The Dog Who Changed Everything - Mika's Story

I didn’t realize I was running out of time until it almost disappeared entirely.

For years, I had loved my dog fiercely and photographed her occasionally, assuming there would always be another day, another time, another chance.

It was the early 1990s and I had just graduated from college with a degree in animal behavior. For as long as I can remember, I always knew I would devote my life to working with animals.

When the opportunity to start my own pet-sitting business came along, I jumped at it. At the time, it was only meant to be temporary - I needed to regroup as my life plan after college fell apart.

I threw myself into being an entrepreneur, putting in long hours while I built a clientele and a reputation, sometimes working 60, even 100 hours a week. The pets I cared for became like a second family. And yet, despite being surrounded by animals every day, I felt a longing I couldn’t ignore.

I wanted a dog of my own.

Eventually, I reached a place where I could afford a life I felt good about. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was enough. It was time.

I began planning to adopt my first dog. I was like an expectant mother - shopping for pet supplies, choosing a crate, leashes, collar and lots of toys. I visited the breeder several times after the litter was born, getting to know the puppies and wondering which one would come home with me.

I read baby name books and compiled a list of favorites. I puppy proofed my home. And mentally prepared for the change that was about to arrive.

And when the day finally came to bring her home, I was ecstatic.

I named her Mika.

We bonded immediately. She went everywhere with me. I brought her to work with me, to friends houses and everywhere I hiked. I set up playdates for her and took her to dog training classes.

I bought my first home, met my now-husband, got married, moved to another town, got pregnant, faced the heartbreak of a lost pregnancy, and eventually returned home. Through it all, Mika was by my side.

I photographed her the same way I photographed all my pet-sitting clients. Most of the photos were blurry, poorly lit, but it felt better than nothing.

Then, three days after her ninth birthday, Mika collapsed.

I was still asleep. My husband had gone downstairs to make breakfast for himself and her. She tumbled down the stairs, and when he put her food in her bowl, she just stared at it. Mika was a chowhound. In that moment, he knew something was very wrong.

He came back upstairs to wake me. Somehow, she followed him. And that’s when she collapsed.

It was like watching a teddy bear fall off a shelf.

We had to act fast. We called the ER vet, I threw on some clothes and got her into the car for the forty-five-minute drive through rush-hour traffic.

Somehow, as we were on our way, Mika seemed like herself again. We began to question whether we were doing the right thing, but I knew in my gut we needed to go.

Mika walked into the hospital on her own. The team was waiting for her and within minutes, the vet delivered a preliminary diagnosis: cancer. I couldn’t believe it. She was young, active, and aside from the collapse, perfectly heathly.

It was specifically, hemangiosarcoma, a cancer of the blood.

Mika’s spleen had ruptured and she was bleeding to death. We were given two options. We could let her go right then and there. Or we could do surgery. But even that wasn’t a guarantee. If the cancer had spread, the recommendation was to let her go.

The vet left us alone to discuss what to do.

I remember running out of the building, turning to my husband, and saying:

“Today is not her day to die.”

We chose surgery.

And then we waited. For hours. Not knowing if we would ever see her again.

Every time the waiting-room door opened, our hearts leapt. The longer it took, the more we tried to convince ourselves it was good news - but we had no way of knowing.

My husband and I barely spoke. There was nothing to say. We were scared. So we prayed.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the photos I didn’t have - the blurry ones, the ones that captured our bond, our little family of three. I could probably count on two hands how many decent photos I had of her. How could I have let this happen?

As I pleaded with the great being in the sky to save my girl, I made a promise:

If she pulls through, I will photograph her every day for the rest of her life.

Even if she survived, I knew our time together was limited.

Then the vet walked in. She sat down beside us and said “I have good news.”

I exhaled the longest breath of my life. The cancer hadn’t spread. Mika had done well. She was resting comfortably. Soon, we would see her.

My prayer was answered - Mika was coming home!!

And I kept my promise. I photographed her every day for weeks. Eventually, that became weekly. In the seven months we had left together, I took dozens, no make that, hundreds of photos of her. Some of those are still my favorites to this day.

At the time, I was shooting landscapes and was hesitant to share my photos of her. But when I finally did, my photographer friends shared how much they loved them. They encouraged me to become a pet photographer.

I remember thinking, Who becomes a pet photographer?

But it made sense. Pets are a huge part of our lives. They deserve to be remembered. I knew that better than anyone.

Those hours in the waiting room - hoping, waiting, praying - changed me. It was in that moment, I found what I was meant to do.

Who becomes a pet photographer? I do.

Because I know the bond we share with our pets. The unconditional love they have for us - no matter what we look like, what mistakes we’ve made, or how different we may be.

With them, we feel a place where we belong.

That, I believe, is why we are here: to discover that true love. Without judgement.

I’ve grown as a photographer. I’ve loved and lost. But I will never again regret not having photos of the friends who carried me through life.

That is what I want to give other pet owners.

It wasn’t too late for me and Mika - but it was close.

For that, I will always be grateful.