I’m not sure if this is just a phase or something serious. I think I want a dog. Yep, a live one that barks, licks, yelps, cuddles, plays dead, fetches, knows when I’m down, excitedly meets me at the door every night – the whole “man’s best friend” deal! I know, I know, that kind also poops and pisses, needs to be walked, gets prone to ticks and other little miseries, requires a weekly bath, may have a dietary preference that’s more expensive than mine, might need to be brought to the vet more times than I have visited the dentist. These inconveniences – enough to scare this single, easy-go-lucky guy off his wits – notwithstanding, I still can’t shake off the idea of possibly acquiring a canine buddy (not that I have a shortage of the human variety because I don’t think I do.)
So tonight when Gladys and I rescued Mae, certified canine lovah, from her boring pit of a job and joined her for dinner, I took the chance to quiz her about life with a dog. (Now that I think about it, it could have been a wee bit insensitive of me to talk dogs with Mae; she had just lost her dear dog Harry a few days ago. But Mae didn’t seem to mind.) She gave me pointers on how to potty-train a puppy, and the mess that that entails. I also got an idea of what and how much it costs to feed the pet.
Our family had a string of dogs when I was a young boy. I can even remember most of their names: King, Champion, Swerte, Charming, Tagpi, Chika. But they weren’t really pets more than they were security guards. My first ever diary entry as an 8-year-old was about the death of King who was hit by a jeepney and how, within minutes, we had strange men who smelled of alcohol at our gate asking about the dead dog. Several years later, I understood why they were so interested in the dead dog, and why my elder brother angrily protested their proposition.
Well, let’s see what happens to this doggie fascination of mine. For now, I’m sleepy and need to turn in. I hear the first few nights with a new puppy are the worst. So I’ll savor peaceful slumber while I can. If this interest grows, I should tell my housemate about it. Well, he dotes on four pet goldfish and I don’t mind; I even feed the creatures when he’s away. Okay, I know, a dog is a totally different story. Unless, of course, I can convince housemate that I can keep my doggie in an aquarium – BUT he has to take his goldfish for walks, complete with leash! Nah. Weird thoughts… Gotta… sleep.