Once upon a time I spent a semester in Spain. While I was there I kept seeing these gorgeous white and gray dogs. They were so big, and so fluffy, and so lovable. A mere 6 days after returning to the states, a friend who volunteered at the Humane Society called me up, “Oh my gosh, you have to get down here! We have an Old English Sheepdog and we NEVER have Old English Sheepdogs! We open soon and she will go fast, so get here before we open.” I raced down there and met the 12 week old fluffball and of course, fell in love. I put her on hold, ran home to get permission from my parents (since I was home from school for the summer staying with them), was promptly denied permission from my dad, ran back to the Humane Society and brought her home. Well, not to my home since she wasn’t allowed, but to my cousin’s home.

Apparently the only reason Mischa was available for me was because her whole litter had been brought in a couple weeks earlier, but Mischa was very sick so they kept her off the floor to see if she would make it. She waited for just the right time to get better. She waited for me.

Everyday that summer I would go over to my cousin’s and walk my sweet puppy, and feed her and love on her. Soon it was time to go back to school, and Mischa was the best little passenger. It only took her 7 days to be potty trained - one accident a day each day and then none at all. She ate all the things (including my then boyfriend’s glasses, my Bible, and even a blender blade). She was full of piss and vinegar, and I just adored how floppy she was!

Eventually we moved from that house to another in Lawrence for my last year of school, and then 6 other places of residence after that. Mischa has been my little nomad companion, and the most adaptable dog ever. She’s been with me through my entire adult life: boyfriends, break-ups, moves, deaths, stalkers, degrees, career changes, you name it.

And I have been with her. I watched her grow from playful puppy, to mellow adult. I told someone recently that I loved her as a puppy, but once she passed that “eat all the things, have all the energy” phase, she became the dog I had always wanted. A dog that would simply lay at your feet, or let you snuggle the shit out of her and just lay there and take it - and happily at that. I also watched her start to lose bladder control and mobility. At one point a few years ago she became completely paralyzed for a month. I would carry her in and out of the house (all 75 pounds of her) to lay on the grass to go to the bathroom, and to get some fresh air, and my mom would lay with her all day while I was at work. The day I finally gave up hope and decided to take her in to put her down, the little stinker started walking again! And she’s been walking every day since.

Until today. When she was going through her paralysis I would ask the multiple vets I took her to how I knew when it was time, and one of them said I needed to identify the 3 things that made Mischa, Mischa, and once she stopped doing any of those, it would be time. I’ve been struggling for several months now to know whether or not it was time. After a scare last night, I finally made the call and set the appointment for today. I was still waffling back and forth, but when I got her leash to give her one last walk, she simply sniffed it, and put her front paws on the step for me to let her back in the house instead of jumping up and down, or going in a circle excited for me to put the leash on, and I felt like that was my sign that it would be ok.

She has been my best friend, my confidante, and my snuggle bunny - especially this past year during quarantine and COVID. She’s been my constant and my refuge in this weird journey of life. I feel like she knew I needed her this past year and was holding on just for me, and honestly I still didn’t want to let go. She has been the best dog I could have ever dreamed of. She was the great love of my life, and my sweet angel girl. I’m so very thankful that she was mine, and I was hers.