Goodbye

Dearest Banana,
I never thought I would ever have to write this. I knew I would, someday, but not so soon. Didn't we always bargain for 10 years? Then after your seizure last December, I renegotiated with you for eight. But you died last April 30, 2011, a Saturday, after we had visited your vet. You were 25 days short of your seventh birthday.
Sunny days still remind me of you, especially this time of year, your birthday month, when the days are long and bright and you would have loved to be in the sun, as yellow as the day, swimming in the ocean. We never did get to plan another trip to Anilao.
The days have gone on, and I have managed. But the sadness does creep up, especially in the early mornings when you would have awakened me, and we start the day with your walk. Kikay your baby sister is trying her best, but we all know she is not you. You had a five year headstart. We will work on making our own memories soon. But right now, we are mourning. I see it so clearly in her eyes sometimes, how much she misses you, it breaks my heart.
I have promised myself I would resume this blog for you. Maybe I will, one day, more actively. But right now, my Baby Girl, my life is dark and sad and I will mourn you.
Love,
Mommy

Welcome Back to Me

Dearest Nana,
Okay, sounds flaky for Mama to change tack in a blog after three years, but it's my prerogative, yes?
Everybody's blogging. I got inspired by, of all people, Tina Tagle. She's having the time of her life, so why not?
The title says it all. I am taking this away from you, sweetie, and turning it into a blog addressed to you. You are, after all, my favorite audience. Your importance to me has only been underscored by your brush with -- do we say it? -- death right before Christmas, so this will essentially remain a tribute to you.

HELLO AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY

TO mark my 4th birthday today, Mama finally got around to updating my blog—after five long months! Much has happened since then with Mama, which explains the silence. She left a long-time job amidst much pain and regret, but has pretty much moved on. I was there when she cried over it, and when she finally saw that sometimes you just have to jump, and God will take care of catching you. Thank goodness for evolution, as she likes to say. Trust me on that one; we dogs have a direct line to The Big Guy.

I’m still pooped from my birthday party yesterday where I had about a dozen doggie guests and about as many people. Let’s see, there were Tita Saree’s two bugoy beagles, Java and Mocha; Tita Audrey’s ultra-cool shih tzu Chili and my old friend Caper the whippet, who’s so skinny I’m always trying to hump him; Caper’s dad Raya and Tita Rina’s lovely (but rather anxious) greyhound, Beauty, and that little rascal, the Norwich terrier Hagrid; Misha the poodle who thinks he’s a great Dane; Tita Marga’s brood Tippi the Airedale (who stuck close to Mom and Dad because she was afraid of the thunder), Kohler the mini schnauzer (Mama’s second love, hmmmm), and the new adopted poodle Pixie; Tito Nielsen’s tiny Pekingese, Sonnet; and Tino’s girlfriend’s pug, Bongo. We had bones, as usual, plus fruit and cottage cheese, while the humans had a ton of food. Mama tried to get me in a dress, but it lasted about five minutes before I dunked my head in a bowl of water. So much for poise. That’s me getting a slice of birthday carrot cake from Mama, and pics of some of my furry guests.

A special guest was Tita Nenen from New York, and wouldn’t it have been a blast if Ate Wembly had been here! Here she is clowning around with me and Mama (channeling Kris Aquino, eeewwww). Tita Nenen worries incessantly about Ate, who’s in New Jersey with her friend Bridget and stealing the cat’s food. I’m guessing Ate Wembles is just a little anxious that her Mama isn’t within sight or sniffing distance, so she’s letting out some aggression. But we’ve got good moms, Ate Wembles and I; they’ll always come back.

I’ll be having my own little bout with anxiety in late June, when Mama leaves for India for yoga training for a month and a half. That’s a looooong time, a lot of chicken necks and kibbles’ worth of time. I will be staying with Tita Cora, but I do miss Mama a lot when she’s not there to cuddle me (albeit sometimes against my will). But I do know she will be back, and Lola and my dear Ninang Ame visit me every week anyway. I know it’s something Mama has to do, so I will accept and understand. Well, she misses me like mad, too. On her last trip, just watching Animal Planet on the hotel’s cable TV made her cry!

I’m lying contentedly at Mama’s feet as she types this for me, pooped but happy. She took me for a walk in the memorial park today, where it’s green and breezy, and I lay in the grass for a while, on the grave of the Lolo I never met. He was a quite a guy, Lola tells me. I hear Mama saying with some sentimentality that I’m at about a third of my life now, and hopefully with care and God’s grace I’ll live to 13 or more. Amazing how she worries so much about the years to come, when there’s so much living to be done today, and when we dogs are really not afraid of death. It’s just one of those mysteries we comprehend pretty well, knowing what the unknown really is and practicing the trust and optimism that we are so good at. We don’t need very long lives; we’ve perfected living, so there isn’t much we have to learn. But each dog on earth is here on a mission, and mine was to get Mama out of her funk, and to keep her happy and warm, and from all indications, I’ve done my job pretty well.

There are other updates we’ve missed from the absence. Rex the dude is now, by all accounts, huge and happy, loved to bits by his new family and welcoming guests to the pottery farm all the time. Mama has a new charity case in the aspin down the road, who gets fed and hosed down, but NEVER, ever gets out of his cage. He looks so morose, she calls him Lonely. I see Lonely a lot during our walks, ad he looks at me with unabashed envy and eyes that say, I wish I lived with you instead. Mama and my yaya Sammy just make do by refilling his water bowl and giving him treats. God, I count my lucky stars every day.

Also, Mama got me to put on another weird outfit for the Alpo Frisbee event. I was just supposed to strut around in costume with some cheerleaders (dig the funky red-and-white outfit on me), but ended up filling up the list of competitors. Me? Chase anything on dry land? You have GOT to be kidding. Give me water anytime. Besides, I needed time to chew on the things. Needless to say, my lack of talent elicited some chuckles, but I don’t have a self-esteem problem, so that was fine by me. At least Mama got three T-shirts, some doggie treats she’s sharing with Lonely, and dog food and shampoo she shared with Tita Saree’s bugoy beagles.

Oh, and did I tell you? Last Valentine’s Mama and I went on a serious date to Boracay, just the two of us. It was amazing! I behaved in my crate for the plane ride, despite the awful six-hour delay (SIX HOURS!), but the airline crew were pretty good with me, so I wasn’t too aggravated. We spent a lot of time just chilling on the beach, and even had a nice quiet dinner in an Italian restaurant, where I shared Mama’s salad while we listened to the waves. That’s me posing on the beach. It was wonderful walking on that sand. Anyway, Mama’s dream remains—one day, maybe, we’ll hit New York. Wouldn’t that be absolutely fabulous?

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.