Aya
When I was a kid I gave up asking for a dog early on. My dad wanted one, but my mom said it was too much work and being a lazy child I got easily discouraged and sided with her.
My dad never gave up on his dream. One day, when I was in college, he brought home a puppy from his sister's dog's litter and announced that she's staying and that's that. When my mom and I looked at the pretty little blond dog looking at us with her big brown eyes - the very definition of sad puppy face - we didn't have the heart to say no. The dog proceeded to celebrate the occasion of being adopted by peeing all over the living room.
And so, Aya became part of the family. Mom fed her. Brother walked her. I took her to the vet. And dad... played with her when he got home from work. An equitable division of labor.
The first time she ran away was just a few weeks after we got her. It was Saturday. My dad woke me up at the crack of 11am and announced that she's gone, ran from the backyard to the street through the garage, and he plans on getting a new dog. Now it was my turn to be stubborn. That is MY dog! And I'm going to find her. I walked around the neighborhood yelling Aya for an hour. Then I decided to start thinking like my stupid dog who thought only about food. I headed in the direction that smelled vaguely of fresh baked goods. As I passed one of the houses I saw a family in the front yard playing with my dog. Aya! She ran to me and started jumping up and down at the fence. When they opened it, she ran out, I grabbed her, picked her up and declared that she's my dog and I'm taking her. The woman explained that her son found the dog wondering around in the neighborhood and was so excited to keep her, but they were going to try to post notices around... A likely story. I looked at the kid with the quivering lip with little sympathy. But I faked some. "I'll bring her this way when I'm walking her sometime", I lied. Get your own dog, kid! I carried her all the way to our house. The homecoming was triumphant. I was the hero of the day, the week... the month actually, until she ran away again.
By that time she's become a fixture in the neighborhood, known as the dog in the window. Sitting on top of the couch looking out our big window was her favorite thing ever. It became "her spot". Adjustments were made to accommodate her and make sure she was set up in comfort and style.
Right, so the second time she ran away, my mom was the one who saved the day. Now, don't get me wrong, she didn't run away because she didn't like us. She just ran onto a street, took a few turns and got lost. Not the brightest light on the Christmas tree. The other problem was once she was on the street by herself for a few minutes, somebody would inevitably pick her up. This time was no exception. My mom became a true detective - she walked into every shop on our street asking if they've "seen this dog". Good thing by this time we had her picture. At the pharmacy they told her they have. She was carried by a girl walking that way. Mom followed the trail to a car service. There she hit the jackpot - they had a girl with a dog come in and take a car home. A few minutes and she had the address of the girl with the dog. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, commandeered my brother to drive her to the girl's place and was faced with a small apartment building. She rang random buttons until some woman answered. After explaining the situation to her, my mom was glad to hear that the woman's neighbor did in fact find a dog today and she just came home. They rang the neighbor, the dog was exchanged for a bottle of champagne and thus Aya was returned home the second time.
From then on we enjoyed a period of peace. I graduated, got a job, moved out. Aya grew, learned the neighborhood and could find her way around much better. She also grew less curious and more attached to the people who fed her, so was generally less willing to stray.
When she was walked people recognized her from the window and came up and talked to my parents. Aya would bark and jump up and down. "Oh! She recognizes me! I wave to her", the people would say. Little did they know, she barked and jumped up and down wagging her tail for pretty much anyone. She deemed any person from whom she had the tiniest chance to extract a belly rub as the best person in the world.
Sometime later, my parents sold the house and while in-between houses they moved into an apartment. They had a little trouble finding one that allowed pets. My mom had no patience for brokers who even mentioned a "no pet" place. She said she'll leave her husband, but she won't leave the dog behind. This is the woman who never wanted a dog!
In the apartment Aya found the one window facing the street and made that her new place. It was a sad version of the grand window she used to have. Eventually, my folks got a new house and Aya had a decent window again.
The last time she ran away she was missing for a few days. Dad was the first one to give up hope, as usual. I printed posters and hung them up around the neighborhood. My mom took them to pet stores. Eventually one of the pet stores called saying a woman came in asking if anyone was missing a dog. They showed her the poster and got a match! Once again, mom went over and brought the prodigal dog home. At this point they got her a tag with their address and phone. Yes, it took that long. Maybe we're not the sharpest knives in the drawer either.
As the years went on she grew into a slightly more sedate lady. She'd no longer flop on her back for any stranger that scratched her ear. Her tastes became more refined I guess. Her tastes in food never wavered. She loved it. Anything from our table that is. When guests were over (which is every weekend at my parent's house) she'd sidle up to one of them and give the old brown-eyed stare that said "feed me, I'm starving, they haven't fed me for days!". Then repeat the procedure with everyone. Even the toughest, most hardened people had a difficulty saying no to her and despite us forewarning the visitors, she usually got plenty of scraps.
A week ago when she left food in her bowl I knew she was in bad shape.
RIP
My dad never gave up on his dream. One day, when I was in college, he brought home a puppy from his sister's dog's litter and announced that she's staying and that's that. When my mom and I looked at the pretty little blond dog looking at us with her big brown eyes - the very definition of sad puppy face - we didn't have the heart to say no. The dog proceeded to celebrate the occasion of being adopted by peeing all over the living room.
And so, Aya became part of the family. Mom fed her. Brother walked her. I took her to the vet. And dad... played with her when he got home from work. An equitable division of labor.
The first time she ran away was just a few weeks after we got her. It was Saturday. My dad woke me up at the crack of 11am and announced that she's gone, ran from the backyard to the street through the garage, and he plans on getting a new dog. Now it was my turn to be stubborn. That is MY dog! And I'm going to find her. I walked around the neighborhood yelling Aya for an hour. Then I decided to start thinking like my stupid dog who thought only about food. I headed in the direction that smelled vaguely of fresh baked goods. As I passed one of the houses I saw a family in the front yard playing with my dog. Aya! She ran to me and started jumping up and down at the fence. When they opened it, she ran out, I grabbed her, picked her up and declared that she's my dog and I'm taking her. The woman explained that her son found the dog wondering around in the neighborhood and was so excited to keep her, but they were going to try to post notices around... A likely story. I looked at the kid with the quivering lip with little sympathy. But I faked some. "I'll bring her this way when I'm walking her sometime", I lied. Get your own dog, kid! I carried her all the way to our house. The homecoming was triumphant. I was the hero of the day, the week... the month actually, until she ran away again.
By that time she's become a fixture in the neighborhood, known as the dog in the window. Sitting on top of the couch looking out our big window was her favorite thing ever. It became "her spot". Adjustments were made to accommodate her and make sure she was set up in comfort and style.
Right, so the second time she ran away, my mom was the one who saved the day. Now, don't get me wrong, she didn't run away because she didn't like us. She just ran onto a street, took a few turns and got lost. Not the brightest light on the Christmas tree. The other problem was once she was on the street by herself for a few minutes, somebody would inevitably pick her up. This time was no exception. My mom became a true detective - she walked into every shop on our street asking if they've "seen this dog". Good thing by this time we had her picture. At the pharmacy they told her they have. She was carried by a girl walking that way. Mom followed the trail to a car service. There she hit the jackpot - they had a girl with a dog come in and take a car home. A few minutes and she had the address of the girl with the dog. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, commandeered my brother to drive her to the girl's place and was faced with a small apartment building. She rang random buttons until some woman answered. After explaining the situation to her, my mom was glad to hear that the woman's neighbor did in fact find a dog today and she just came home. They rang the neighbor, the dog was exchanged for a bottle of champagne and thus Aya was returned home the second time.
From then on we enjoyed a period of peace. I graduated, got a job, moved out. Aya grew, learned the neighborhood and could find her way around much better. She also grew less curious and more attached to the people who fed her, so was generally less willing to stray.
When she was walked people recognized her from the window and came up and talked to my parents. Aya would bark and jump up and down. "Oh! She recognizes me! I wave to her", the people would say. Little did they know, she barked and jumped up and down wagging her tail for pretty much anyone. She deemed any person from whom she had the tiniest chance to extract a belly rub as the best person in the world.
Sometime later, my parents sold the house and while in-between houses they moved into an apartment. They had a little trouble finding one that allowed pets. My mom had no patience for brokers who even mentioned a "no pet" place. She said she'll leave her husband, but she won't leave the dog behind. This is the woman who never wanted a dog!
In the apartment Aya found the one window facing the street and made that her new place. It was a sad version of the grand window she used to have. Eventually, my folks got a new house and Aya had a decent window again.
The last time she ran away she was missing for a few days. Dad was the first one to give up hope, as usual. I printed posters and hung them up around the neighborhood. My mom took them to pet stores. Eventually one of the pet stores called saying a woman came in asking if anyone was missing a dog. They showed her the poster and got a match! Once again, mom went over and brought the prodigal dog home. At this point they got her a tag with their address and phone. Yes, it took that long. Maybe we're not the sharpest knives in the drawer either.
As the years went on she grew into a slightly more sedate lady. She'd no longer flop on her back for any stranger that scratched her ear. Her tastes became more refined I guess. Her tastes in food never wavered. She loved it. Anything from our table that is. When guests were over (which is every weekend at my parent's house) she'd sidle up to one of them and give the old brown-eyed stare that said "feed me, I'm starving, they haven't fed me for days!". Then repeat the procedure with everyone. Even the toughest, most hardened people had a difficulty saying no to her and despite us forewarning the visitors, she usually got plenty of scraps.
A week ago when she left food in her bowl I knew she was in bad shape.
RIP