Why a Maltese?

From time to time, people ask me why Machiko no Ishi donates plush Maltese dogs.

At first glance, a small stuffed dog may not seem like an obvious choice for a comfort gift to someone at the end of life.
The answer, as it turns out, comes from a very personal place.

Let me tell you a story.

In 2010, Machiko and I moved from Hawaii to Utah so we could spend a few years in retirement exploring the national parks and landscapes of the western United States. Despite her travels around the Pacific, she had never seen places like Yosemite, Zion, Arches, the Badlands, or Canyon de Chelly.

One day, while grocery shopping near our home in St. George, we noticed a community bulletin board with photos of a small Maltese puppy available for adoption. As we stood there, Machiko gently—very much in her way—asked whether it might be nice to have a dog to accompany us on our travels. Something small, perhaps, that could adapt to long RV trips.

It was clear to me she was already taken with that little dog.

By the end of the day, we had brought him home.

His name was Max.

For the next fifteen years, Max was a constant source of joy in our lives, and especially for Machiko. The two of them were inseparable. I used to joke they were “like white and rice.” Whether we were in Utah, Hawaii, or later California, Max was always right there with her.

As time passed, Max began to slow down. He eventually developed congestive heart failure, and one evening, after a short walk, he climbed into Machiko’s arms and quietly passed away.

It was a hard loss for her.

Some time later, when Machiko was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and entered hospice care, she would often reflect on those years with “her puppy” and how much that little dog had meant to her.

One day, I came across a stuffed Maltese—the same one we now use as our plush companion—and gave it to her.

She took to it immediately.

The soft white fur, the small size, the gentle expression... it reminded her of Max. It was something she could hold, pet, and keep close. When the pain would come, she would squeeze it tightly. At other times, it simply rested beside her.

She kept that little companion with her day and night. It made her smile when not much else could.

At one point, she asked that the plush companion remain with her through the end of her journey.

And so it did.

It was cremated with her.

In the months that followed, I found myself thinking often about how much comfort that small, simple object had provided. As a caregiver, there are moments when you feel there is very little you can do. But this—this was something. It was held, appreciated, and meaningful to her in a very real way.

When I later decided to establish a charity in Machiko’s memory, the choice was immediate and obvious.

It had to be that same Maltese.

Since then, I’ve learned that comfort items like these can have measurable benefits—reducing stress, easing anxiety, and softening feelings of isolation. But I didn’t need research to tell me that. I had already seen it firsthand.

The plush companion is soft, familiar, and just the right size. It has a gentle expression and a quiet presence. It asks nothing, and it can be there at any hour.

That, in the end, is what matters.

So when people ask, “Why a Maltese?” the answer is simple.

Because once, at a very difficult time, a small white dog—soft, quiet, and always there—brought comfort to someone I loved.

And that felt like something worth sharing.