Happy 4th of July, everyone … actually, I think not. I got a horrible phone call the morning of the 4th from my mother, telling me that our dog, Mogwai, died on the way to the hospital. That to me was the equivalent of hearing my family member — scratch that — it was exactly like hearing a family member has died.

Mogwai was a red Pomeranian that ended up looking like a fox, but when he was a pup, looked like Gizmo from “Gremlins” — hence, his name. He was the most spastic, crazy and sweet dog ever — and incredibly loyal to my father. I’ve never seen such unconditional love. He was my father’s tiny shadow, and would even try to get into the shower with him. He would never leave my father alone, and my father loved it. As he said, Mogwai was his son. So this has been incredibly hard on him. So horrible that I actually had to sneak a valium into my dad’s meal to calm him down.

Let me tell you about my Mogwai. He was incredibly spoiled. I would come home and my dad would be cooking steak for him. My parents would rush home so that he wasn’t home alone for very long. What I loved about him was when I’d come home, he’d wag his tail then flop on his back and expose his belly for a nice long belly rub. He’d even join our singing sessions, howling and yipping along.

He was a tiny dog that didn’t realize how tiny he was, and he was a fat dog that would throw a tantrum when you didn’t give him food from the table. He would paw me if I stopped scratching him. What I’m going to miss the most is, when I spoke to him in English, he’d tilt his head in a confused manner. (Mind you, until my parents got a hold of him, he was well-mannered and understood English.)

I will miss my dog very much. And my heart breaks that I didn’t get to say goodbye to him, and that I’ll never get to sing with him again.

— Jane Kim