We got him during last year's Valentine's Day. There were lots of dogs to choose from, but the moment I saw him, I knew he was the one. Maybe it's because I am kinda used to raising dogs of his breed since my UPLB housemate Xtian is a breeder and he would let me take home some of his babies every new year. He was there, sitting innocently in his cage, waiting for new parents to get him out of that hellhole. The price was kinda steep so I offered we do splitskies, but then Hans paid for him and handed him over to my very much open arms. That was his Valentine's day gift for me (I do get the best gifts during this day... it was an engagement ring the year after).
I can't forget that day we became parents to a very sickly dog. I remember how he wouldn't dare walk around the house. He'd just stay where you put him down - even if it takes hours before you pick him up. Everytime his dad would come over, he'd always run to him with his hairy tail wagging and he'd look all contented and happy while he strokes his fur while on his lap. One time, he was so thin and sickly that I had to bring him to the vet and watch over him just like I'd do to my patients before. I cried and thought he was not going to make it through the night, but he did, and he did improve a lot increasing his size twice compared to what he was when we got him. I remember acting like a snotty mom when he impregnated our mongrel. Then again, what can you do? They're... dogs and bitches! Literally! A few months after living with parents like us and a dad as big as his, we noticed how he developed this Napoleonic complex given his size and the pitch of his bark. He suddenly became a Rottweiler inside a Pomeranian's body. Identity crisis indeed. He'd bark at the smallest commotion as if his teeny tiny yelps would make a difference. He escaped our gates once, and we were then alerted by concerned neighbors (who loved him so dearly) since he was trying to playing it rough with another mongrel from the hood that was twice his size. He's my dog from La Mancha... thinking he could conquer it all regardless of size, breed, or amount of hair as long as he can dream that impossible dream. All those antics, all those tricks innocently played... they endeared him so much to the whole household that even my dad takes pride in having him as my pet. He is our house's little ray of sunshine.
Then came that day...
Denial
I was about to go home from work after almost four hours of overtime. While on the lift, I sifted through my inbox which I only have the privilege of checking after all the office rush died down. After some work related messages and nonsense, I read this message from our househelp...
"Haze, si Weed, patay na."
I blurted out an expletive in the middle of that full elevator. Once the elevator doors opened, I dragged myself out the building. I was in a daze. I so wanted to call home but I can't find the strength to actually dial and know how he died. That can't happen. I was still a victim of his licking habit before I left the house. He's in perfect health! Than came to the rescue and escorted me to Starbucks to take it all in. There's only one person I'd want to talk to at that moment... and even if it was already 5 hours past his bedtime, I keyed his number in. I can't tell him outright what happened but I managed to verbalize it amidst the whimping. I wanted to cry but I can't. He slept in Marikina that night and I know how busy that day was for him too because of work, but I don't care anymore. He asked if I can manage to drive myself home. Usually, I would insist that I can and I'm already a big girl who can shift gears while eating/applying my lipstick/talking through speaker phone/etc., but this time, I know I can't and I know he won't let me. He told me to go up back to the office again and wait for my call. I did, and all I remember doing was staring blankly into space.
Anger
Just like clockwork, he arrived at the time I predicted him to so I was already waiting at the sidewalk. Seeing his pick up truck from a distance, I knew that solace is near. He opened the door for me without the usual happy greeting. There were no words... just the awkward silence and disbelief. He left his still plate numberless baby on the office parking lot not caring how much he's going to pay for the overnight fee. All we can think about is we have to come home to our baby. We transferred to my car with the plan that he's just going to drive me to work the day after. Once we settled in, there was a brief moment of silence. I know I can't contain it any longer, so the moment I knew that it was just us, I burst into tears. Without knowing the real cause of his death, I pointed to everybody like suspects. Was he fed something that can kill him? Did he choke? Was the gate left open? Was he run over by some drunk homeowner? Did he commit suicide? Was he suffering from a mysterious ailment? I have to remember to breathe in between the rage fits. He soothed my anger by telling me stories of Weed, of things that made us love him even more. I don't want to reach our house yet but we have no choice but to deal with this.
Bargaining
If only I paid a little bit more attention to him that day. If only I have been more strict to the househelp regarding his care. At that point in time, I was willing to spend for expensive vet care just in case there's still this tiny chance that we could get him back. I'm still hoping that he'd manage to come out of that sleep and that it was all just fabricated or something, but when I saw him lying still, there was no doubt... our Weed has indeed left us.
Depression
I spent that early morning in pain and sorrow. Not even his supposed irresistible charms (ehem!) can take me from the mourning state. I can't think straight. I can only think of my loss and the stupid null probability that I'd wake up in the morning hearing his barks that sounds like yelps. I am yearning for him. That went on for days... and yes... I am still counting the days.
Kubler - Ross definitely knows how this is supposed to end. I am hoping it is near, but until that last stage, waking up without the sound of his presence will just remind me that never can silence hurt someone this much.
So long, Weed. Be good there in doggie heaven.
R.I.P. Weed , 2007-2009. Lived a short but happy life filled with canine Napoleonic tendencies and teen unwed fatherhood issues. Died of mysterious causes. Brought joy to everyone he came into contact with, except for the ants, who had their revenge in the end, thus completing the circle of life. Wherever you are, we are sure you are still barking up a storm and humping away at the other angel dogs. We miss you terribly. Thanks for coming into our lives. love, mom and dad ;-(I can't forget that day we became parents to a very sickly dog. I remember how he wouldn't dare walk around the house. He'd just stay where you put him down - even if it takes hours before you pick him up. Everytime his dad would come over, he'd always run to him with his hairy tail wagging and he'd look all contented and happy while he strokes his fur while on his lap. One time, he was so thin and sickly that I had to bring him to the vet and watch over him just like I'd do to my patients before. I cried and thought he was not going to make it through the night, but he did, and he did improve a lot increasing his size twice compared to what he was when we got him. I remember acting like a snotty mom when he impregnated our mongrel. Then again, what can you do? They're... dogs and bitches! Literally! A few months after living with parents like us and a dad as big as his, we noticed how he developed this Napoleonic complex given his size and the pitch of his bark. He suddenly became a Rottweiler inside a Pomeranian's body. Identity crisis indeed. He'd bark at the smallest commotion as if his teeny tiny yelps would make a difference. He escaped our gates once, and we were then alerted by concerned neighbors (who loved him so dearly) since he was trying to playing it rough with another mongrel from the hood that was twice his size. He's my dog from La Mancha... thinking he could conquer it all regardless of size, breed, or amount of hair as long as he can dream that impossible dream. All those antics, all those tricks innocently played... they endeared him so much to the whole household that even my dad takes pride in having him as my pet. He is our house's little ray of sunshine.
Then came that day...
Denial
I was about to go home from work after almost four hours of overtime. While on the lift, I sifted through my inbox which I only have the privilege of checking after all the office rush died down. After some work related messages and nonsense, I read this message from our househelp...
"Haze, si Weed, patay na."
I blurted out an expletive in the middle of that full elevator. Once the elevator doors opened, I dragged myself out the building. I was in a daze. I so wanted to call home but I can't find the strength to actually dial and know how he died. That can't happen. I was still a victim of his licking habit before I left the house. He's in perfect health! Than came to the rescue and escorted me to Starbucks to take it all in. There's only one person I'd want to talk to at that moment... and even if it was already 5 hours past his bedtime, I keyed his number in. I can't tell him outright what happened but I managed to verbalize it amidst the whimping. I wanted to cry but I can't. He slept in Marikina that night and I know how busy that day was for him too because of work, but I don't care anymore. He asked if I can manage to drive myself home. Usually, I would insist that I can and I'm already a big girl who can shift gears while eating/applying my lipstick/talking through speaker phone/etc., but this time, I know I can't and I know he won't let me. He told me to go up back to the office again and wait for my call. I did, and all I remember doing was staring blankly into space.
Anger
Just like clockwork, he arrived at the time I predicted him to so I was already waiting at the sidewalk. Seeing his pick up truck from a distance, I knew that solace is near. He opened the door for me without the usual happy greeting. There were no words... just the awkward silence and disbelief. He left his still plate numberless baby on the office parking lot not caring how much he's going to pay for the overnight fee. All we can think about is we have to come home to our baby. We transferred to my car with the plan that he's just going to drive me to work the day after. Once we settled in, there was a brief moment of silence. I know I can't contain it any longer, so the moment I knew that it was just us, I burst into tears. Without knowing the real cause of his death, I pointed to everybody like suspects. Was he fed something that can kill him? Did he choke? Was the gate left open? Was he run over by some drunk homeowner? Did he commit suicide? Was he suffering from a mysterious ailment? I have to remember to breathe in between the rage fits. He soothed my anger by telling me stories of Weed, of things that made us love him even more. I don't want to reach our house yet but we have no choice but to deal with this.
Bargaining
If only I paid a little bit more attention to him that day. If only I have been more strict to the househelp regarding his care. At that point in time, I was willing to spend for expensive vet care just in case there's still this tiny chance that we could get him back. I'm still hoping that he'd manage to come out of that sleep and that it was all just fabricated or something, but when I saw him lying still, there was no doubt... our Weed has indeed left us.
Depression
I spent that early morning in pain and sorrow. Not even his supposed irresistible charms (ehem!) can take me from the mourning state. I can't think straight. I can only think of my loss and the stupid null probability that I'd wake up in the morning hearing his barks that sounds like yelps. I am yearning for him. That went on for days... and yes... I am still counting the days.
Kubler - Ross definitely knows how this is supposed to end. I am hoping it is near, but until that last stage, waking up without the sound of his presence will just remind me that never can silence hurt someone this much.
So long, Weed. Be good there in doggie heaven.
