Ode to my dog in Lake Worth

My dog in spring 2004 strikes a vigilant pose.

The dog days of summer remind me of my dog, Miska.

After the 9/11 terrorist attacks and the thought that terrorists were living here, I thought I need to quit procrastinating and get a dog. Growing up, my family had a black dog, a mixed-breed beagle lovingly called Blackie. As an adult, I always wanted a dog. The terrorists' acts brought that desire to the forefront.

I wanted a shelter dog, about medium-size, one that would walk and help me get back into shape. Pure breeds came fraught with too many problems, plus I did not want to spend that kind of money on a dog.




I visited the Palm Beach County Animal Care & Control with the hopes of getting a dog during my fall vacation in 2001.

After a few false starts, I selected a male dog, a hound-mix who was picked up in the Acreage. He had an "A" tattooed on the inside of his rear leg.

Miska in 2011 still likes to go on walks. Here he is on the
Lake Trail in Palm Beach.

I called him Miska because he reminded me of the Polish potato sausages that my mom baked when I was a child. That word is kiszka, pronounced KEESH-ka. Even so, I did not feel comfortable yelling Kiszka, so I made up his name, pronounced the same way: MEESH-ka. The s had an acute accent on it, making it sound like sz in Polish. I liked the way it sounded, rolling off my tongue.

When I took him home it was a Sunday. The next day, as I was getting ready for work, I hooked his leash to a pole in my backyard, thinking I was doing him a favor by letting him stay outside. But when I went to bring him inside, all that was left was his leash and a collar.

Lost dog

My dog had run away.

I searched on foot and then in my car, making me late for work. During my lunch break, I did the same thing. At night, I did more searching. Still, no Miska.

I did not want to call Animal Care & Control to tell them I had lost my dog. I had signed a paper saying that I would be responsible for him. Amidst the lost-dog crisis, I had a looming case of the Catholic guilt.

On Wednesday morning, as I was leaving for work, suddenly a dog appeared on my back stoop. I wondered who the heck owns this dog. Then I thought, "I do. That's my Miska."

So from then on, when people ask me what his name means I tell them it is an Native American name given to the dog who ran away for two days but then came home.

Miska this week wears a collar, so that he won't lick the hotspot
on his right rear leg.

Walking buddy 

In the early years, I walked him over 2 miles in the morning and another 2 miles in the evening to wear him out so that he would not destroy my house while I was working and he was home alone. I also took him to two rounds of obedience classes.

These days, we still walk together -- one mile in the morning and one in the evening. In the summer, we are out there about dawn, and then just after sunset because it is just too darn hot any other time of the day.

He's in great shape, except for a hotspot on his right rear leg. I bought a collar to keep him from licking the spot and some gauze to wrap his leg. The gauze did not stay on because the spot is right above his knee. I took him to a vet the last Saturday in July. That visit, not with my regular vet, cost $134, including medications -- antibiotics and steroids (Anyone who knows my dog would not think he needs steroids, right?).

But the medications are finished, and hotspot is still there. Any of my followers own dogs that have this problem? Let me know in the comments below how you cured it.

And now, for my numbers

I had my best walking day last week on Friday, Aug. 9, 2013, when I walked:

Steps: 10,164
Miles: 5.1