Puppy Love

When I was three years old, mom bought a puppy from Manong Fred, the “jueteng kubrador” (local lotto dealer). We called her Julie. She was a plain ordinary dog, an “askal,” short for “asong kalye,” which meant astray dog. She was furry white, with black spots all over like a Dalmatian. She had a distinctive black spot on her right eye that made that eye appear bigger than the other, like a permanent “black eye.” She also had a black spot on her head, between her ears, like a priest had a bald spot on his hair to denote priesthood.

Julie was a constant source of joy and laughter. She would wag her tail to show she enjoyed the games, such as hide and seek and catching the ball or peanuts (she preferred the peanuts). She was taught to sit on her hind legs like a kangaroo by Manong Fred. I remembered the inquiring look on her face, as she pleaded for us to rescue her from the rigorous sit-up training. But she learned anyway, although not quite. She saw through us and would rather be caressed than be forced to do the sit up.

Every morning, as we opened a window of Strike and Spare Bowling, where we live along Mabini St. (the gates were still closed at 6:00 am; we had to pass through a window), she would jump out ahead of us to pee in the garden. Then she would race to City Bakery, located near the corner of Session Road and Mabini St. and eagerly wait as we buy the pandesal (bread) for breakfast. Then, she would race back to Strike, jump back the window, and wait for the meal. As we ate, she would excitedly sit beside the table for any crumbs thrown her way. She just loved to catch a piece of bread or bone. When we forget, she barked to remind us that she awaited the next piece.

A Family Member

Julie knew her proper place. Her bed (and house) was located at the inside corner of the store, just below, left of the store’s cash drawer. During peak periods, she was tied to her corner. Like us, who got use to the sound of pins being knocked down by the bowling balls, she simply slept in bed when the bowling had a full house. She would only bark when she needed to pee or make shit. It was a signal for us to untie her, and let her run outside to the garden. After which, she would return, duly released from her biological dilemma, to be leashed back to her bed.

Julie was considered the youngest member of the family. She joined the fun games with the neighborhood kids in our mountain. She joined us for our regular Burnham escapades. We had the huge football ground as our playing field, where we could throw a ball or a stick as far as we could and she would run to pick it up and run back to give it to us. Julie was delight; she also elicited tenderness.

I remembered how Julie looked so pitiful when we bailed her out at the city pound after she was caught. She was so meek, with her tails curled between her legs. She perked up upon seeing us; she was free at last. Julie was a significant member of our paradise.

Mother and Matriarch

Julie was a prolific dog, which made her the matriarch of the dogs in the neighborhood. During her lifetime, she must have given birth to a hundred puppies (at the rate of five puppies per birth and twice a year pregnancy), which were distributed to neighbors and to friends. Every time she gave birth (which was under the bed of mom and dad) was a big event. During those times, I would join her in labor (actually just curiously watch her) as one after the other, a puppy would go out from her womb.

I was awed with how Julie licked away the transparent, plastic balloon-like covering of the puppies before they start their first breath, and, with her teeth, how she would gently cut off her puppies’ umbilical cords. I also marveled at how she provided for her puppies, idly laying down as the small ones sucked milk from her breasts. As the puppies grew to be bigger puppies (and although it was weaning time), she simply can’t refuse the onslaught of her little ones as they continue to feed on her, despite the rashes and wound they inflicted on her soft breasts.

Puppy No More

Unfortunately for Julie, she was just a dog, with a different pattern from humans. As kuya and I grew up to our teens, she grew old and senile, no longer capable of the old tricks. (I supposed, we didn’t really outgrow Julie, she just grew old). Julie became a burden - a mouth to feed and whose dirt should be cleaned.

One day, when kuya and I came home from school (I was first year high), Julie was gone. Mom sold her back to Mang Fred, to serve as pulutan (in Baguio then, eating dog meat was a delicacy). Kuya and I had uproar. Why couldn’t we just let Julie die naturally with us?

The answer brought me back to the real world.

From the measly 50 pesos payment for Julie, mom bought and sold vegetables in the public market, like one of the vendors who plied their trade under the heat of the sun (Mom was influenced by a friend that selling vegetables is fast buck). I didn’t know which one was more sickening – Julie being sold as food in some celebration, or mom having to sell vegetables to augment family income. Definitely, I was distraught.

A Lesson in Tenderness

Julie was just a dog, but was more than a dog to us; she was an angel with a tail. Because we gave her the human touch unconditionally, she responded in her own unconditional dog way through her loyalty and the wagging of her tail. She elicited from us pure tenderness.

Caring begets caring. It also brings out gentleness. If it could work between humans and dogs, it must work among humans. If, for whatever reason, one has to go, the gentleness remains together with the memories.