Since my favorite holiday (Halloween) is just around the corner, I thought of sharing stories around this theme, beginning with this one.
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I once had a dog named Doggie (pronounced “doji”). We adopted him in 1990 when he was just a puppy. He was stout and fluffy; that was why we easily fell in love with him. His coat was a mix of dark gray (almost black), some brown, and a few streaks of white on the chest. He looked like an Aspin version of a German Shepherd; that was I remember most about him.
He was also a playful fellow. As an only child, I love having pets because I’d have someone to play with if other kids weren’t available. He grew rapidly; however, our landlord eventually felt bothered by his presence. She complained that Doggie broke her plants, so we were left with no choice but to put him on a leash. My father built a doghouse for him, though.
Doggie naturally was sad to be confined in such a small space, but I played with him regularly after school. I would pat his head, stroke his fur, and we would run around his doghouse, where his leash allowed him to.
I also talked to Doggie. He was a smart dog, with round, observant eyes. I thought he listened each time I spoke. I promised him that when we moved to our own house, he could run freely and chase small butterflies. We just had to put up with our situation at that time because we were renting. I held on to that hope, and I felt Doggie did, too.
He was healthy and strong. We fed him well. He was round but not overweight. He wasn’t muscular, but that was because he lacked exercise. I thought he was also a handsome dog.
In 1991 though, I overslept because it was a Saturday. I vividly recall a dream in which an unscrupulous man suddenly appeared at our gate. He was holding a gun, and from my dream, I thought he wanted to steal something from our house. I ran away as he pointed the gun at me and hid behind Doggie’s doghouse.
The man fired two or three shots, which hit the doghouse. When I peeked inside, I saw Doggie lying lifeless on the floor. I cried in my dream, but I was suddenly woken up by the surge of emotions.
I thought, “Hay salamat, panaginip lang.”
As I finished that thought, our landlord’s son, Kuya Tito, appeared on our doorstep and said to my father, “Kuya Brando, patay na po si Doggie.”
My heart raced. I was shocked, both by the news and the sudden thought that my dream was indeed real.
I readily rushed out of my bed and went straight to the doghouse. Kuya Tito wasn’t joking. Indeed, Doggie was already gone. I felt my throat tighten with emotion and grief, but I held back the tears. My pet, my playmate, had already left us.
Up to this day, though, when I recall that vivid dream, I still can’t shake the feeling that something mysterious befell us on that day. Older folks say that dreams are the opposite of reality. However, at that moment, my dream was the exact reality.
In any case, looking back, there’s nothing more horrifying for a young boy than learning that your beloved pet is gone.
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