For my anak
My dog just died. Yes, this was the dog I pertained to as my baby. Oky was a daschund, also known as a hotdog. She had silky black hair which the vet said was fantastic, she was not so long but I remember I loved her ears-the way it sagged and the way it would get cold when she was cold. I remember those eyes that would make me melt in sympathy every time she wanted to get out of her cage, and that cold nose which she would use to poke me when she knew something was wrong with me. She was my “anak” ever since I was a young girl. I got her in 1998 and represented my younger years, when everything was simple and always happy.
I remember when I got her, I took her in my arms and put her in the basket, where she would always try to get up on her hind legs and peer into the world outside her little basket, as we drove off for home. I remember once I put her down onto the front yard, she quickly ran around and away from me; when I called her name or when I’d clap my hands on my lap or when I whistled (I had this distinct whistle just for her and she identified to it!), she’d coming running back-and that was how it was for so long. She always came running back to me.
I accompanied her to sleep when she slept outside for the first time. She was cold, alone and adjusting to the new environment. She would whine-my interpretation of which was crying-and I would sleep behind the screen door, trying to touch that wet nose, so she wouldn’t cry. I would always tell her, “Oky, I’m here. Don’t cry anymore”. During those nights, I would tell my parents to send her away, because she was crying and I couldn’t take the responsibility of making her happy all the time. But they never sent her away because they knew I wanted her to stay. When my cousins still lived here, they would come to the house on summer days and we would play with Oky in our yard. We’d run around with her, playing Tag and Oky would be “it”. My cousin would carry her and put her on the slide so she could slide down and we’d say in unison: “Karaoke! (Carry Oky because my cousins were half Americans)”. We played with her all the time, even when she regurgitated a rat, which she caught in the backyard, or frogs she would kill from time to time. All of us would run away from her because she had frothed for some reason, yet I was the only one who had the compassion to go back to her and give her water.
One time, we went to the beach and my dad told me to let her loose in the house. I was scared that she might run away since the beach house was open air, so I tied her on to the pillars or to the legs of the bed. She would whine because she wanted to go out to play with my cousins outside, but I was firm when I said I wanted her in the house-I didn’t let her out of my sight.
In the past, I would always play with her and attend to her everyday. I would even give her a bath and walk around the street with her or even carry her when I knew she was tired from running. I don’t know when the compassion stopped and I don’t know why. It was quite abrupt, maybe it was because of my cousins’ departure for the U.S. in 2000 or maybe it was because my lola also died that same year, but whatever it was, I lost my love for childish games, more so I lost my interest in my dog.
Maybe it was because of growing up, maybe it wasn’t. But all I know is that I could never forgive myself for not even giving her a bath once in a while, or even taking care of her or taking out the lice in her hair. I wouldn’t even bring her food or visit her in her cage. She would always try to reach out: trying to stand on her hind legs to reach my lap so I could pat her or giving me that nudge with her wet nose. I never really minded her anymore.
I loved her, I really did…but I don’t think I loved her enough. I knew she was getting old, I just couldn’t say goodbye to her-and now she’s gone, I never got to say goodbye. I never even got to pet her recently because she was slowly being devoured by lice and because she was filthy because no one cared for her anymore. I knew she was about to die, and for some reason I knew how, but I didn’t want to think of it.
She died because my dad accidentally ran over her as he was backing up the car in the garage. She was already half blind and she just didn’t see-or didn’t want to see-the car despite my dad’s warnings as he called out her name. I couldn’t stand hearing the story, I didn’t want to even imagine her in pain. I didn’t want to imagine her whine: that high pitched, slow, sad whine.
Now I see her in familiar places, I see her as if the world goes slow-mo and life slowly rewinds: I see her sitting on that favorite chair of hers by the front door, I see her running around the yard as she looked around at her new home, I see her barking at the fireworks as she tried to chase them on New Year, I see her as she tried to get up the spiral staircase when we would run away from her. I have so many memories but so little pictures. I can’t even imagine her face anymore! It will slowly fade away from my memory.
I write this as a eulogy and also as an obituary to my favorite dog, Oky. No one will write anything about her, only I can, for I had loved her as I had loved my childhood games…. I had loved her as a child would love her first dog. And she will always remain a part of me, even if she was just a dog ---she was the next thing to a family member, she was my anak.