Back in 2009 when my wife was still my girlfriend, I received an interesting e-mail from her. In it she told me about a little dog she found waiting outside her door, in the apartment complex she lived in. Apparently one of her neighbors liked to feed stray dogs, and this one must have remembered the wrong door. She must have been in a pretty bad shape, because Elba felt she could not send her away without helping her out, at lest to clean up and maybe even find her owners. In a place like Mexico City that's a pretty futile attempt, still she could not simply throw her a bone - literally or figuratively. In the meantime she started calling her simply Chica seeing that she was a girl, and she had no intentions of keeping her.
Having her cleaned up also meant treating the numerous minor problems that she had amassed while living in the streets, as well as making sure she had all her shots. By the time she was completely taken care of, the little dog had firmly attached herself to Elba, and she started liking her as well. At that time she didn't even need a leash, as she would not leave her side, even in the biggest crowds. After a week or so, when trying to find the dog's owners proved to be impossible, she decided to keep her. By then her name had changed slightly to Shyka, inspired by the unusual pronunciation of a friend of hers.
I got to know Shyka about a half a year later when I visited Mexico. She had a knack for making herself popular, which also affected me. I was pleased that she didn't have any of the annoying habits some dogs do: She would never lick you, just smell you up close. She would never chew on your shoes or any other item, and she particularly respected electronic devices. She never peed or pooped inside, except for on rare occasions when she actually was sick. Even though she could be quite a dominant bitch with other dogs, especially other females smaller than her, but she never once bit a human being.
Over the next twelve and a half years she stayed with us, we became quite important in each other's lives. Just as much as we were taking care of her, she made sure we got plenty of walks every day, exploring more or less green areas near and far. We also took her on a number of trips, showing her various bodies of water she would immerse herself in. Being a cocker spaniel, one of her great passions were birds, especially waterfowl, which would always get her excited, even though she never managed to catch one.
As the years passed, she got older and quieter. She would bark less at the neighbor dogs, and eventually stop all together. At home she picked her favorite places where she could lie in the sun, though just as before she was enthusiastic about going for walks, which also ended up being either shorter in distance or longer in time. Though we never knew her exact age, at the time of her adoption the vet estimated her to be at least two. Roughly calculated, that would have made her about a centenarian in human years.
About a month ago, her regular check up revealed some problems with her gall bladder: it was swollen huge and threatening to burst, while its content seemed more solid than liquid. Since that would have been a horribly painful experience, it was decided that her gall bladder had to be taken out. An operation was scheduled for this week, and indeed the vet said she could not believe how Shyka had managed so far with a gall bladder in such a bad condition.
After the operation it seemed like she was going to get better. The scar on her abdomen, and the place where her gall bladder had been removed, seemed to heal well. However at the same time a number of other problems became apparent: her heart, which had been having previous problems, started to have more, her lungs also were quite damaged, indicating a tumor, her stomach started to reflux acid into her mouth, which she then inhaled, filling her lungs with liquid. Also, her damaged gall bladder had already affected her liver and pancreas. So it seemed like now all her problems were coming together.
She stopped eating, making it necessary to administer food and medications intravenously. The liquid in her lungs was removed with a diuretic, but by the fourth day after the operation her condition was deteriorating so rapidly that she had to be hooked up to oxygen. Things were looking pretty bad for her. Eventually we were faced with the decision to submit her to an ultrasound exam to determine the location of the tumor, but since that would not help her in any way, we decided against it. Instead, we took our time to say goodbye to her, and then asked the vet to send her off to doggie heaven.
That was yesterday. As a result, I feel pretty bummed out now. Twelve years was a pretty long time, filled with lots of great memories we will never forget. Shyka, I'm so glad you accompanied us for this brief time, which felt like it was never going to end. We will always miss you!