I was supposed to blog about my birthday week, but this is a more pressing matter, so the birthday post will have to wait a bit. Pardon the length of this entry — I just want to pay a tribute to a friend.
I have always been afraid of dogs, so when my brother and his then-girlfriend-now-wife brought you home, I wasn’t sure what to make of you. I was afraid you’d bite and chase me around, which was the reason I thought I was a cat person more than a dog person. But you were a sweet (and fat) little bundle of joy, and you immediately warmed up to all of us when you first arrived at home. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could probably learn to love dogs after your first day at home.
I remember that time when you first got sick. I remember reaching into your cage to pat you, and you leaned to my hands because you were feeling weak, and for the first time, I felt genuine worry for you. I was afraid you’d be like the last puppy we had, who lived with us for two weeks before finally passing on my birthday. You were more of my brother’s dog than mine, but I have grown to like you then, and I couldn’t imagine you leaving us too soon. Thank God you got well.
Let me see if I could remember how you are as a puppy: you like snuggling into little corners, hiding from us so we’d have to look for you and chase you around. You were friends with one of our old cats, and I remember my brother taking a video of you trying to play with that poor cat who was trying to get away from you. You liked digging around the garden, and every now and then, we’d find you trying to chew on a rock you have claimed as your own. You liked baths, but only if my brother gives it to you. On my 21st birthday party, I had to put you away from the visitors and you kept on barking. I thought you were barking because there were strangers at home, but it turns out, you just didn’t want to be alone. You quieted down when I went there, and I found it really funny when some of my friends decided to sit near you and you sat like the good dog you are.