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.