Mika’s Story
In December 2024, when Mika Mae was 14, her family split up and nobody wanted to keep her. She ended up at the local shelter.
On her rescue day, Mika took one step out of the kennel, leaned into me and gave me a big sloppy kiss. She nuzzled my hand so I’d pet her and was content as could be as long as I was giving her affection.
That, in short, was Mika.
Right from the outset her personality was there for the whole world to see. She was a sweet, affectionate, gentle old lab who just wanted to sit at your side and be loved on.
She had the funniest way of nuzzling your hand until you started petting her, then after a few strokes she’d flop over and offer you her belly. Once you started rubbing her belly, oh baby, she’d sigh, close her eyes in bliss, and let you do that ALL DAY LONG. It didn’t matter how long you petted her, the minute you stopped she’d look at you all sad and confused as to why you stopped.
Mika didn’t usually have a lot to say, but when she did, wow, did she say it! She had the loudest, deepest bark I’ve ever heard. It was always one, single, deep, WOOF. She never whined, she never barked more than once, just one, solitary WOOF.
That was her way of expressing pretty much everything.
It’s time to go outside:
WOOF
It’s time to get up:
WOOF
You’ve left the room and I want you to come back:
WOOF
If you somehow didn’t get the message the first time, she’d wait a little bit, then:
WOOF
Mika LOVED her food, and she was an excellent timekeeper. She knew when it was 6am, and at 6:01 if I wasn’t up preparing breakfast? WOOF. 6:01:30. WOOF. And on and on. Many the mornings I’ve covered my head with the pillow and tried to ignore her, never with much success. I’m not exaggerating when I say the only times I’ve slept past 6am since adopting Mika was when I was on vacation!
Right from the start, Mika had significant mobility issues. Her gait was always a lurching, stiff, unsteady thing. She never ran, never played. Outside she’d just lie on the porch, or out on some soft spot of grass and just watch the world go by. Inside she’d lay on the big pillow in front of the couch, or up on the pillows at the foot of my bed. She’d only be up on all fours to get from place to place, never just standing for the sake of being upright.
Frequent vet visits and an aggressive medication regimen gave her extra time, but the progression was inevitable. Her last few months were challenging as I would often have to carry her back end and help her walk, wheelbarrow fashion, from place to place. Her last few days she couldn’t get up. You could see in her eyes how tired she was.
On that last morning, she had ham and eggs for breakfast and a big bowl of ice cream for a morning snack. We sat out on the porch, as we had so many times before, and just listened to the wind in the trees, the chirping of the birds. I told her I loved her and that Ben, Walter, Monkey, Stella and all the rest were waiting for her on the other side. And that she was a good girl. A very good girl.
The vet came, and it was peaceful.
