MYKE

It's been little more than four years since Myke passed away, and the wounds he left behind are still deep. They wouldn't heal. Time is clearly not an ointment that could remedy them. Not a single day has passed since without thinking of him. Some days are better, but other days are still painful. I know I should concentrate on how lucky I should consider myself to know him, and I do; however, his physical absence feels like a dagger entering my heart sharply, unmercifully. I haven't forgotten the sensation of touching or holding him in my arms while taking him to the attic where he used to sleep next to me - those days, we had a tatami on the floor, and his little bed was right next to me. On the occasions when Ági moved his bed because she was cleaning the room and forgot to put his bed back to where it touched my bed, he immediately adjusted it back to its original place so that he could be as close to me as possible.

His life hadn't been easy before I met him. Being chucked away like a worthless disposable plushy and spending his first four years in a cage fighting for survival carved a lifelong scar on his little soul. I hardly dared look into his eyes because they emitted terrible pain and hopelessness in the first few months. The sufferings he had to endure at the shelter hammered my soul relentlessly. I couldn't help but bellow silently: all I wanted to do was hold him in a warm embrace and ensure he felt safe. 

When we decided to take him out of the shelter, we were warned that the scars of torture and nightmare made him trustless so much that the only response to any direct and unexpected approach he could give was biting. I didn't care because when I first saw him and read about him, something deep inside knew that he was the one.

The first meeting with him was magical. When I first saw him, I hunkered down and asked him to come closer. He didn't hesitate for a split second, and the next thing I knew was him being right next to me. I remember my heart pounding like a steam engine, and I couldn't wipe off that weird smile from my face. He allowed me to put my hand on his head and back, which was exceptionally unusual. Even the caretakers couldn't touch him without any precautions, such as a pair of protective gloves, etc.. We bonded instantly. But, before taking him home, we had to check if he was compatible with our other dog, so we had to wait another week.

Since the meeting with our other dog went well, no additional hurdle could have prevented his adoption. I was over the moon but excited as well.

I can recall the day I went to pick him up at the dog shelter. The weather was hot, although it was on a late September day. I had to drive almost two hours in the afternoon traffic jam, and it took us three more hours to get back home. But let's stick to the flow of the events and see what happened when I got to the dog shelter. There he was, recognising me from a distance, and he seemed to know what would happen. Since the caretakers were afraid to put his collar on, I had to do it. Despite the bond, I hesitated because I didn't know what to expect. 

Will he bite me? Will he growl at me? Will he want to misbehave? Actually, none of that happened. He was calm and collected, allowing me to put on his collar, gently lift him, and put him in the car. That was the moment I knew he wouldn't hurt me. On the way home, he was sitting in the backseat of the car, and I was talking to him a lot. I explained to him that it was the beginning of a new life, that he'd have a loving home, and we'd take care of him. I remember trying to reach out to him to pet him with the notion of being extra cautious. I didn't see any aggression in his eyes, and he seemed to understand my intentions.

As the years went by, he became calmer and calmer, although his past haunted him continuingly as he kept showing other dogs who the boss was in the field. After our other dog passed away, he opened up gradually and showed us his true personality. It took me seven years to tame him, and although the scars on his soul never healed completely, he turned into an angel. And it took him seven years to trust us and to be able to relax completely.

When I was allowed to take him to the office, I was in seventh heaven. He could hardly wait to jump into the car and travel with me. He enjoyed being with me so much that the joy was engraved on his face. I remember seeing him getting ready for the day by collecting his virtual suitcase and signalling that he was prepared to go. In the office, he was the centre of attention, everybody loved him, and he loved that he was loved.

Our happiness didn't last long. Myke's system was fighting a nasty intruder, but he couldn't win this battle against cancer. After a four-month-long treatment, he became his own shadow, and despite all our efforts, there was nothing we could do against this terrible disease. On 14 February 2019, we had to make a terribly difficult decision: we had to let him go. It was heartbreaking to see him in that condition, although his will to live was remarkable. However, with the benefit of hindsight, we now know he was trying to be there for us, to make sure we were okay, and to tell us how much he loved us.

Others say we must let go of him. They say we should overcome the pain and concentrate on other things in life. Some might understand what we've been going through, and some might scowl at us. I don't care what others say, suggest or think would be better for us. Never in my life had I met a dog like Myke. His presence was essential to me. The sheer thought of him waiting for me after a long day of work at the office brought a big smile to my face and cheered my spirit. I miss him terribly. And the void he left behind howls of emptiness and cannot be filled with anybody or anything. This scar on my soul will never heal, and I can only hope to meet him at the Rainbow Bridge...