Monday morning my father told me that our dog was about to die. I just took a bath then, but I was scared that I called him by our window. I didn’t notice how weak he was until he immediately moved his head to my call, no, not to the window where he was closer to and where I was, but to the door. His eyes were blank staring hard at the door as if he was trying to look for me but couldn’t see. And then he lazily dropped his back to the ground, as if it was his last effort to move. And when I was about to leave, I stopped by and came by his side looking at him, hearing him catching his breath. By the time I was on the van on the way to work, father said he just died.
At that moment I didn’t cry. It’s probably the stupid noise on the radio or me being aware that he was about to pass away that didn’t made me shed a tear. But when I came to work and narrated what happened to an officemate who also owns dogs I can’t help my eyes to well with tears. I don’t care if that camera overhead sees me. It’s at that moment I knew I lost a wonderful dog.
Borgy, or Ngugi as I call him is such a tease dog. He’d do ridiculous things like step on your foot when you do, annoy father whenever he attempts to go inside the house, and his incessant appetite that makes him moan every time he hears someone eating. He also used to gnaw on every foot wear we have regardless if it’s from visitors or us, and loves it when we have female guests. He also has this habit of answering back whenever you talk to him that there was one time I was buying taho and he was whining the entire time I said no—to the surprise of the vendor who commented that our dog knows how to reply. I would also miss how he looks at me each morning when I leave and how his head is on its’ side, still wondering if it was me who came home. He’s actually the first and last of the household who I greet that mom usually complain that I can forget to greet them but never the dog. And it’s the third day and I can’t help but still look at his house, somehow hoping that he is still there, waiting for me to give him something to eat.
We've all witnessed when an icon has died. So many of them this year alone and all we see are grand burial rites that no dog, mongrel or not would ever have. Yes, a death of a dog maybe infinitesimal to most, but to those who knows how to love a canine would understand when I say, I'd cry for Borgy. He will truly be missed.