I first saw Grikis in an online ad while I was at work. I should have closed it and gone back to what I was doing. Instead, I kept reopening the photo. There was something in his eyes I couldn’t leave behind. I thought it would pass. It didn’t.
A week later, I borrowed the missing money, traveled to another city, and brought him home. Our first meeting felt decided before I had even touched him. He bounced around me on those impossibly slender legs, as if the decision had already been made. I only had to catch up with it.
For three years, Grikis lived with me in Indonesia. For a dog from Lithuania, it was a completely different world — the heat, the sun, the sounds, the smells. Even his fur changed under the tropical light. But he adjusted in his own way. He stayed close. He watched everything. He trusted me.
Once, while running on the sand, he didn’t hear me calling and came dangerously close to a Komodo dragon. He came back safe, without understanding what had almost happened. I don’t think I have ever forgotten that moment. That was Grikis in many ways — curious, gentle, and often far braver than he realized.
When Kiapis and Kira joined our family, it was not easy for him. Until then, so much of life had been just ours. Suddenly, he had to share the space, the attention, and the routines that had belonged to us. At first, he struggled with it.
Slowly, he accepted them. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just in the way Grikis does things. And somehow, his quiet nature helped all of us find a new balance.
As Grikis grew older, he lost his hearing, and our language changed. We used touch, gestures, and the same eyes that first made me stop in the middle of a workday. Grikis is no longer with us, but he remains part of this story — and always will.
P.S. His name literally means a buckwheat grain, but his confidence never knew it.
Rita Domkute
Founder · Ela Teila
