The missing dog

“Misa!” Mai shouted. “Did you climb on the sofa again?”

Hearing his owner’s angry tone, the dog quickly scurried to a corner of the house. Mai grabbed a broom and approached, but she couldn’t reach Misa, who was hiding behind the motorbike.

Mai turned to scold her husband, Long:

“Look at this! Your precious dog jumped on the sofa again. The evidence is right here!”

“Come on, it only happens once in a while,” Long said.

“Because you spoiled him too much before, and now he’s naughty. If I don’t discipline him, no guest would dare sit on this sofa!”

Mai felt irritated. She was a neat and tidy person by nature. Sometimes, she couldn’t understand why she married a messy, disorganized man like Long, who also kept a dog. Worse, the dog, spoiled by Long since it was a puppy, was just as messy as its owner, forcing Mai to put in a lot of effort to train it. Even so, Misa often drove her crazy. It would sneak into the bedroom when no one was looking, pee in the dining room, or escape outside to play—things it knew were forbidden. Whenever the dog misbehaved, it would tuck its ears, cower, and hide in a corner to avoid Mai’s punishment.

Once, she told her husband:

“This dog is like a guerrilla, I swear. The moment we’re not watching, it sneaks into the room.”

“Maybe in his past life, he was a Viet Cong guerrilla,” Long joked.

One day, while Mai went downstairs to pick up a delivery, Misa ran out onto the street. She chased after it but couldn’t catch up. Three hours later, Misa returned, barking loudly at the gate. Mai opened the door, gave it a few whacks, and said:

“Next time, just stay out and don’t come back!”

“Woof woof,” the dog replied.

Mai didn’t know what it meant, but she knew that unless dog thieves caught it, Misa would always come back. Where else would it get three meaty meals a day, do nothing, and get taken for a walk every evening like it did here?

Misa was a mischievous, stubborn, but timid dog. One morning near Tet holidays, Mai noticed blood oozing from the area near its ear. She quickly snapped a photo and sent it to Long:

“Honey, Misa’s bleeding badly! It must’ve scratched itself raw. Come home quick so we can take it to the vet.”

“Alright, I’ll ask for the afternoon off to take it,” Long replied.

That afternoon, Mai held Misa while Long drove them on the motorbike to a nearby vet clinic. But as they reached the end of a bridge near their house, Misa, perhaps frightened by the loud honking or afraid of being abandoned, started thrashing wildly. The roads were packed with traffic in the days leading up to Tết. Mai had no choice but to let the dog go.

“Honey, stop! Misa is scratching my arm. I can’t hold him anymore.”

Long stopped the bike. After a moment’s thought, he said:

“Misa’s too scared. The only option now is for me to walk it to the vet while you drive the motorbike home.”

“But your motorbike’s too big. I don’t know how to ride it,” Mai said.

“Try your best, honey. There’s no other way.”

Mai wasn’t used to riding. She used to ride a small scooter, but since she started selling goods online and rarely went out, she relied on Grab rides. After getting married, Long always drove her. Afraid of crashing into someone, she ended up walking the motorbike home.

Meanwhile, Long led Misa to the vet on foot. It wasn’t far by motorbike, but walking took a while. At the clinic, the vet examined Misa’s wound and said:

“Your dog has a fungal infection. I’ll clean the wound first, then you’ll need to apply medicine and give it pills as I instruct.”

The vet had two assistants hold Misa on the table. Terrified, Misa whimpered as they tied its legs. The vet shaved the fur around the wound.

“Oh my!” one assistant exclaimed in embarrassment.

Long was mortified to see Misa pee on the assistant’s shirt and leave a few droppings.

“God, Misa was so scared it pissed and shat!” Long sighed. “Is there any dog in the world as timid as this one?”

Misa fainted from fear, probably thinking it was about to be slaughtered.

“Could it have seen another dog being killed when it was young, before coming to us?” Long wondered.

After the wound was treated, Misa slowly came to. The vet prescribed medicine and fitted Misa with a cone to prevent scratching. After three weeks of Mai applying the medicine, Misa recovered.

Every evening, Long took Misa for a walk along the To Lich River. A construction site blocked part of the path, creating an empty lot where few people passed. Long would unleash Misa there to let it run freely. Mai disapproved, warning him not to do it. She believed letting the dog roam in dirty places caused its illness. But Long still let Misa run in the lot, wanting it to enjoy some freedom outdoors.

One day, Mai saw Long return home looking distraught.

“You’re back? Where’s Misa?”

“He’s gone missing,” Long said.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Misa!” Mai called, searching the house, but the dog she often complained about was nowhere to be found.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Long nodded. “I let him off the leash. I walked ahead, he followed behind, but when I turned back at the bridge, he was gone.”

“My God! I told you so many times not to let him loose, but you didn’t listen. Take me to find him now!”

“Let me go look again. You stay here in case it comes back.”

Long rode his motorbike around the area where Misa disappeared and other places it might have gone, but there was no sign of his beloved dog. Mai, feeling dejected, comforted her husband:

“Let’s hope he’s just lost and will find his way back soon.”

But they waited and waited, and Misa didn’t return. They realized their dog had likely been taken—otherwise, it would’ve come back like before.

That night, lying in bed, Long suddenly heard barking that sounded like Misa’s. He jumped up, still in his pajamas, and ran to open the gate, but there was no dog. He walked around the neighborhood but found no trace of Misa. Disappointed and dejected, he returned to bed.

“Did Misa come back?” Mai asked.

“No, I must’ve misheard.”

“It’s probably been taken,” Mai said, sobbing.

“Yeah, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let it loose.”

“You should’ve kept a closer eye on it. This is just a dog—what if it was our child one day?”

Long sighed.

“I’ll pray to God for Misa to come back,” Mai said.

The next day, Long went to work with a heavy heart. The first thing he asked when he got home was whether Misa had returned, but Mai shook her head.

“We’ll have to go look for it tomorrow,” she said. “I posted about Misa on some Facebook groups, but no one’s reported anything. From other posts, I found some addresses of places that sell dogs and cats. We can check there and maybe buy it back. We could also ask the dog meat restaurants nearby where they get their dogs.”

The next afternoon, Long took time off work to search for Misa with Mai. They started at dog meat restaurants near where Misa went missing. But when Mai asked about the missing dog or where they got dog meat, all they got was a curt “Don’t know” and annoyed looks from the staff. Undeterred, they went to a pet market they found online. But when they arrived, they only saw caged stray cats—no dogs were sold there. Hanoi’s streets were chaotic in the days before Tet holidays, packed with traffic. The couple felt hopeless.

“They told us to try the Ha Dong dog and cat market,” Mai said to Long. “On the internet, they say it’s the biggest pet market in the city. Let’s check there. If we don’t find Misa, we’ll have to accept it’s gone.”

Long nodded. It was their last hope.

By the time they reached the market, it was nearly dark. They asked around and found the pet section, but most stalls were already closed. Luckily, they met a friendly dog trader. He said the next market day was the 15th of the lunar month, which would be the next 2 days. However, stray dogs were usually brought to him or other traders in the area. He looked at Misa’s photo, complimented its handsome face, and promised to call Mai if he saw it so they could buy it back.

The couple left with a sliver of hope.

“At least I feel at peace knowing we’ve done everything we could to find Misa,” Mai told Long. “If we don’t find him, it’s God’s will.”

That night, it poured rain. Long listened to the rain, thinking:

“Where’s Misa right now? Is he cold? Is he still alive, or is he already on someone’s plate?”

“Lord Jesus, please bring Misa back to us,” Mai prayed silently. A devout Catholic, she always trusted in God.

The next morning, Long heard barking that sounded like Misa’s.

“Am I imagining things again?” he thought.

Still, he ran to open the gate. He couldn’t believe his eyes—Misa was standing there, trembling, covered in mud.

“Where have you been for three days?”

Overjoyed, Long let Misa in and ran upstairs to wake Mai.

“Honey, Misa’s back!”

“Oh my God, really? It’s a miracle! All my prayers to God weren’t in vain. He heard me!”

Mai rushed downstairs and saw Misa wagging its tail, leaving muddy paw prints all over the floor.

“Oh Lord! Where have you been these past three days to get this filthy? Why didn’t you just stay gone?”

She turned to Long:

“Carry him to the bathroom so I can wash him.”

That afternoon, after Long came home from work, they talked about Misa’s return.

“I think he was caught by dog thieves but managed to escape,” Long said.

“I think so too,” Mai agreed. “He’s been so timid and scared all day, not eager to run out like before.”

“I don’t know how he escaped. It’s truly a miracle.”

“Maybe, like you said”, Mai shrugged. “He was a Vietnamese guerrilla in his past life.”