In Memory of Myst, Our Faithful Old Dog (1988-2002)

May 6, 2002

Agnes Chan

 

            Myst’s full name was Mystery.  We named her so because we never found out about her background.   We adopted her from the Akita Rescue Society, which had found her on the street in a city 10 miles north of us.  She was emaciated, living on scavenging and terrorizing the neighborhood dogs and cats.  For six years, Myst lived with us, bringing us and other young friends lots of joy, stability and protection..

 

 

 

 

            She came to us six years ago when we had just lost another dog, Mocha to a traffic accident.  The children and I wanted another dog in our lives, which were at a very low point as my husband was just diagnosed with liver cancer.  Myst’s arrival provided a cheerful distraction for us.  She was a minimal-care dog, needing only one walk a day, on which she would do both number ones and twos.  She was very people friendly and affectionate, so that visitors to our house were always greeted with a warm, but non-aggressive welcome.  Her big size, though, kept many bad elements away.  Most delivery and remodeling servicemen found her scary even though she didn’t bark at them at all.

 

She had a very mellow temperament and a sweet face, more like a bear than a wolf.  Her soft coat of fur had delighted many young children.  Her tail curled in a circle, swagging royally as she walked.  We were, however, most impressed with her intelligence.  She got the schedule of each family member down precisely, so she knew whom to expect at what hour and she would be waiting.  She knew how we divided the work of taking care of her, like my husband for feeding, my daughter and I for walking, and my son for playing.  So, at the end of dinner, if I got up from the dinner table, she would never follow.  Her eyes were fixed on my husband and his one slight move would immediately get her to jump up to follow him for her dinner.  When he was in the hospital for his transplant, Myst laid in the entry way for days, facing the door, waiting for his return. True to her breed, her faithfulness was unquestionable. 

                                                                                               

Her memory was also remarkable.  My parents usually came to my house together.  On the days that only one of them showed up, Myst would break her silence, whimpering and hissing, as if to say, “Where is your other half?  How can you come alone?”

 

Her quiet and slow demeanor fools many people and animals.  A hunting dog by breed, she would prance onto a squirrel, a cat or a bird that came into her territory.  She could increase her speed from 0 to 15 m.ph. in a  split second.  When we walked her, we had to be careful about small animals in our path.  Otherwise, we would be dragged along in the sudden pursuit. One day we came home to a white furry ball in the living room.  It turned out to be a white cat, the bounty of Myst’s victory.   Squirrels, though, outran her.  One squirrel led her to jump through a window onto the patio roof, falling through the hard plastic.  Another squirrel used to sit on top of the fig tree to tease her.

 

She had been very stoic about pain throughout her life.  When she was younger, a cat scratched her leg and left a nail in there for days.  Not a whimper came from her, and we didn’t notice until it got infected and she was limping.  In her old age, the pain from arthritis slowed her down, but she still was not whining and whimpering.  Her dignity and nobility persisted till the very end.

 

Thank you, Myst, for the companionship and protection you gave to our family and our young friends throughout the years!