving until the next day. We gathered together blankets and made a cozy nest in the living room for him. We would have made the roost it in our bedroom if there was enough floorspace, but with just enough room for two feet to walk, we didn’t want to step on him and put a damper on such a perfect day. He snuggled into the blankets and we kissed him goodnight for the first time as his official mom and dad. It was the first time I realized how much I loved the smell of his fur.

Later that night I woke up to my husband tapping my thigh. I listened for a second to hear something rooting around in the closet near my side of the bed. I flicked the light on and there was Miko, a pillow in his mouth. He had already pulled out a camping sleeping bag from the back of the closet and was now arranging a pillow for himself. He dropped it down and poked it with his nose until it was perfectly fluffed. He circled a few times in K9 fashion and laid down with his head propped up on the pillow. The tiny space was no longer a closet. He had claimed it just as he has claimed the cheeseburger. It was now his forever bedroom.

The next day when Miko's bed arrived, my husband tried to lure him onto it using a variety of treats and a series of verbal invites. “Come on boy!” Nothing worked. Shiba Inus are intense rationalizers and the idea of gaining a bed after eleven years of being without one did not seem rational to him at all. Eventually my husband had to pick him up and place him onto it to let him know that it was okay. At first Miko seemed unsure, but as his paws sunk into the softness, his expression relaxed as did his body. Being as smart as he was, it didn’t take long before he realized that not only was it okay that he was laying on this comfy bed, but that this comfy bed was his bed. This was the first time that he had a space that belonged solely to him; a space where he could close his eyes for a nap and know that he would not be moved or stepped on. He deserved it, as do all living things, and that is what we provided for him. We put his new bed in his new bedroom and by the end of the week we had also purchased him a living room bed which was set near the fireplace where he could warm his tired bones.

The next few weeks we spent gaining knowledge on how to care for elderly dogs; what to feed them, how much to feed them, how much to walk them, and how to alleviate their aches and pains. We spent every spare moment making sure that he had everything he needed to be healthy and comfortable, which in turn made him happy. We narrowed it down to organic kibble and fresh wet food and we soon found out that Miko’s ex-family was wrong about him. He hadn’t given up eating. He just didn’t want to eat the junk that they were serving him. When we finally pinned down the healthiest foods for him, ones that he also enjoyed tasting, it only took two minutes for him to turn a full bowl into an empty one. Afterwards he would always look up at us; his way of saying “Thank you.” He would then lick his chops and lay down for a rest on one of his beds. Miko loved eating and his love for eating made him healthy again. He had energy, his eyes sparkled, and his coat changed from a washed-out blonde to the vibrant red that it was supposed to be. That family was wrong about his color too. He wasn’t yellow. He was red.

According to his old family Miko didn’t like many things that in reality he loved. “He doesn’t like playing ball,” they told us. They were mistaken. Although he would never bring the ball back to us, he loved to chase it and poke it with his nose to prove that he could bring it back to us if he wanted to. Perhaps it was them who didn’t want to play ball. It turned out that they were wrong about a lot of things, but they were right about one thing. Miko was depressed. We know this to be true because we watched him turn from melancholy and decrepit to joyful and lively right before our eyes.

We started off slow and steady, but Miko always pushed us for more. Soon our two walks became two and a half walks, our short walks became long walks, our slow walks became fast walks, and our down-the-road walks became wherever-our-feet-would-take-us walks. One of his favorite things was to show me just how muddy his paws could get when dad took him on woods walks. He was so proud of them and he’d show them off knowing that there was nothing I could say about it.

Soon strangers started mistaking him for a young dog and they would be astonished to learn that he was eleven. It was the most amazing transformation my husband and I were ever witness to. And the three of us transformed as one. Miko was truly amazing; a testament to the tremendous spirit and determination of old dogs. He changed us everyday. We became better humans because of him. Our abilities to love reached limits that we did not know existed. With one look alone he had the ability to turn my husband into a puddle of mush and that in itself was an impossible feat for anyone else.

It was fall. October 17th. A normal day. Miko’s ex-family stopped in to say hello, but found themselves speechless and embarrassed after catching the site of a healthy, happy, red Miko who was jumping in the leaves in pursuit of a ball. Miko was not happy to see them whatsoever as we stood chatting. We waited for them to mention anything about how different he looked, but they didn’t. They knew. And they knew that we knew that they knew. At one point as we talked, one of the children interrupted us, “Where’s Miko?”

He was nowhere to be seen. The front door had been left open, so we looked inside thinking he was getting a drink of water, but we didn’t see him anywhere. We called for him and started to panic a bit when he didn’t come. We checked his bedroom, the bathroom, and the front yard. No sight of him. I checked his bedroom once again and there, resting on the floor and protruding out from underneath coat sleeves was a wet, black nose. I separated the sleeves, exposing a little red and white face. Miko looked up at me with a look that I’ll never forget. It said, “Please don’t let them take me, Mom.” I kissed him on the snout and covered his face again.

After the family left with their tails between theirs legs, my husband and I crawled into Miko’s bedroom. We separated the coat sleeves to unmask his face and he was so relieved to see that it was his mom and dad who had found him. Knowing he was safe he emerged from the coat forest to see that it was just the three of us again. Before that day we thought that Miko had shown us the full extent of how happy he could be. We were mistaken. He raced around like we had never seen him before. He did his rounds through the kitchen and living room. He peeked in his bedroom. He ran outside and jumped in the leaves. He poked his ball. He hurried back inside and peeked in his bedroom once again. He came to us and rested his body against my husband’s leg. He sat smiling. That was the final test. The final confirmation. They came, they went, and he stayed. Forever.

We got Miko when he was eleven and said goodbye to him when he was sixteen. We had five happy years together and it was the happiest five years of all of our lives.