Of sorrows

I was supposed to post the entry about my Corregidor trip–I wrote it in advance while waiting for my sister to upload photos but I think I can postpone it for a few more days.

Today at work, I was greeted with the sad news that one of my editors’ dog died. Her (the dog) name was Banana, a pale-yellow Labrador with a mouth that seemed to mimic a person’s smile. I have never met her–only through the daily Banana stories that my editor shares, a habit quite reminiscent of a proud parent. She wore glasses during a photoshoot once and she liked wearing goggles when she swam. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard my editor talk about anything personal beyond Banana. And after six years of companionship, they found out that Banana had a heart problem. It killed her almost immediately after she was diagnosed.

It won’t be right to talk about Banana. For me, anyway. I read my editor’s heartfelt note about her on Facebook and the tears fell. Insensitively, not just for Banana, though it’s her on the spotlight now. I felt bad for our own dogs–it was a wakeup call that their lives weren’t as endless as the comforts they provided.

Choky and Fifi (Fiona) are literal creature comforts. It must be their extremely overweight warm bodies or the desperate wagging of tails as they greet you at home, but they have given us so much bliss as well as something to look forward to. Choky, especially, has been through everything with us and it has since been his personal duty to cheer up anybody who’s crying. It doesn’t matter that both of them have been stepped on (their quite tiny dogs, really), yelled at, pinched, poked, prodded, strangled (hugged), occasionally tripped over, and threatened to sell.

Fiona barely three months old, Choky (2009)

Owning a dog (or any pet, for that matter) isn’t as simple as finding someone to guard your house, impress the chicks or just something to play cute (or to amp up your very low cuteness levels) for you–unless you’re one of those. Insane as this may sound, they keep your secrets–as my mother has often proven, they won’t tell on you if you gave them sugar or the last bits of your potato chips; they play with you–act as your makeshift toy, pillow, friend all in one; they listen–though they usually can’t talk back.

If you’re one of those, owning a pet can take over your life and I’m not just talking about cleaning poop and pee and puke, or walking them every night, or explaining to guests why the house smells remotely like an odd mix of urine and and deodorant You’ll see that even the relief one gets when they’re out of the house leaves a a gaping hole as if something’s not right.

Funny enough for someone who finds dogs in general so terribly disappointing (the two still can’t talk and after so much training!), perhaps the biggest disappointment would be that one day, we’d wake up without their shiny presence.

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