Misha

Misha came to me as a puppy on April 30, 2011, after months of searching for the right dog.  I decided it would be best for my cats if I got a puppy to let them adjust before the dog grew to a larger size.  I was hoping for a German Shepherd dog, but most rescues want adopters to own their homes and require payment of enormous adoption fees.  I saw an ad in the local newspaper for mixed Labrador puppies, so my mom and I went to check them out and I immediately fell in love with one of the two remaining puppies.  There was no doubt that she was part Border Collie, but her mother was mostly Labrador, so we figured she was a Labrador/Border Collie mix, which would mean a lot of energy.  And she did have energy, but she preferred to sleep until noon.

Being a fan of the show Supernatural back then, I named her Misha after the actor who plays the character Castiel, who was my second favorite character on the show.  It did not take her long to adjust to living with cats, and through some encouragement in the form of treats, she and my cat Loki quickly became good friends.  She was always a fast learner, learning to sit within 15 minutes on day one and learning to “drop it” automatically.  She was my companion and protector, watching over me whenever I was ill.  She gave my other cat space and did the same for most cats in her life, but Loki liked to cuddle with her and she loved to clean his ears.  The veterinarian said he had the cleanest ears of any cat he had ever seen.  However, Misha retained the mindset that cats were unpredictable fluff balls with claws, so she kept her distance from cats and let them approach her.

In 2015, I started dating a man, and Misha was always excited to see him.  In 2017, he moved in and we were married soon after, meaning that Misha no longer had to spend my long workdays at home by herself.  That year I also started to suffer severe pain and joint stiffness, which was later diagnosed as Lyme disease.  I never fully regained the use of my legs, so Misha became my helper, picking things up for me if I asked her to, using the “pick it up” command I taught her when trying to teach her to put her toys away.  She never did succeed in cleaning up her toys, but she was a great helper, especially on laundry day when I would frequently drop socks, or during the winter when I would occasionally drop a glove.

Misha loved to run in the park behind the townhouse complex where we live but was never one for playing fetch outside.  She was the first dog I have ever known who did not like to chase a ball.  Instead, she loved to track animal scents and just run.  In her later years, we would visit the park at least once a day unless it was raining or extremely hot; sometimes twice if it was snowing.  Misha absolutely loved the snow – frolicking in it, biting snow clumps, or just laying down in it to take a rest.  She was a little like me: hated the heat of summer but loved playing in the snow.

Misha also hated fireworks, so summers in our neighborhood were extremely stressful for her with random fireworks going off from May to September, and additional ones on random holidays.  She did not care for the ThunderShirt we bought her, so I would just sit with her and build a pillow fort for her to hide in.  The last couple years I made her a playlist of her favorite songs as an attempt to distract her: “Carry on Wayward Son” by Kansas, “Renegade” by Styx, “Chilly Down” by David Bowie (from the movie Labyrinth), and “Kernkraft 400 (Sport Chant Stadium Remix)” by Zombie Nation.  Even those didn’t completely distract her from fireworks, and she grew to fear the whistle sounds of certain fireworks as they soar, even when the sound came from the TV.

After Loki passed, our black cat took it upon himself to become Misha’s defender and would try to calm her down on the 4th of July.  He did this in some form years earlier, such as the time he went after my mom because Misha was play-growling during some light roughhousing.  I guess that cat felt he needed to protect his dog, and he clearly did not like to see her fearful during fireworks.  For a cat that is afraid of so much, including a knock on the door, I will never understand why fireworks are just nothing to him.  But he was a calming presence that Misha needed during those rough nights, and he loved her very much.

Misha was all about treats and knew many of them by name.  You could not say “Milk-Bone,” “cheese,” “peanut butter,” “rice,” “park,” or “car ride” without her getting excited.  And if you said “Milk-Bone,” you would get a look of disappointment until you actually handed one over.  She would never steal from your plate, but she knew who to sit near to get table scraps.  I would always share a bit of cheese with her, and she knew that she would get a piece of pasta whenever I would taste to see if my fettuccine was done.  I also let her lick the lid from jars of Alfredo sauce, as long as I was using the entire jar and was not using the garlic version.  After her kidney disease diagnosis, we did this less often, but she was still allowed to have a bit of pasta now and then.

On September 19th, 2024, Misha insisted that I take her to the park, even though it was a little hot that day.  She was already suffering some health issues – she had been perfectly healthy until after her 13th birthday – so I agreed to go.  In the distance, I saw what I thought was a groundhog at first and then realized it was a cat.  I thought it was a cat with kittens, but as we got closer (because of course I wanted to see the cat), I realized it was just kittens.  Someone had dumped three kittens in the park in the sun and left them there.  My Ring camera did catch who did it, but the police said there was nothing they could do because the camera did not catch them actually dumping the cats.

Misha had a look of concern and seemed to understand that these kittens needed our help, so I took her back to the house and returned with my garden cart to rescue them.  We found a home for the only male but ended up stuck with the other two.  After the kittens overcame their fear of the big dog, they quickly grew to love Misha and always wanted to climb on her.  Misha was patient with them but eventually did have to set some boundaries.  Still, the smaller cat would adore Misha up until the end and grieved her almost as much as we humans did.

Though I know Misha led a long, full life, it still just did not seem long enough.  She helped to fill the hole in my heart left by my cat companion who died in 2010 and she was always there when I needed her.  From my struggles to find work when she was a puppy; through going back to school at 34 to get my Associate’s degree; through my PTSD and nearly working myself to death; through Lyme disease, two cat deaths (including her buddy Loki), and my total hysterectomy to remove early uterine cancer; through job struggles again; through writing and self-publishing four books; through returning to school again and getting my Bachelor’s degree; through my husband’s epilepsy surgery that removed part of his brain; and through a third of my Master’s degree: Misha was there for all of it.

I knew our time was running short, but I kept hoping that she would keep bouncing back.  She was a fighter and kept surprising us: just when it seemed she was going downhill, she would rebound and run in the park like a puppy again.  She continued this until the end, running without a care in the world less than 48 hours before she passed.

But we knew it was her time.  She was the best dog I could have ever wished for, but she was tired and both her mind and body were failing.  And on that last day, she let us know she was ready.

On June 27, 2026, Misha passed peacefully in my lap while surrounded by the cats she helped to rescue and her loving human family.  She enjoyed plenty of treats, including an entire piece of bacon and a Reese’s peanut butter Christmas tree before she passed.  She was 15 and will be forever missed.