Under Siege In Ukraine, I Mourn Our Little Dog

The 1,363rd night of Russia’s full-scale invasion. Kyiv. My girlfriend, Dasha, and I are at home. I am watching our elderly Chihuahua, Quicky, in the kitchen. A weak, withered, tiny old dog, he is standing there, confused, trying to remember what he wanted – his bed or a drink of water. He is 12 years old, a grandfather in dog years. Grandpa wanders through the apartment all night, forgetting where he hid his beloved green bone. But it hasn’t always been like this.

Dasha named him Quicky because of her favourite childhood toy: the world’s coolest bunny from the Nesquik advert. Once, in the park, an English-speaking photographer approached Dasha and Quicky. With a puzzled smile he asked her several times to repeat the dog’s name. Who could have known that besides the cartoon bunny, there was also the homonym “quickie”, meaning quick, casual sex? Dasha smiled back and said: “Well, this applies to him too.”

Dasha says she wanted a mischief-maker by her side, the two of them against the world. She wanted her dog to live a happy life, so they skipped the training and socialisation programme. For ten years this vagrant did whatever he pleased – demanded food from the table, ate whatever he loved. Though with age, he had to focus on one favourite dish: buckwheat with boiled beef.

Paw and order

When Dasha and I started dating a little over two years ago, our lives changed. But the most dramatic transformation happened in the life of that little rascal. They say Chihuahuas are a breed that can love only one person. But after our very first meeting, I told him: “You’ll love me yet.” He had to learn commands. And yes, I proudly say “commands” in the plural – because “sit” and “wait” already make two. He had to vacate the other half of Dasha’s bed. The struggle for the title of alpha male in the house continued daily, but between us there was a non-aggression pact signed with a miniature paw. In the end, we both loved the same woman.

A tiny, thumping heart

Time takes away the most precious things. Quicky began wheezing and choking. Pills and powders to support his heart were added to his diet. When Dasha had to go on a business trip, Quicky and I stayed together – just us, missing Dasha, and taking pills on schedule. One evening Dasha asked me: “Do you ever pick him up? At least put him next to you on the couch.” I do so. We are both bewildered by such closeness. And I hear a strange, unfamiliar sound. After a few seconds I realise it is the sound of Quicky’s enormous little heart, pounding against the cushions. I say to him: “Wow, is it always thumping like that?” Grandpa lifts his head, his whole look saying: “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

Now I understood the despair with which Dasha would talk about his heart, racing in a frantic gallop during the shellings. When Dasha returned, it was the first time Quicky didn’t run to greet her, showing that the two of us had been just fine without her.

The gift of grief

Insatiable Chronos is never satisfied. Grandpa acquired a therapist, cardiologist, nephrologist and nutritionist. His muscles were shrinking and he was fighting for every gram of his tiny body. He weighed barely more than a kilogram. The 1,364th morning, I find Quicky on the kitchen floor. He is not breathing. I cry all day. I want to feel this grief today, because tomorrow Russia will strike again, delivering another genocidal blow. I am grateful to Quicky for giving me the gift of a pure grief, for the loss of a specific piece of goodness in our small family, when there is so much evil around.

At some point, realising these are the first tears I have shed since the full-scale invasion began, I ask myself: why am I crying? I think about friendship. Some friends simply disappeared after the invasion. But there are other friends the invasion brought. Quicky was my friend, with whom I spent every day of these past crazy 25 months. He was my consolation and companion in love for Dasha. After waking her, I place Quicky’s beloved green bone on the highest shelf, beside our photo. Now, he can reach any bone no matter how high.

Ternopil under siege

The very next night, Russia shelled the entire country. In the morning, rockets struck two apartment buildings in Ternopil. People were burned alive. They were jumping out of the windows. Several generations of families died at once. As I am writing, 34 people have been confirmed dead, including six children. Six people are missing. They are still searching for a mother and her four-year-old daughter under the rubble.

Translated by Maryna Gibson

[Further reading: Twilight in Kyiv]