There’s a quote going around FB and Pinterest about raising dogs. It goes something like “He might only be here for a part of your life but for him, you are his whole life.”
I’ve had 2 dogs in my life while growing up. They were part of my life, and for them, I was their entire lives. The very first of the 2 dogs, I got him when I was only 5 years old. I know this for certain because my dad took a picture of my sister holding him in her arms, the puppy was only a few weeks old. And my mom scratched the date on back of the photograph.
I remember the day. we reached my grandmother’s house in Melaka for our usual weekend visit, only to find a littler of 5 pups on the porch. Her dog had given birth. All them were alike (obviously), incredibly cute, and black as midnight. In later years, my dog would grow to have a thick coat of black, glossy fur, no doubt helped by a diet of rich and unhealthy food.
We took one pup, my cousin staying with grandmother kept one, and my rich aunt (then living in Kuantan) took one, the other 2 given away. I remember on the drive back home to Muar, I was thinking of a name for my pup, I was deciding between the only 2 dog names I knew – Scooby and Muttley. No surprise I went for the former. In later years when I watched American sitcoms, I was surprised how they named their dogs with human names like Fred or Roger.
So from 5 years old on, I lived and grew up with my faithful dog. he was everything you’d expect in a guard dog. He never barked unnecessarily , but was suitably fierce to suspicious people outside the gate. He never growled at us (except the one time my grandfather tried to move his dinner bowl while he was eating). He never disturbed the neighbourhood cats (unlike my other, later dog) and attacked pests and intruding vermin. One time a giant monitor lizard entered the house, and my Scooby fearless bit the body. I bet he was puzzled why his powerful jaw and sharp teeth couldn’t puncture the lizard’s leathery skin.
When he wasn’t a big dog, we’d take him to Melaka with us during the long year end school holiday when we stayed at grandmother’s house, when he’d spend his time outside his brother’s kennel looking at this other dog who looked strangely like him. His brother, named Balone (don’t ask me why) didn’t live for many years, though.
Scooby was a Doberman and Labrador mix, but he looked more Labrador. Once he outgrew his frisky puppy age, he wasn’t much of an active dog. Most of the he’d spend snoozing in at the back of the house or in the white wooden kennel we got for him. If we spoke to him, he’d give me this look that said “is this REALLY worth my time?”
But in later years, Scooby grew sick, immobile and had many visits to the vet. My mom loved dogs too, and spent a lot of money for his medicine. I always joked to my friends that my mom took better care of my dog than me, coz if ever was sick, all my mom said was “go and take Panadol lah, who asked you to stay up so late?!” At one point I had to forced Scooby to swallow his tablets, and hold him still while my mom dropped hydrogen peroxide onto his open sores.
Anyway, shortly after I left for uni, my dog died. he was 14 years old. I read somewhere dogs don’t usually live past 10 years, so I guess Scooby led a good life. he always at food from our table, was well taken care of, bathed often, and never scolded.
I sometimes wonder if it is true that all dogs DO go to heaven.
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There’s an awesome webcomic by ‘Cheer Up, Emo Kid’ from a few years ago, about his dog, read it.