ON REX AND RAINY DAYS

IT'S been cold, cold, cold -- last Nov.30 was particularly chilly, even for a furry babe like me. Tip to dog owners: rainy days do strange things to your dog's skin, so be on the lookout for fungal infections. It can be minor enough to need just some virgin coconut oil, like what Mama wipes on my underside when she sees all kinds of bites and red stuff there, or it might need a vet's attention. Please be vigilant. Also, if your dog sleeps outdoors (unlike me, yipee), he or she won't be happy sleeping on cold tile, cement, or wooden floors nowadays. Make sure you lay out some old towels or bedsheets, or maybe even just some cardboard. The nip in the wind is not comforting, and we want warmth.
In my case, I've been spending more and more time on Mama's bed, and she makes sure I stay on my side (read: near her feet, on top of a sarong she spreads out). Problem is, sometimes SHE crosses the line and cuddles! Oh well, more warmth is also welcome. If you want to do the same with your dog, make sure you wipe her paws with some Wet Ones like Mama does with mine so she doesn't track dirt and icky things on your bed. But believe me, we love it.
As for Rex my dear little runt, we've been playing more these days, but he and Uncle Larry are not quite on great terms yet. Oh well, what is it with males and their problem with authority? But there's been some good news, really: Here's Mama's latest installment on her Rex chronicles, and check out Rex's cute face and the patch of hair on his head. Is that funny, or what?

King Rex the First

I GOT him a purple collar yesterday. He was using an old collar of Banana’s that she had outgrown, but his neck has gotten too big for that, as well. It’s purple, the color of royalty, because his name also means “king,” and Rex wears it pretty well, even if I still have to see if it doesn’t irritate the hairless skin around his neck (if I remember right, he was wearing some cloth collar fashioned from a rag when we first saw him).

It’s December 1, 2007, three weeks since Rex came home with me. We visited Doc Marga last Nov. 24, and he got his shots, with a booster scheduled in six months, since, as Marga says, we don’t know if we’re starting from zero here. He was 23 kg when we found him; he was 28 kg last Nov. 24, a 5-kg weight gain, and I am pretty sure he’s gained a bit more in the week since then. He’s benefited from daily walks around the block in our village, and neighbors have been asking me about the scrappy-looking dog I’ve been walking before the others, dustpan and walis tingting in tow in case he poops in the middle of the street.

He’s still on a daily dose of Yakult and kelp multivitamins, which I mix in his morning meal. We’re on the last week of his mange medicine and mange baths. We’ve changed his dog food to something cheaper, but which Marga recommended and which has actually been better for him, as the last one gave him the runs and made his poop smell to the high heavens! Again, my friends have been pitching in. Ame sprung for a portion of the medical bills, Rina donated for the dog food, and Joy is even pledging a monthly “allowance” until Rex is in perfect health. There have been many e-mails, many offers, even from strangers. How sweet is that?

After three weeks, I think Rex is finally allowing himself to be completely loved. There are no more wounds on his body except at the end of his tail—I never knew a Lab’s tail could look so bony!—which he tends to snap at when I put Betadine on it. His hair is slowly growing back; I look to the V-shaped patch of thick hair at the top of his head (visible in the picture) as a promise of what he’ll be covered with when it all grows back. Upon Marga’s orders, I’ve had to shampoo him with dishwashing liquid (Axion! Grease-cutter!) because his skin is still oily from the medicines and fat supplements he’s been taking, as well as from some residual grime that’s hanging in there. That’s also why he still has a distinct, though not foul, smell. It’s amazing how much effort it takes to undo the consequences of doing nothing.

I’ve been working on showing him more affection, and he has learned to reciprocate with more confidence. In the beginning, whenever I would bend down to hug him, Rex would bow his head in such a heartbreaking way, like he was bracing himself for something; he still does when he sees the water hose when we’re preparing for his bath. I’m guessing he was hosed down in his cage or wherever he was tied for that awful time. He would also blink in puzzlement whenever I would give him one of his regular coconut oil facials, before proceeding to lick his lips. The skin on his face has been particularly affected by the mange, so it’s rough, hairless, and wrinkled. But, as even my mom noticed, he has the most startling brown eyes that look back at me intensely when I look into them and whisper assurances—promises that it’s never going to be so bad again, not if I can help it. He seems to be listening well. And then I get a wet nose in my face.

Nowadays, when I hug Rex, he wags his tail and allows me to wrap my arms around him. Even the way he eats has changed; although he still goes nuts at the sight of his bowl, he feasts with more leisure, and not like the food will be grabbed from him any minute. I think it has finally sunk in for him that things have gotten good.

By the grace of God, and with much thanks to the incredible St. Francis of Assisi, things might get even better. I really, really recommend praying to this saint and lover of the earth and all animals for any concerns over your dear pets, because he’s awesome, and he understands. I had started a novena last Sunday, the 25th, praying that Rex would get along with Larry, our older alpha black lab, who’s been acting cranky and jealous of late. Either that, or someone would give him a better life. As I told Anna, I’d been trying to work out the pack dynamics here at home, with me as alpha and the two males still working out second place. Banana is above it all, as she submits without hesitation and pretty much gets along with everyone; she and Rex have been playing more vigorously, though I still worry she might hurt him. Larry is almost 7 and is possessive over the other dog, a female Dalmatian, so the prospect of a young upstart sharing the same space and getting walking time isn’t making him happy. It’s not that they’re immediately at each other’s throats, but Rex isn’t running away, either, so I still don’t keep them too close together. I am hoping things will get better after Rex is neutered. Speaking of that, Marga has offered to neuter Rex this month, before Christmas. She has also loaded me with extra fat and skin supplements, all for free. I don’t think I can thank her enough for all the help, and for being so much into our little Rex project.

And then, on Day 4 of the novena, a gift from left field: my friend Popi finds a couple very keen on taking Rex. If plans push through—and I want to set everything before making it official—Rex may just soon find a home on a farm, where he can live indoors with other dogs. I asked Popi if they knew what he looked like, what he had been through—and she told me they had seen his bad pictures, and were precisely interested because of them.

A FARM! That’s like Disneyland for Labs, with lots of wide, open spaces to run across and dig through and laze around in. When Popi first texted me the details, I was in an editorial planning meeting at the Hyatt and having lunch with my officemates. Naturally, I bawled shamelessly, right there in front of the buffet table.

Popi and I are hoping to meet with the couple before Christmas, and if all goes well, Rex may be ready to move after he’s recovered from his neutering and is looking better, after the holidays. I had some friends over the other day, and they all commented on how handsome he was despite his condition. He’s got to look like the king that he is. After all, he might just have a wonderful new kingdom waiting for him. All I’m asking for now is for what’s best for my miracle Lab, and whatever that is, I know that is what will happen, whether he’s assimilated into our motley little pack or has a loving home awaiting him elsewhere. This dog deserves every sliver of joy, every blessing, and every bit of love that the world can give him.

SAVING REX

THE first time I saw him, I wasn’t quite sure WHAT he was, honestly. He looked like a patchy bag of bones and pink open wounds. But he wagged his tail and wanted to play, so I knew soon enough—he was a dog, a guy dog, and a Labrador just like me! But how did he get this way, I wondered? All he said to me was hello, and that he wanted to play, and that he was so happy to be eating and petted and spoken to again. In fact, when I saw him again after a few days, he looked much better and ready to play some more, as you can see in the top picture. The second pic is Rex at the vet’s, when they first brought him to my beloved vets on November 5. Bottom pic, Rex at home after 12 days, lots of vitamins and antibiotics, a few mange baths, and words of encouragement from Mama.

Mama started taking me everyday to sit and watch when she fed Rex and gave him his slew of daily medications, maybe so I wouldn’t wonder where the new doggie smell came from. Honestly, I don’t mind sharing Mama; I’m glad she’s doing something for other dogs. Rex and I haven’t really had the chance to talk much—my vet Tita Marga said I shouldn’t play with him too much yet, as I might tire him out, and he isn’t fully recovered yet—but from what I gathered, he spent many, many days alone, with no food and no baths, until he thought he was really just going to die. But he’s not angry or bitter—he isn’t even mad at people, and he looks at Mama and my yaya Sammy and all the other folks who are now taking care of him with these really adoring brown eyes.

Right now, Rex lives with us. Even Larry and Ruffa have made peace with him. Mama says she doesn’t know if he’ll really stay with us yet, but one thing’s for sure: he’s got a better life now. He’s never going to go hungry again, not if Mama can help it. Let me let Mama tell you in her own words this time, in this note she e-mailed to her friends:

Rex the Dog

WHAT really got me was, he wagged his tail. I had gone to the PAWS shelter last November 1, All Saints’ Day, to light a candle on Muffin’s memorial plaque and check out the little asPins, maybe to find a baby sister to bring home to Banana by Christmas. Then Anna Cabrera of PAWS took me to see the Labrador that they had rescued after being referred by the Animal Kingdom Foundation, and I found myself growing weak in the knees once again in the face man’s profound cruelty to the creatures who least deserve it.

It was supposed to be a day for the dead, and I actually thought the dog would soon be among them. Call me nuts, but I found myself in indignant tears, and immediately praying to the high heavens that whoever did this to him would one day die a slow, painful death and barbecue in hell. The dog was a smelly, patchy bag of bones with a whole torso of prominent ribs and open wounds all over his head. The skin around his feet were swollen and wrinkled like a sharpe’s, but definitely not as appealing. His hair was almost gone, and he was so absolutely caked in mange, I cringed. He threw up some yellow liquid even as Anna and I watched him. And then, he turned his brown eyes to us—and wagged his tail. Not a weak, tentative wiggle, but a wag as vigorous as his weak body could muster, which wasn’t bad at all. Foolish little angel, I thought. Don’t you know by now that people are evil, and we can be such bad news, and that we really don’t deserve you? Apparently, he hadn’t heard.

I couldn’t get the dog out of my mind over that weekend, and made a deal with Anna that, if things were too busy at the shelter that coming Monday, then she should have him taken to Vets in Practice, and I would pay for his treatment. I mentioned the dog to my friends Ame and Joy that weekend, and they volunteered to share in the expenses, so I was further emboldened. Anna and I had a frank discussion—if he was seriously ill, and it would cost too much to save him, and the money could actually save five other dogs, then I would leave it to her to decide if he had to go.

Come Monday, November 5, Anna called me as she and Liza brought the dog to VIP. On the phone. Dr. Nielsen Donato revealed that what we thought was a chocolate lab—yes, he was that filthy—was actually black, and that he hadn’t been carried, but he had actually BOUNDED up the stairs to the clinic. “He’s got the spirit,” Dr. Nick Carpio said. “I’ve seen a lot worse. This guy wants to live.” And soon, we had christened the dog Rex, for resurrection. I resolved then and there that I was going to try my darnedest to give this dog a second life.

I went to see Rex that same Monday after yoga class, and he had gotten his first bath in what may have been weeks. He was skinny, but still wagging his tail and immediately burrowing his head in my hands. He went for the food bowl with serious focus. We were in business.

Over the next few days, we learned that the swollen appendages were nothing malignant, just a major tick infestation. Rex had bad mange, but no heartworm, and his organs were functioning well. It was simply malnutrition and neglect, and so far, he was fine.

I had tried to keep some distance, asking Anna to find him a foster home and assuming he would go home to the PAWS shelter after discharge. But somehow, I couldn’t do it. It’s an ego thing, I will admit, whatever messianic complex I have coming into self-righteous overdrive. I want to take this dog, nurse him back to health, and make him beautiful and happy again as one big, reverberating “F-CK YOU” to every damned soul who has ever hurt a dog. Maybe I can’t single-handedly stop the dog meat traffic, or save every dog who’s been kicked or beaten or thrown into a dog fight, or keep flaky idiots from buying cute pups and locking them away when they prove too much to handle. But like I told Anna, I have to stay a little myopic here, or my heart will keep breaking. I have to look at just this dog first, and do my bit, one dog at a time.

So, I am writing this November 18, 13 days after we took Rex to VIP and a week since I brought him home. God does keep watch; I prayed hard to Him and St. Francis, patron of the animals, to make Rex’s homecoming easy. Now I have my brother’s support, and some house help to walk him and feed him when I’m not home. We’ve built a little cage for him, and he curls up in it contentedly when we put him back in after a short poo break. Even the other dogs, Larry the alpha black Lab and Ruffa the grandmother Dalmatian, seem to have accepted him.

And my darling Banana? As I’ve always known, my baby has a good and kind heart. There has been no jealousy, no tantrums, no aggression. I thank God she’s so secure in her love, she doesn’t mind sharing Mama’s attention, even for a while.

Now, Rex shoves his wet, drooling, still mangy face in my hands whenever he sees me, and rubs his body against my leg. I gave him his first mange bath outside the clinic the other day, after detailed directions from Dr. Marga Carpio, and the sponge came away black—but I’m seeing more of his skin everyday. Most of his wounds have dried up, although I see some fresh ones when thick encrustations of skin fall away. Even his tail is skinny! But he’s gotten more meat on his bones, he doesn’t stink anymore, and I’m seeing patches of his thick black hair growing back. We’re going back to VIP on Saturday for a check-up with Marga.

I am humbled by the joy Rex shows, even after everything he has gone through. To paraphrase Neruda, oh, how many times I have wanted to have a tail—how I envy his open spirit and his freedom from anger. Someday, I hope I can learn to forgive whoever did this to Rex, just as he apparently has. How much better would this world be if every person had a heart as big as a dog’s? How perfect would it be if we could shake off bitterness like water, like a Lab does after a swim, with such vigor and determination? What a gift indeed.

My friends are already kidding me that Rex is mine. I like to think he always will be, in a way. And if nobody takes him and is willing to take care of him with the special care that this miracle dog deserves, then I AM keeping him. But I live with an 83-year-old mom, and Banana had to learn to walk gently around her so she doesn’t knock her over; you know how Labradors are like small, panting freight trains when they careen towards you. If Rex stays with me, he will be walked, fed, loved, and taken care of. He will live in a kennel during the day, and when he’s well enough, have the run of my garage with Larry and Ruffa for the late afternoons and evenings. But I can’t bring him indoors like Banana.

Here’s the deal: If you, my friend, or anybody you KNOW WELL wants him, and if you want to take him indoors and give him a really good, cushy life, then he’s yours. I mean a life indoors with you and your family, occasional car trips, walks to any nearby patch of green—he’s a Lab, he’ll be the gentlest, most playful thing on earth, and he deserves some fun and a bigger world than the one he’s had to live in.

The bad news is, they estimate him to be about 3 years old, and the fact is, this kind of malnutrition usually has some permanent damage, so there is a possibility that he may develop problems in the future, despite everything we’re doing now—multivitamins, mange medicine, antibiotics, etc. The good news is, he’s an extraordinary dog with a second life, and I am only going to turn him over when he’s healthy and fully recovered again. But please assure me that you’re committed, because you’ve going to have to answer to me!

So there. Just letting you know my latest canine adventure, and if there is somebody out there who really wants him and can give him a better life than I can—I pray that St. Francis leads you to each other, and I will know that my part in Rex’s journey will have been fulfilled. I believe in fate; I’m still waiting to learn if I’m just a stopover, or the final destination in this dog’s life. Either way, it’s been a privilege. It hasn’t been easy, but hey—gifts come in different packages.

More Rex updates here soon.

MISSING MUFFIN

A DOG HAS DIED

By Pablo Neruda

My dog has died.

I buried him in the garden
beside a rusty old engine.

There, not too deep,
not too shallow,
he will greet me sometime.
He already left with his coat,
his bad manners, his cold nose.
And I, a materialist who does not believe
in the starry heaven promised
to a human being,
for this dog and for every dog
I believe in heaven, yes, I believe in a heaven
that I will never enter, but he waits for me
wagging his big fan of a tail
so I, soon to arrive, will feel welcomed

No, I will not speak about my sadness on earth
at not having him as a companion anymore,
he never stooped to becoming my servant.
He offered me the friendship of a sea urchin
who always kept his sovereignty,
the friendship of an independent star
with no more intimacy than necessary,
with no exaggerations:
he never used to rub against my knee
like other dogs, obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to watch me
giving me the attention necessary
to let a vain person know
that he being a dog,
with those eyes, more pure than mine,
was wasting time, but he watched
with a look that reserved for me
every bit of sweetness, his shaggy life,
his silent life,
sitting nearby, never bothering me,
never asking anything of me.

O, how many times I wanted to have a tail
walking next to him on the seashore,
in the Isla Negra winter,
in the vast solitude: above us
glacial birds pierced the air
and my dog frolicking, bristly hair, full
of the sea's voltage in motion:
my dog wandering and sniffing around,
brandishing his golden tail
in the face of the ocean and its spume.

O merry, merry, merry,
like only dogs know how to be happy
and nothing more, with an absolute
shameless nature.
There are no goodbyes for my dog who has died.
And there never were and are no lies between us.

He has gone and I buried him, and that was all.

Translated by William O'Daly



ISANG ASO ANG NAMATAY

Patay na ang aso ko.

Inilibing ko siya sa hardin
sa tabi ng isang luma't kalawanging makina.

Hindi malalim, hindi mababaw,
Doon niya ako babatiin pagdating ng araw.
Lumisan na siyang taglay ang kanyang balahibo,
ang kanyang masamang turo, ang kanyang malamig na
ilong.
At ako, isang materyalistang hindi naniniwala
sa mabituing langit na ipinangangako sa mga tao,
para sa asong ito at sa lahat ng aso
ay naniniwala sa langit, oo, naniniwala ako sa langit
na hindi ko mararating, ngunit ako'y hinihintay niyang
kumakawag ang abanikong buntot
upang maramdaman ko ang pagsalubong sa aking
pagdating.

Hindi, hindi ako mangungusap ng tungkol sa aking
kalungkutan sa lupa
dahil hindi ko na siya makakasama,
hindi siya yumuyukod upang maging tagapagsilbi ko.
Inalok iya ako ng pakikipagkaibigan ng isang eriso
na napananatili ang kasarinlan,
ng pakikipagkaibigan ng isang malayang bituin
na ang pagiging malapit ay tiyak,
hindi lumalabis.
Hindi siya namihasang sumampa sa aking suot
upang bihisan ako ng balahibo at galis,
hindi siya namihasang ikiskis ang sarili sa aking
tuhod
tulad ng ibang asong naglalandi.
Hindi, nasanay ang aking asong pagmasdan ako
at ibigay ang atensiyong aking kailangan,
yaong kinakailangang atensiyon lamang
upang ipaintindi sa isang banidosong tulad ko
na siya bilang aso, na ang mga mata'y higit na wagas
sa mga mata ko,
ay nagsasayang lamang ng panahon, ngunit pinagmamasdan
niya ako
ng mga matang naglalaan para sa akin ng bawat piraso
ng tamis,
ng kanyang mabalahibong buhay,
ng kanyang tahimik na buhay,
nasa isang tabi, hindi nang-aabala,
walang hinihinging anuman sa akin.

Ay! ilang ulit ko nang ninais magkabuntot
maglakad na kasabay niya sa dalampasigan
sa taglamig ng Isla Negra,
sa malawak na pag-iisa: habang sa kaitaasan
ay tumatarak sa hangin ang mga ibon ng taglamig
at ang aking aso ay lulukso-lukso,
balbunin, taglay ang boltahe ng pumipitlag na dagat:
ang aso kong pagala-gala at aamoy-amoy sa paligid,
taglay ang kanyang ginintuang buntot
at harap ng karagatan at bula nito.

O maligaya, maligaya, maligaya
na tila ba mga aso lamang ang nakaaalam kung paano
lumigaya
at wala nang iba pa, ganap at di nakikimi sa pagkaaso.
Walang paalam sa aking nasirang aso.
At walang kasinungalingang namagitan sa amin.

Wala na siya at aking inilibing, at iyan lamang.

Translated by Fidel Rillo

POET Fidel Rillo e-mailed this beautiful Neruda poem, and his wonderful translation, to Mama after she wrote about Ate Muffin’s death in the Inquirer. Ate Muffin died Nov. 30, 2004; she was almost 6.

Mama still cries when she thinks of Ate Muffin, a beautiful Belgian Malinois that Tito Greg gave her in 1998, after she had been without a dog for a long time—since she was in high school, in fact. By Mama’s account, Ate Muffin was a reserved, elegant dog who was fiercely protective of Mama and Lola. She didn’t start out that way, and was in fact rather insecure, but after some training at Tita Cora’s, Mama likes to think her real personality came out—that of brave protector. Mama says she even peed with one leg slightly up—how’s that for dominant female? This is Mama’s favorite picture of her, after she had her first litter or pups.

Like Mama loves to say, Ate Muffin came at the perfect time in her life. Mama was recovering from depression, and needed to do a lot of independent soul-searching. What better companion in your solitude than a dog, who says nothing but who knows just how you feel and will always be by your side? Although there weren’t many places she could bring Ate Muffin, Mama and her did have a life and shared quite a bond. Mama would walk her every day, and occasionally bring her to the cemetery or some other open space, but never far from home. Anybody who got within a 10-meter radius was in mortal danger.

Ate Muffin bore two litters of pups. Bagel, the only one mama kept from the first batch, was recently given to Tita Cora when the dorks who take care of Tito Greg’s dogs couldn’t do a decent job anymore when Tito Greg was incarcerated.

Mama doesn’t like to dwell much on why Ate Muffin died that day, after waiting for Mama to fly in from a junket to Palawan. Her body temperature had shot up, and she never quite recovered, so Mama brought her home to die. It may have been the bite of some lethal parasite, or complications from a previous operation that just popped up, or maybe even Mama’s fault—Mama would feed her a slice of chocolate cake once a year for her birthday, long before she knew chocolate was bad for dogs!

Mama is still haunted by the sight of Ate Muffin lying beside Lola’s bed, giving her a last, loving glance. Mama actually fell asleep for a while, and woke up to find her Muffin gone—a French exit without the drama. It was one of the saddest days of Mama’s life, and Tito Greg had her buried in the garden, and made a plaque in her honor.

Mama learned many things from Ate Muffin, including the fact that losing a dog should not shut any human off from the possibility of loving another one. It defeats the purpose of such a lovely lesson, because we dogs are here to teach people about honesty, joy, and love. That lesson would be in vain if the love ended with one dog, and all your remaining human years would be henceforth lacking in the blessings we bring.

Dogs teach people to laugh and smile more, and to pay attention to the details. We teach you that the greatest joys are simple ones, and there is no point in fretting about tomorrow and brooding about yesterday when today holds so much fun and promise. We remind you that there is always delight in the everyday, and that allowing a cute four-legged creature to lick your nose is all right, and healthy, and definitely good for your soul, as are little wrestling matches and baby talk and scratching upturned bellies (the last one is particularly beneficial, arf). I literally stop Mama in her tracks sometimes—just when she’s rushing, I stand in her way and make her remember what’s important. There’s no ignoring a 75-lb reminder!

Mama went to visit Ate Muffin’s memorial plaque at the PAWS shelter last November 1; she brought a candle and flowers, and met a lot of the aspin in the shelter. Here’s the memorial plaque, which PAWS is selling for only P2,000 each to raise funds for the shelter. It’s a wonderful way to honor a departed pet (call 475-1688 for details).

Which brings me to a happier thought—that every end brings a new beginning. The day Mama lost Ate Muffin was also the day that my fate was decided, because Mama’s friend Tita Kathy singled me out from among her brother Tito Nes’ puppies, and declared that I was to be Mama’s next dog, a gift from her dearest friends in the world. That was such a lifetime ago; I was with my brothers and sisters, and my name was China then, because I was a big girl and they named me after a lady wrestler. But like I always tell you—and you’d be wise to believe me by now—we dogs have a communication system that transcends time, space, breeds, and even dimensions, which is why Ate Muffin was able to talk to me in my dream (dogs do dream, you know). All I remember was a beautiful Malinois with gentle brown eyes telling me that she was leaving Mama in my hands, that Mama was better now and ready to face the world again, and that I was the dog to accompany her on that journey. Here’s a picture of Mama and me during my first week with her, as a pup already 8 months old.

How perfectly it worked out. I have no pretensions to being a guard dog; I love people, although I get a bit protective and growl when someone I don’t trust enters Mama’s space. But I am the more sociable dog, and I’ve gone with Mama to the beach, to malls, to other people’s houses, almost everywhere. Now it was my turn to be Mama’s guardian angel, as Ate Muffin’s job was done, and our world is a bigger one that the one Mama and Ate Muffin used to share.

It took a while, as Mama had to mourn Ate Muffin for a few months, even over the Christmas holidays, until Tita Kathy warned her that I was getting too big! It was January 2005 when I first came home to Mama; she even put me in a nice black seatbelt with fleece and drove me home. Neither of us knew what the future would bring. She did not know how we would get along; I had no idea how my new human would treat me, although Ate Muffin’s assurances did away with any anxiety. I suspected that my new human would die before she tied me up outside the house or left me in the rain. She also changed my name to Banana, her favorite fruit, a suggestion of Ate Kai’s. At least it’s got more character than Sunshine, her original choice! Shudder!

It will be three years this November 30 since Ate Muffin died, and 2 ½ since I first found my Mama. Our lives have been full of love because of each other, and I still pray to Ate Muffin to guide me when I feel I don’t understand what Mama is feeling, or when I am sad or afraid when she leaves me for a while. But those times have become few and far between, as I also have my Lola and my yaya Sammy and my Tita Cora and my ninangs to take care of me. The family used to be petrified of Ate Muffin; now I’m under the table during family dinners, getting handouts from everybody! Wheee!

Most of the time, I just give thanks to God and to the spirit of Ate Muffin, who has never really left, and still watches over Mama and me—yes, we dogs have our spirits, and we are part of the great big universe where all living things are one. I thank Ate Muffin for playing her part in bringing Mama and me together, and I ask her to keep me healthy and strong so I can live many more good years by Mama’s side. That’s why I remember Ate Muffin, too, and although we never really met—I miss her almost as much as Mama does.

PS I’m also asking Ate Muffin to guide Mama in the choice of my aspin baby sister, when the time comes to bring her home.

PAWS-SITIVELY DRESSED UP

WHAT a fabulous affair! And Mama and I were truly meant to enjoy it! Tita Anna (Cabrera, of PAWS, that wonderful group that takes care of my less fortunate aspin brothers and sisters) had been talking about the PAWS dinner even before Mama left for the US, and we had felt so bad when we thought we’d have to miss the event. Well, talk about silver linings; there were problems with the sponsors (something about not keeping your promises? Grrrrr. Okay, Tita Anna, I’ll keep my muzzle closed), which meant the event was delayed until October 20—which meant Mama and I, along with her friends, Titas Joy, Audrey, Popi, Saree, and Cathy, and their dogs, had a great time!

I knew something was afoot when Mama took me to the vet that morning—Tita Marga checked if the energy in all the supplements and products I was using were compatible with mine, a really cool new system of alternative healing, more on that in a future entry. Before we left, they said, “See you all tonight!” Tonight? Mama was seeing my vets?

Then Mama gave me an extra spritz of my insect-repellant dog cologne (from Giga! All-natural ingredients like citronella and sandalwood!) after giving me a serious bath that afternoon. Then Mama started to dress up, and the dead give-away—she fixed up my doggie bag! Oh joy, I was coming along! (PS A doggie bag contains everything I need, from water and a drinking bowl to a First Aid kit—again, more on that in a future entry). Mama experimented with tying a glittery scarf around me, but I didn’t think it worked; she eventually agreed. Here’s a pic of me with a different scarf, taken by Kevin Ong, and Mama and me in all our evening finery.

The place at Bonifacio High Street was wonderful, lots of grass and fountains and ooooh, other dogs! I almost dragged Mama over the grass heading there (well, I did gain 2 lbs of muscle, as Tita Marga said). We checked in at the entrance, and they gave me a pretty maroon scarf with gold glitter (good thing we left the ugly one at home, arf). Tita Audrey took Caper her whippet, and Tita Cathy brought Chili the shih tzu. Tita Joy was there with my sweetie Una, who has developed quite a dislike for loud noise, but he calmed down after a while. Tita Anna and Tita Liza looked so glam! My vets were all there, yippee—Tita Marga and Tito Nick Carpio with baby Roxy and dogs Tippi and Kohler (who Mama is always threatening to dognap), and Tito Nielsan and Tita Carol Donato and their kids, with dogs in three sizes! Cody must be the world’s most well-behaved Pomeranian. Cloud the Siberian Husky was very handsome, but Motombo the gargantuan mastiff was the biggest hunk around! Well, actually it was a toss-up between him and that gorgeous choco lab Tyson—soooo shy, but such a cutie (don’t tell Una!).

Dine with PAWS featured a buffet for both people and dogs. The people food, I gathered, was good—lots of veggie choices for non-meat eaters like Mama. But the doggie buffet! Oh food glorious food! Raw veggies, raw chicken, squash dumplings and all kinds of really good stuff. And we were worried it would all be processed cookies and fast-food! This was truly doggie gourmet stuff, and we also got clear water bowls to drink from (although Una and I could drink up the contents in a single gulp, they were so tiny).

What was heart-warming was how many people turned out. It wasn’t cheap; people paid P1,000 to eat, and P1,200 if your dog was eating, too. We were overjoyed to hear that the event drew a crowd of 300 and made some P225,000 for PAWS. And the stories we heard about the night’s awardees—Sassy, the dog who saved her owner’s life by calling for help after her human had fallen from a ladder; the people behind Bodhi and other groups who constantly donate to the organization; that babe Pia Guanio, who never turns down an invite to speak or appear in behalf of the organization. I was very proud when my vets were called on stage for having the heart to take on charity and grave cases, and for being fearless enough to treat the two poor pit bulls rescued from a dogfight in Antipolo earlier this year. What do Mama and I love about my vets? Aside from knowing their stuff, they love what they do, and they have animal welfare on their minds; it ain’t just all about the money! I still remember how Mama cried on Tita Marga when I had to undergo a second kneecap operation. They care, enough to take risks, as nobody wanted to help out with those pit bulls at that ungodly hour then but Tita Marga and Tito Nick. I’m so proud of you, guys! Here’s a picture Mama took—not too close, but well, you can see them.

There were so many celebrities around, too, and it was nice to see their dogs as dressed up as they were. My favorites were Echo and Heart—such a cute couple (especially Echo! Woof!) and with such a soft spot for dogs, too. I swear, it may take some time before people really do “See Beauty Beyond Breed”—honestly, there was only a handful of aspins that night—but with high-profile folks like them making a stand, I think there’s hope yet. There must be a change in attitude; PAWS can’t forever go around cleaning up after cruel, clueless, and inconsiderate humans who treat dogs like objects, and not the loving, loyal living things we are. I think it was Gandhi who said that a civilization will truly be judged by how it treats the most gentle and helpless creatures that share their world. How, indeed, can dogs fight against people, whether they skin and eat my brother and sister aspins, or think that dogs can be disposed of and given away when you tire of them, like used socks or a bag of garbage? Oh, if you only knew how happy we can make you if you let us. I changed my Mama’s life—and she never tires of saying so.

Disregard of animal rights in a country where even human rights are often trampled upon is a big problem, but PAWS is doing so much to help solve it. Pia Guanio was right; just because you have other problems doesn’t mean people cannot keep their humanity intact by being true stewards of nature, like God told you to be. That’s why Mama swears she’ll support these guys forever—Christmas is coming, and she grabs the opportunity to donate shopping money to them in her friends’ names instead of shopping for two dozen useless things that people don’t need, anyway. Now, that’s something to consider. In fact, Mama was sobbing herself when Tata, that lovely lady (she always smells sooo goood!) who started this all, got a much-deserved tribute. And no, Mama hasn’t given up on her plan of getting me an aspin baby sister; she just wants to make sure the dogs at home who aren’t getting enough attention are settled first, as well.

Me? I was just happy that night to be with Mama, her dear friends, and so many other dogs who are blessed enough to be so loved. I know that for every one of us who is safe and secure in our human’s love, a dozen aspins are hungry and neglected and dying painful deaths. But I have faith in PAWS, my mama, and people like them. All those good intentions can surely transform the world, I thought to myself, as, curling up on my doggie bed that night, I fell into a deep sleep , dreaming of squash dumplings and humans with good hearts.

ATE WEMBLY PART 2

AS you may have deduced by now, Mama went to New York, met Ate Wembly, and has found where her soul really belongs. She still doesn’t know how it’s going to happen. Will she work there, or work on making money here and then spend half of the year there? Will all that happen only after Grandma is gone, or will opportunities come soon? All she tells me is, the events of the last year have revealed much to her about the people she thought she would die with, and who she assumed would take care of her when she grows old. The biggest lesson of the last year for Mama—almost a year to the day, since the family got screwed up again by highly-publicized events—the biggest lesson has been, YOU’VE GOT TO FEND FOR YOURSELF. Things are so back to normal now on the surface, but really, even blood can’t be completely relied upon when the chips are down. You think you are part of a bigger unit, then just as suddenly, you realize you’re on the outside.

So, people, make sure you love yourself. People are strange. And that’s why Mama’s goal is to be completely self-sufficient, to choose her friends wisely, to accept the limitations of family—and to trust dogs more than people!

Speaking of dogs, here’s me and Ate Wembly catching up after Mama’s visit:

Wembly: Hello Banana dear, your Mama just left this morning—and heavens, my Mama says she was crying on the bus back to the airport!
Banana: Oh my! Was she sad, Ate? Did the city make her remember?
W: No, dear, it wasn’t the city at all. She loved the city, and I daresay she felt it loved her right back. In fact, she dreams of bringing you here one day, and I’m sure you would be delighted at all the nice spaces. Anyway, the fact is—she was actually crying about me.
B: What? Why ever for?
W: It’s sweet, and something I understand completely. She was telling your Mama that she was missing me—and was feeling afraid that she may not see me again, as she cannot come back until two years from now. Now, I don’t know if God will give me the gift of a longer life, but I guess she was afraid He might call me up to the dog park in the sky before we met again.
B: Oh my, what a morbid thought, but, well, it sounds like something Mama would cry about. She’s got the softest spot for us dogs, Ate. She’s even so pissed at her brother right now, because they want to buy a new dog—and poor Larry and Ruffa, their old dogs, don’t even have decent kennels! I swear, I think Mama would rather see people drop dead before dogs sometimes. But how do you feel, Ate?
W: When you get to my age, dear, you reconcile yourself with the inevitable. I’ve lived a good life, and I feel I have quite some wonderful time left. I guess when you’re a dog, it’s how well you live, not how long, because we cram several human lifetimes worth of love and honesty and joy in a few years. If you live long and are loved, then you’re blessed indeed. But enough sad thoughts, Banana dear, your Mama was delighted at the dogs she saw here. My Mama even took her to a doggie gym! And I must say, your Mama is just like mine in that she can’t seem to get enough of cuddling! It was quite funny, I tell you, having two noses in my face!
B: Oh dear, that’s Mama. I really don’t know how to tell her sometimes that I’d rather be sleeping than licking her fingers, but well, I don’t want to hurt her feelings. People can be such adorable, well-meaning pests, don’t you think?
W: Oh, indeed. Mama and your Mama even took me to that groomer down the street for a trim. Now, I have nothing against a little pampering, although that table was making me a little nervous—old bones, you know. But the evil man even said my behind smelled! The nerve! Do they have any idea how their behinds smell after sitting on that big bowl in the bathroom? Oh, if I were a Rottweiler I would have chewed his prissy nose off!
B: Oh, I’m sure he meant well, Ate. Did Mama get to go shopping?
W: Oh yes, I overheard her wishing she could bring you a huge fleece dog bed, but it didn’t make sense over there. Tropical weather, is it?
B: Quite, Ate. No winters here, and the summer can get soooo hot. In fact, Mama sometimes thinks I don’t like lazing around on her bed with her—but it’s really that the mattress is so much warmer than the floor.
W: Oh, I know what you mean; summers here are terrible, too. So your Mama did get to go to yoga—we could teach them a Downward Dog or two, haha!—and a couple of shows and a lot of shopping with my Mama. All this retail! Too bad we don’t like sniffing around for the same things. And then they spent your Mama’s last day here in the Park. I would have come along, but the walk’s too far for me now. Ahhh, I wish you could see it someday.
B: Wow, sounds wonderful. Ate, do you think I’ll ever see Manhattan?
W: Banana dear, be patient. Tomorrow it will be Boracay and some other beach. If your Mama can help it, you’ll be stopping at the lights on Broadway someday, too!
B: Oh, my mommy. I miss her so!
W: Just a few more days now, my dear, and your beloved human will be home. She misses you to bits, too. Take care of her—she’s had her troubles, but she is well and happy now. And I do believe you’ve played a huge part in that!

ATE WEMBLY

SOOOO sorry for the long absence. Mama was in the US for three weeks and came home to a torrent of work. I wasn't able to keep in touch because I didn't have access to a computer at Tita Cora's, where I board in Mama's absence (more on her in a future entry) as I only fiddle with Mama's laptop when she's not looking (maybe she suspects when she sees pawprints on Macarena the MacBook?), and Macarena actually went with her on this trip! The lucky thing!
Anyway, it was a great trip for Mama, mainly because, in her own words, her soul came home -- to New York. She thought she would live there once, many years ago, long before I was born, and she went back to visit her dear friend Vanessa (Tita Nenennnn) this year after 12 years. What a long time. Of course she had her apprehensions -- would she feel fear, pain, alienation? Would there be bad memories? The minute her bus rolled out of JFK into the city, though, she knew. This is where her heart belongs. And someday, she's taking me there. And I believe her.
Mama was never wanting in canine company in Manhattan, however, not just because of the dogs on every corner -- it is her new ambition to retire as a Manhattan dog walker -- but because of Tita Nenennn's daughter, 13-year-old Ate Wembly, a gorgeous Golden Retriever. Like I've always told you, dogs have a secret language, a secret network, and a secret communication system that people can only dream of. So, unbeknownst to Mama (and to Tita Nenenn, who is unaware that Ate Wembly types in her PC password when she's gone -- HA! and she thinks Wembles just sits quietly by the door, hehehe), Ate W and I had a chat some time before Mama left. Since I wanted to ask Ate W to take care of Mama, I did the calling...

Banana: Ate Wembly? We've never met, but I'm Banana, Alya's dog. I saw your picture in the snow in the computer.
Wembly: Oh, of course, dear, how ya doin? I saw your birthday party pictures too, what fun. No Goldens, though, not good, haha! So sorry if my Mama Nenennn calls you Saging sometimes, I hope it doesn't offend you? I believe it means "Banana" in your language?
B: Oh yes, no problem. So glad you know of me already. Your mom says we actually look alike.
W: Well, that's a nice notion, dear. Although I do have so much more hair -- adaptation to the weather, you know. It gets absolutely insane here, the cold, but I'm used to it. I hear your Mama abhors the cold, though, it's a good thing she's coming over at a good time...
B: Oh, so you know she's coming over, Ate?
W: Yes, I do, dear, my Mama has even fixed up her bed for your Mama, although my Mama really does prefer the couch because that's near MY bed and the TV. And what's an Ate?
B: That means big sister, Ate W, if you don't mind my calling you that.
W: Not at all, dear. I really was an Ate myself, although I have no idea where my siblings are now. I pretty much grew up alone in a house in New Jersey.
B: Oh, Mama told me -- and now you live in Manhattan! How chic!
W: I'd tell you it's overrated if I was jaded and old, but -- no, I really do love it here, sweetie. I just wish my old bones could take me further than the corner Starbucks where I do my morning business -- I know they've got fudge brownies on the menu, but I can't help it! Anyway, my life has really changed after I moved here with Mama. Less green, but so much more love and attention. I never thought I'd be an Uptown girl in my old age! haha!
B: Oh my. I'd love to visit, Mama says she'll take me one day when she makes enough money for the ticket. If she had her way, she'd live there, you know.
W: I did hear your Mama has, shall we say, "emotional ties" to this city. Well, my Mama loves it here. She's made quite a life for herself, far from where she was born. And I daresay I have just made her life more interesting, even if we did get together rather late.
B: You know what, Ate? Mama says that too. I think we've both done a bit of life-changing. Mama always tells me I changed her life, and she's certain you've changed Tita Nenenn's life, too -- given her reason to soften up, stop, and smell the flowers more, as it were. I'm lucky that Mama and I found each other -- and you and I are lucky, Ate, that we're living with Mamas who love us to pieces!
W: Indeed, my dear. I know we both get all the baby talk and stuff, rather trying at times, but -- you know what? I think our Mamas are both aware that it's quite a relationship of equals. I mean, she watches my every move, and she understands my quirks. I do feel the respect, even if she calls me an old gal sometimes.
B: Mama can read me like a book -- she knows when I have to pee, or when I'm up to getting stroked and massaged. But sometimes the massage hurts, especially on my bad leg, but she says I need it for the therapy.
W: Honey, when you reach my age, ALL your legs become bad! But you just make the most of it. I understand you get a lot of raw stuff to eat? How interesting. Too late to try that now, my constitution may not take it, but it does sound so nouvelle cuisine.
B: Not at all, Ate, it's the way our ancestors ate. Anyway, I do hope I can see you sometime -- or you can come over and I can bring you to the beach, I'm sure mama wouldn't mind...Which is why I'm writing, by the way. Please take care of Mama when she's there, she tends to miss me, and I'm worried she'll get a little sad if the place brings her bad memories. Please cheer her up.
W: Don't worry, dearie, I will do my best. I'm sure your Mama and I will get along fine. I have to go, I expect my Mama to be bounding up the stairs any moment now, and I want to make sure I turn all the switches off or she'll know I've been up to no good! Can't let them know what we're really capable of doing, now, right, Banana girl?
B: Boy, if they only knew...
W: I'll take care of your Mommy, and I'll give you a ring after her visit to tell you how it went. I expect they'll have loads of fun...Arf Arf now, sweetie, keep your paws clean. Don't let all the boys sniff you, choose well, hehe
B:Thank you so much, Ate. Woof.

WET PLASTIC

I LIKE rain -- but only up to a certain extent. That's why I look so bored in this pic, trying to fit into Mama's poor abused red beanbag (used to be hers, now mine, arf). When it rained cats and cats recently (we REFUSE to take the blame for the deluge), we were stuck inside the house. Too wet even to take a leak in the garden without getting soaked, even for a Lab like me who loves the water. Mama and I took advantage of a 10-minute window for me to do a few laps in the pool, but it rained again, grrrr.
What freaked Mama, Lola, and Tita Jane out was that the water almost entered the house. Yup, one major torrent, and we could be Atlantis soon. Why? The drains are huge, the streets clean.
Mama's conclusion? It's all the plastic, stupid. There's just too much awful plastic going around. Humans can't seem to live without this strange material anymore, which has made garbage dumps life threatening and the world's waterways mere trickles of what they used to be once upon a time.
Mama has a new resolution. QUIT THE PLASTIC. It helps that the term has apparently come to mean something terribly derogatory for people (as in, you're so plastic naman, in fairness, arf). She was inspired by the new katsa bags that they're selling at Archaeology in Rockwell for the rather steep price of P350, although it seems more fashion statement than practical option. Apparently it's a local version of the Anya Hindmarch bag that people are getting hurt lining up for. Mama's been trying to get one of the green bags at SM, but she doesn't want to sign up for an SM Advantage Card just yet. They also sell bags at Healthy Options. The bottom line is, find any reusable cloth receptacle you can get your hands on, the bigger the better, and use them instead of plastic. Make sure they're not too expensive and washable, so you won't feel iffy about putting wet stuff in there like my chicken necks and veggies. Mama even wants to cart one to Starbucks ABS-CBN after she recently got THREE paper bags for TWO items (a sandwich in a bag, a muffin in a bag, and BOTH in a bigger paper bag). What gives? I thought you guys liked trees?
Me, I once actually SWALLOWED a small plastic bag when I found something yummy in it. Good thing it didn't kill me like it does my friends the turtles, and I just poo-ed the thing out. Bottom line is, it's dangerous, so you people have got to stop using so much plastic. It wouldn't be a problem if you knew how to dispose of it, but you don't. Period. And because you wrap everything and your uncles in it, our rivers and seas and lakes will ultimately die. Think about it. I could think of a few things I'd like to put in there...

THE DOGS AND MONKEYS OF BALI

SEE that yellow dog that looks strangely like me from behind? No, Mama didn't manage to smuggle me on board the plane for her five-day dive trip to Bali. But she did meet a lot of interesting dogs on the way. This one, on a moonlit street in Padangbai on the east coast of Bali (where Mama, Ninang Ame and Tita Joy De G were blessed to encounter a mola mola on one dive), was named Tibet, and seemed more interested in chasing a gekko down the road than posing for Mama. There are lots of wandering dogs in Bali, and although some locals supposedly still eat them, Mama was pleased to learn that there is actually a shelter for stray Balinese dogs on the island, like a PAWS center. In fact, In Tulamben, where Mama got to dive the fabulous USS Liberty wreck off a rocky beach, she met two German ladies from Dusseldorf, Eva and Utte, sisters who had local dogs on leashes with them. The two were called Moo and Blanca, and were being rehabilitated after a rather unpleasant stay with a local. According to the ladies, Moo may just be off to Germany soon, and so will Blanca is she doesn't find a good home on the island. Anywhere in the world, God smiles down on people who go out of their way to save dogs.
Mama kept that thought, and thoughts of Utte and Eva, in mind when she read an awful article on the plane, in an Asian magazine, about how the Chinese have to decide whether to stroke or stir-fry their dogs! The tone was positive; more Chinese are now rising up against the government to protest the maltreatment of dogs in China (remember that recent culling and mass murder after a rabies scare?). What haunts Mama to this day, however, is a picture of a dog slaughtered and cut into pieces, ready to cook. It was the most horrible sight; you could still see its eyes, and its snout had been lopped off. God.
Anyway, Tibet escorted Mama and her friends home from a restaurant on Padang Bai one night, after a fabulous meal of gado gado and beef rendang (for Ninang Ame). Mama also got sentimental buying chocolate filled bread or roti coklat -- memories of her childhood in Jakarta, when her dad (the lolo I never met) used to buy it for her. As Ninang Ame said, only good memories. But Mama felt all the Bahasa Indonesia she knew so well as a third grader come flooding back, and she found herself counting, bargaining, ordering food, and even asking questions in Indonesian. Made interaction more interesting.
Check out as well these pics of Ninang Ame and a family of monkeys, and a funny picture of mama and friends seeing, hearing, and saying no evil at the Mandala Wisata Wenara Wana, the sacred monkey forest in Ubud, Bali. Now this was a pleasant surprise, something Mama didn't expect to be a highlight of the itinerary. The forest is home to some 400 long-tailed Balinese macaques (Macaca fascicuiaris). Now, macaques are found throughout Southeast Asia, and many species manage to live successfully in areas occupied by humans. Here, in a lush forest with over 115 species of identified trees, environmental groups are working together to preserve a space for the monkeys that sits smack in the middle of civilization and in the same place as three important Hindu temples, including one for burial and cremation services. Indonesian guides walk around the area, gently reminding guests not to harrass or tease the monkeys. You can buy bananas to feed them, but it might not be a good idea. The important thing is, they manage to thrive and live without being fearful of people; visitors keep some distance and stay calm when the occasional monkey tries to sniff around them for food. Mama even had one little monkey peeking down her T-shirt! It was heartwarming to see them happy, well-fed and seemingly doing okay despite the influx of tourists with cameras and videocams. Is this better than a pure, wild environment where they are left undisturbed? Not quite, but considering the circumstances, at least there is no fierce competition for space, as what happens with other wildlife.
At least these guys were a lot less shy than the mola-mola! But more on them next time. Above water, the monkeys and dogs of Bali were a true delight.

BANANA THE CANNIBAL (OR, HOW I EAT HEALTHY)

SEE what happens when you stay up late and watch these strange movies, Mama? Anyway, I tell you, she was up till 2 am watching a psycho B-film about a screwed-up guy who's a cannibal, who meets a kindred soul who WANTS to die by being chopped up and eaten...sheesh, people. Then Mama remembered how Tita Marga (Carpio, that's my vet, Vets in Practice, tel.no 533-7965) once texted Mama that she was feeding me banana chips while I was waiting to be picked up at her clinic after a check-up. "Di ba cannibalism 'yon?" she said. Yes, because I love bananas.
I also love apples, pears, papaya, sayote, cucumber, lettuce (with hard-boiled eggs and tomatoes! Yum!), carrots (grated by mama for easy consumption), grapefruit....in short, I pretty much have a healthier diet than most humans I know, and a lot of dogs. Mama mixes any of the above with 50 grams of dog food kibble (Canidae, an excellent brand that's good for all ages of dogs, from pups to seniors -- must be really good then), a drizzle of coconut oil, and occasional add-ons like yogurt or cottage cheese and kelp vitamins. Here's the clincher: she throws in raw chicken, beef, gizzard, or heart and liver.
The general reaction of the uninformed is "Eeeeewww! Raw? Won't the bones kill her? Won't she get salmonella, bacteria, etc?"
Well, Mama and her friends have adopted a localized variation of the BARF Diet by Australian vet Dr. Ian Billinghurst, which is heartily endorsed by Tita Marga and her fellow docs (that's her with daughter Roxie in bottom pic at my third b-day party). BARF stands for either Bones and Raw Food or the more politically-correct Biologically Appropriate Raw Food. What exactly does "biologically appropriate" mean? Simply that my ancestors, those grand old lupine sirs and dames, didn't eat out of a bag, and they didn't eat stuff that was processed literally within an inch of its life. The early dogs hunted and lived off game, smaller animals that included a lot of birds. They didn't sit around a fire and saute the things while knitting beanies for their pups, either. Fact is, the calcium in animal bones is the best we can get—better than any wussy supplement, really. Any excess, we excrete. And the bones are surprisingly pliant and easy to digest—it's when they're cooked that they become brittle and lethal. I know—i know dogs who have died from punctured stomachs because of chewing on cooked bones.
So early dogs ate that, and a lot of the plants around them, making for a really natural diet. Why do you think your dog still eats grass once in a while? It's our ancient memory of a remedy for an upset stomach—chomp on some grass, and throw up whatever's bugging us! So you see, we're a lot more durable than you think, you just baby us with all these store-bought goodies and, heavens, mineral water! My ancestors hunted raccoons and ducks, and you're giving me mineral water? How screwed is that?!
Anyway, there are companies in the west making a killing from prepared BARF meals, so of course, Pinoy parents have adapted. Tita Popi, mother of my honey Una, dumps about three kinds of veggies, tons of offal and raw stuff, and a wee bit of dog food in a bowl for Una's once-a-day meal. Mama thinks I would benefit from two meals for better digestion, so she feeds me twice a day, sticks to one veggie for the morning and one fruit for the pm, and picks either a quarter chicken breast or 2-3 chicken necks per meal or about 15 grams of raw ground beef or a few pieces of liver or gizzard.
Now, she doesn't just take the stuff out of the pack and throw it to me, though. To play it safe, she soaks the meat in water withs some vinegar for a few minutes to kill anything evil. Then it's thawed as needed (pre-packed in individual sandwich bags), thrown into my bowl (or a quick microwave defrost), and I'm soooo happy. Plus, although it takes more effort for Mama to shop for fresh vegetables every week, it comes out cheaper than buying tons of imported dog food in sacks. Sayote is only about P12 a kilo, she says, and nobody really knows what to do with chicken necks—a gourmet feast for me!
So far, what has it done for me? I'm healthier, my dysplasia has been kept under control, and my operated kneecap has healed beautifully. My blood values are excellent (so says Tita Marga), and to top it all, my poo doesn't stink so much, and neither do I! I think it's a great alternative to dog food made by companies that have been discovered to be actually TESTING their products on animals (PETA found a video of dog food maker IAMS doing unspeakable things to beagles in their lab—talk about ironic!). I have also never snacked on a piece of processed meat in my life—Mama leaps like a stuntwoman when some moronic friends or relatives attempt to hand me a slice of Spam or canned vienna sausage. The things that usually come my way from the table are lettuce leaves, beans, carrots, and the occasional (but already borderline) piece of bread. Mama would rather dollop some oatmeal on the floor than put me anywhere near a pork chop, as well. My Mom really looks out for me, sigh. Check out these photos of a typical two banana-kibble-and-chicken neck dinner, dressed with virgin coconut oil for flavor and good skin and hair; me wolfing it down (notice how the bowl is on a low stool, another Tita Marga nugget of wisdom—big dogs get food down their throats easier if they don't have to bend all the way down to the floor to get it); and me looking morose after I've cleaned out my bowl. As in, THAT'S IT?!!!! Oh, but Mama has her reasons—she's leaving room for late night snacks like charcoal treats or pieces of fruit. And to think there was a time I didn't have an appetite because of a lousy misdiagnosis, but that's another long story. Now I love meal time—and people, I really do get enough; don't believe your Lab when he or she gives you a really sad look. We'll try anything—and we're really good at looking cute and sad, hehe.
If you're feeling weird about getting on BARF, check out websites like www.barfworld.com (but don't get conned into buying anything), www.drianbillinghurst.com (or grab his book, "Give Your Dog A Bone," available in better bookstores), or the helpful www.njboxers.com, which has an excellent Q and A for the interested. With all that good stuff in me, Mama is praying I live a long and happy life. Hey, knowing I've got Mama, Lola, and my ninangs (more on them in the future) looking out for me, I'm already the happiest dog in the world.

FOR THE LOVE OF PIGS

I THINK it's a fair enough place to start to think about giving up meat. Officially, Mama says she first seriously thought about giving up meat when she saw the John Robbins video "Diet for a New America" while on detox retreat at Mandala Spa. Unofficially, it can now be told: Mama can't eat pigs and cows anymore because they remind her too much of me (so can you imagine what she feels about people eating dogs?). Not that I'm that fat and round, really (hey, I'm in shape). But I'm also a living breathing creature with a mind of my own, and I was put on this earth for a lot more than just to fill up a human's' belly.
Mama gave up pork and beef in August 2005. The first few months were tough, she likes to tell people; she would break into a cold sweat whenever she even smelled a hamburger, which she loves. Fact is, it's not a good idea for a diabetic like her to give up meat, because she has found herself turning more to carbs to satisfy hunger, and carbs are not a good idea if you've got too much undigested glucose already. But that's the point -- she didn't give up the meat because of health alone, but principle. She can no longer abide by the idea that something has to die to feed her.
This year, she gave up chicken, which was easy compared to the hamburger hurdle. It's her lofty ambition to give up seafood within her lifetime -- hopefully as a 50th birthday gift to herself and to her world. She's praying for the strength to do that. (Check out this pic of her kissing a fish in the Burma Banks instead of eating it).
Me? I felt Mama's pain when she came home once and told me about a picture she saw at the Inquirer, of stray dogs being readied for slaughter in a dog meat place in Tuguegarao, Cagayan. There were about a dozen dogs on the floor, still alive, but with their front legs tied behind them. Now, if you give this some thought, and if you're familiar with our anatomy, you'll realize that this is not easy to do -- which means either the dogs were really pliant, or the monsters broke their front legs before tying them up and stuffing their snouts into tin cans. You read that right -- tin cans. All because they wanted something to pick at while doing something universally productive, like sitting and scratching their swollen bellies while getting drunk.
Please take a look at Mama's articles next Sunday in the Sunday Inquirer Magazine. One is about animal advocacy as a popular cause, and there's a sidebar on how to prepare to get a dog. She talked to friends from PAWS and PETA, and PETA's Rochelle Regodon sent us this poster of a piglet with a cute statement. This is cute and easy to digest, but Mama's seen some really awful footage of pigs being slaughtered.
Sometimes she's driven to tears when she's stuck in traffic behind a truckful of pigs bound for certain death. The unsuspecting animals are pressed together like sacks, unaware that this is the end of their God-given life -- to satisfy some human being's craving for a pork chop.
Oh, she tries not to be judgmental, because greater injustices happen every day to other people. As one friend actually told her, "Your dog (that's me) gets treated better than many kids in Metro Manila." But see, people can talk. Animals can't.
She understands when it is a cultural thing, when it's a level playing field between hunter and hunted, when it's all a tribe lives on. But barangay tanods slaughtering dogs in the playground? Raising animals for "sustainable" slaughter? What the hell is sustainable slaughter? What is the difference between catching a wild animal and killing it -- and raising an animal in a cage, and then killing it? I think "KILL" is spelled the same, either way.
Still, Mama doesn't go around slapping people like that Lanao congresswoman if she accidentally downs a piece of pork. Once in Vigan, she bit into a Lumpiang Ubod that turned out to have bits of Vigan longganiza in it. No, she didn't scream at the host and throw the lumpia away. She ate it.
Please -- for your health, for the sake of our collective souls, for the sake of this planet that is feeling the strain of having to support massive livestock and poultry industries, and for the animals you are supposed to be the guardians of, but which you instead kill and slaughter in the most ingeniously brutal of ways, even if you're not exactly starving...
PLEASE. Try to eat less or no meat. Contact the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) if you want to volunteer or learn more. All this killing has to stop. Please let my fellow dogs and fellow creatures like cows and pigs live. There are so many other things you can eat without shedding any blood.
That's a special request from me and my boyfriend Una (in the water with me, isn't he cute?).

SMALL TOWNS, BIG STREAMS: A Lab in Liliw

LAST weekend, it was another road trip for Mama and me as we visited Liliw, Laguna with my boyfriend Una and some human titas from Mama's yoga gang. For Mama, the goal was to load up on those cute beaded slippers called 'cochos' that she has taken to wearing for formal affairs. For me, it was a more physical goal -- to see my very first 'batis' or stream.
We arrived in Liliw on a rainy afternoon, and I had to endure sitting in a small shoe store while Mama and the titas fitted pair after pair. The folks at Socialite were nice, but really, when you're covered with water-resistant fur and have strong foot pads, you really don't need the shoes. (Little Misha, our poodle friend, did sport two pairs of doggie shoes, though. Clothes look cute on toy dogs, but my Mama is convinced I face the world best au naturelle). I must say, I applaud my Mama's patronage of locally-made crafts. Those slippers are lovely, nicely made, insanely comfortable, don't shorten her tendons (essential for yoga), and they go with anything. Mama likes to wear them for formal affairs, actually; she just wore a pair with an authentic Indian saree for the Auggie Cordero show, but that's another story.
The Fernandez ancestral home is big and lovely, with exquisite wood, old furniture, and tons of fun stairs to jump up and down (good thing I've lost some weight, or I would have pulled another muscle negotiating the steps). It was an unfamiliar place, though, so I jumped on Mama's bed at night. The air was cool, the windows open -- if not for the roar of ubiquitous rural tricycles, I would have slept through the night.
The next day, we woke up to wonderful morning light and a marching band celebrating the feast of San Juan. The light was otherworldy (see my pic in the azotea, sorry Mama forgot to rotate it), but that was nothing compared to the big treat -- the spring-fed swimming pool and the stream in Tita Gigi's family property, at the border between Liliw and Majayjay. The water was cool and rushing, and Una and I couldn't get enough. Eventually we settled at the pool, where Misha learned to swim , I fetched my kong toy and tried to climb on Tito Joey's back a few times (sorry, I can't resist trying to get a free ride), and generally swam myself to exhaustion.
Labradors and water. What else could be more perfect? And who knew that places like this still exist, hours out of the blight of Manila? Everything was so green, the air so fresh, I had to get used to it. Mother Nature knew what she was doing when she created forests and streams and mountains. It's when you humans think you know better that things get screwed up. Stand in the middle of Los Banos or Liliw, and see what the world should be, and could have been, if people didn't think you knew everything and proceeded to cut trees and raze moutainsides and rape the earth for minerals and dump disposable diapers and water bottles into the nearest waterways. Helloooo -- if you had just taken care, you wouldn't NEED the bottled water. Oh well. Humans -- we dogs are your best friends, but sometimes, your stupidity tests even OUR patience! ARF.

ON LOVING THE WATER

This morning mama skipped both work (not a hard decision) and yoga teacher training (aaarrrgh) because she had a swollen tonsil -- but she was not sick enough to stay in bed. Thus, as she is wont to do, she took me for a few laps in the pool, even as she just sat on the side and kept from getting her head wet.
Mama and I love the water. She almost drowned when she was a young girl, as her brothers grappled for her in the swimming pool and proceeded to drop her; she was in about 15 feet before they noticed the object of their conflict was missing (such a common occurrence in life, hehe). But when she did learn to swim at age 11 -- in 1975, thanks to swimming lessons with Bert Lozada that cost her parents a then-princely sum of P400 -- she became a water baby. Mama is happiest when she is tasting salt, fighting waves, and feeling the sun on her skin, UV rays be damned.
When she got me, she initiated me slowly into the pool, as the Labrador guide books advised her. I was a bit apprehensive then about the cool blue stuff, although I was no longer a small puppy at 7 months, but I immediately knew it was something familiar, something strong and good. I waved my webbed feet -- Labs have webbing between our toes, ya know -- and I knew I was home, too.
Now I go with Mama everywhere there's water, if she can help it. She;s been promising to bring me to Boracay, but I'm still waiting for that to materialize. We both find happiness of a deep, quiet, indescribable sort, a happiness we can enjoy even in solitude, when we're in the water, especially the ocean.

THREE

It has been quite a few months since we started this blog, and only now have we been able to resume. But Mama promised to keep it going, as she has much to say, not just about our life together, but about other animals who are being hurt and killed and maltreated every day. And we hope to speak for a few of them.
I am my Mama's alter ego, and although she will live much longer than I will, I know she is learning many lessons from me. That is why we celebrated in a major way when I turned 3 years old recently. The "baby seal" pic sleeping on the edge of the pool was taken in Mindoro, when i was just a year old. The other pic is my official birthday portrait. Both were taken by Tita Popi. I hope I haven't aged much, hehe.