About the time this photo was taken, Mishka began losing her baby teeth. Michael carried them around in a little plastic sandwich bag to take to preschool for show & tell. I think he was a big hit. To read about the time they both got a little older and Mishka got her stomach pumped and Michael got grounded, go look at Adventures in Babysitting
I think everyone has one dog in life that becomes the dog of their heart. Willie Morris's was Skip, FDR's was Fala, Mine was Mishka. Just thinking about her still breaks my heart. I tended her grave the other day and planted marigolds near it. She died exactly one week before Poppy (Arthur E. Kane, Sr.), and we buried him with Mishka's collar in his pocket.
When we cleaned out Poppy's car before selling it, we found a box of dog biscuits and a new leash still in the package. Poppy was always prepared, and he was the only one who ever took Mishka for good walks. She loved him for it.
Lately, he had begun to say, Mishka and I are slowing down at the same time. We just can't walk up those hills the way we used to. Some in our family like to think that Mishka went on ahead to greet Poppy with her tail wagging when he showed up in Heaven (I'm one of them). I find it hard to believe in the notion of an afterlife until I think of Poppy and Mishka, and then I think, Well...where else could they be...their bodies may have failed them, but, oh, their spirits. I think she was there at the Pearly Gates just waiting for a decent walk and a Milkbone.