12-22-2008, 01:31 PM
Commemorating the death of my beloved pet and friend, Dexter, who died December 21, 2006. Its been two years, and this day still affects me deeply. I'm certain I posted a similar thread last year, which was deleted in the whole... forum error thingy.
So here's this again. I just wanna say... I miss my puppy. From the moment we got him as a puppy, to the day I neglected to pet him goodbye one last time, I loved him more than I loved anyone before. He wasn't even my dog, he was my sister's. She insisted that we got him so hard (she kicked my dad in the groin) that we got him when he was still too young to be separated from his mom. He was a little fluffy white bundle with brown patches on his ears, and he was very, very sweet with his half-open eyes. My sister liked him cute, but it was me who took care of him every day. I bought a baby-bottle and hand-fed him milk, I cleaned up the tiny little puddles of urine that he left around the house so my dad and mom wouldn't get mad, and I always, always worried about him when he was scurrying around by himself, the tiny little fella...
A few months later, he was a good, energetic, healthy pup, his pink tongue always hanging out because he was always panting from always romping. The brown patches around his ears spread and engulfed both his ears. He was sweet as can be with those perky ears with flaccid tips, that slender tail that was always wagging, smooth on the top but fluffier on the bottom, and those adorable, pink little paws. His pink nose had blackened at this stage, and he was very fun to play with.
A whole year passed, and I proudly compared Dexter to other mutts. Had I been his mother, I would've commented on his looks with "You've become so handsome!". He was a good looking dog indeed, even for a mutt. The brown fur around his ears spread until he looked like he was wearing a chocolate-colored bandanna with holes cut for his eyes to see through. There was a blaze of white fur that cut the bandanna in half from between his eyes and ears. He had a good shape, his fur was soft and fluffy one the "elbows" and tufted up on his chest. He had strong legs, a good, medium sized build, white fangs, a healthy pink tongue, hazel eyes, and white fur dotted with light spots. His pawpads were black now, and he had become very loyal. But my sister lost interest in him when he grew. She only wanted him back then because he was cute and small. The up side? He became mine!
Raising him myself has brought him and I very close to each other. I learned a lot from him, his confrontations with other dogs, the way he wagged his tail when he heard me walking down the street, he missed me whenever I was gone. The way he whined when he saw other dogs (usually strays) trying to copulate was funny at first, and I would ruffle his ears or cover his eyes (he tried to watch, the little tyke!). But then, I thought... what if he was lonely? Maybe he wanted to be with a girl dog and make puppies and have a family? But I couldn't let him do that, not with strays. Strays could barely feed themselves as it is. So we patiently watched them do what dogs do together, learning. I looked like a nutter.
I learned more from him after my parents left me alone with my dad's aunt to take care of me and my sister. I didn't have any friends in the Philippines, not yet. My Tagalog (native Dialect) was very rusty, and everyone called me "Ingles-Boy". I was often bullied, to which I resulted in attacking verbally. I learned that I had a sharp tongue, and that usually leads to physical injury... or detention. When I get home, I would sit by Dexter in his spot in the garage, on his little clean patch of floor which I think he keeps clean so I could sit there with him, and tell him about my day. I'd tell him about my teachers, my nice class adviser, Teacher Chee. She was a nice woman who paid close attention to each and every one of her students, despite having 63 of us all in one class. I told him about my classmates, how they were funny, how they were mean, how they were different. I told him about the food at school, it was okay. I told him about the bullies, and my problem with my own native tongue. I learned that this helped me every time we "talked". He would either sit there silently, eyes on mine as I talked to him, or he would have his head on my lap as I absentmindedly pet him, talking, or he would be on his back, or have his back against the wall like I have (its funny because he's mimicking the way I'm sitting. Sure, I prop him up like that just for fun sometimes, but he stays that way.) or he would be lying on my lap, looking up at me patiently.
Talking to him made my life easier, I didn't care if he understood or not, it was nice having a friend to talk to. Even if just one, even if the he doesn't talk back, I appreciate him for not walking away while I talk. Then there are times when I'm crying, because I was so lonely, or so fed up with myself, or just plain hurt. He was a lot more concerned when I talked to him while crying. He would lick my faces, maybe just tasting my tears, but it was comforting. He licked my neck, my hands, my knee, my arm, my shoulder, he would just lick tenderly, as if comforting me. Sometimes he'd pounce and make me laugh. I love him for that.
My sister was always out with friends, and I was always at home alone. Even my grand-aunt was out with her bingo buddies. I let Dexter in the house when no one's around, and let him roam with me to my room where I shut the door, got him on my bed for a few hours and just talked or cuddled, or watched TV. When there were people home, I just sat with him. You see... he can't really leave his spot. He was chained there because he chewed our garden hose a couple of times, my dad beat him with the hose until I got in front of him. Poor Dexter whimpering and shivering, tail tucked between his legs... I got my dad to tie him in his spot instead of kill him, I promised he would be a good boy, he was, he IS a good boy. And so, he sat, ate, slept and stayed in his spot, except when I took him out to do his business. Sitting in the back with him, he was behind the bars of a gate, and I often lay there with him, talking and hugging. One day...
The neighbor visited my dad's aunt and said I was doing indecent things with him.
My question is... How the hell did she decide I was doing stuff with my dog? His spot is in the garage, behind the bars of two gates, the front gate, and the gate leading to the back of the house. In front of the back gate, is lots of laundry, obscuring my Neighbor's line of sight, so what the hell did she do? Use binoculars? Isn't that illegal or something?
I was forbidden to ever go near Dexter or stay with him too long ever again. It wasn't fair. He was the only friend I had, he was so close, and now I couldn't even lie down next to him, and hug and talk like we used to. I got depressed without anyone to talk to, without anyone to love. Time went by, and I made one friend, who I lost when I changed schools. Dexter was still my friend. I sneaked out back and sat to talk with him when I was POSITIVE no one, not even neighbors, were around. So it was usually at late night. I vented, telling him about how stupid I thought people were, how mean they were, how they spread gossip... I felt better, and his tail was wagging. I really did love him.
This went on a few times, and one day... I fell asleep in his spot. He draped himself over me and it was comfortable, despite the hard tiles. I woke up to yelling. My dad's aunt was swearing at me, a lot. She said I was a disgrace, I was filthy, she was disgusted, and lot of stuff. I felt miserable. I only fell asleep with him, nothing was wrong with that. Why were they all accusing me of doing dirtier things than that? I hated everyone. Now I wasn't even allowed to go near him at all, even to feed him. Dexter trusted me, and loved me, he never once bit me or hurt me. Not when I tugged on his ears, or his tail, or danced with him, or moved his food, or fed him from my palm, he was a gentle soul, but fierce when he felt like it. I settled for petting him goodbye and hello every time I left for school and got back. It was our thing, our bond of friendship, the only thing we could do as boy and dog that could not, would not be misinterpreted.
One day, December 21, 2006, I was running late for my school's Christmas party. The service (the guy who picked us up) was honking his horn, and I just couldn't cross my Lancer and pet Dexter goodbye, so I waved at him and went on my way. It was a good party, the few friends I had made were there, it was the start of Christmas vacations, everyone was happy. We played games, danced, talked, ate, exchanged gifts, it was all good. I went home at 12pm (having went to the party at 7AM) with two tubs of icecream. By now, I had a reputation at school and at home as "That guy who was never down". It was only because of Dexter that I'd never let them see me sad.
When I got home... Dexter was silent. He wasn't wagging his tail either.
I propped my things on top of my Lancer and went to pet him. But I froze. The floor was wet with yellow fluid... urine? He never pees on his spot... To my horror, he was draped over the horizontal bar on the gate, his leg had caught on the intricate metalwork and he was hanging, the bar pressing against his stomach, maybe his bladder or other organs. The liquid on the ground was viscous, sticky, like saliva, but thicker, clearer, and yellowish. It was then I noticed the speckles of blood... and the strand of liquid still oozing from his open mouth. His eyes were open, his ears were laid back... but he wasn't breathing.
I got him off the bars, gently, heart aching... I set him down where it was clean. He was climbing the gate like he normally did, going in front of it and behind it... but this time... his leg snagged. Maybe he was in a hurry? Was this because I didn't pet him goodbye? I never pet him goodbye... the one single time I didn't... he had gone. My puppy was dead. My teacher, my student, my father, my brother, my son- all that he was to me, he was dead. What if I had returned home sooner? Maybe I could've saved him! It was a horrible way to die... it must've been slow, it must've been painful... it must've been... it WAS my fault.
Who will miss me when I'm gone? Who will listen to me when I'm in pain? Who will show me affection and comfort when I'm hurt? Who will accompany me when I'm lonely? Who will love me in this god forsaken house? Who will I love? I couldn't show my pain to anyone, so I put a smile on, and trudged up to my room, where I closed the door, locked it, turned the TV on loudly, and cried myself hoarse.
And now in memory of the most important friend to me, even more important than any human I've ever met, even kinder, even friendlier, the forbearing, gentle and fiercely loyal Mutt, my Dog, Dexter... I dug up this cheesy music for when I bow my head and pray for him.
Memory - Pet Love.wav -
If you've lost a beloved pet, whether dog, or cat, or hamster, or bird, or even fish, any pet at all, feel free to post here as well. And please remember the dog you've never met, who was always cheerful and patient with his freak of a master... Dexter.
So here's this again. I just wanna say... I miss my puppy. From the moment we got him as a puppy, to the day I neglected to pet him goodbye one last time, I loved him more than I loved anyone before. He wasn't even my dog, he was my sister's. She insisted that we got him so hard (she kicked my dad in the groin) that we got him when he was still too young to be separated from his mom. He was a little fluffy white bundle with brown patches on his ears, and he was very, very sweet with his half-open eyes. My sister liked him cute, but it was me who took care of him every day. I bought a baby-bottle and hand-fed him milk, I cleaned up the tiny little puddles of urine that he left around the house so my dad and mom wouldn't get mad, and I always, always worried about him when he was scurrying around by himself, the tiny little fella...
A few months later, he was a good, energetic, healthy pup, his pink tongue always hanging out because he was always panting from always romping. The brown patches around his ears spread and engulfed both his ears. He was sweet as can be with those perky ears with flaccid tips, that slender tail that was always wagging, smooth on the top but fluffier on the bottom, and those adorable, pink little paws. His pink nose had blackened at this stage, and he was very fun to play with.
A whole year passed, and I proudly compared Dexter to other mutts. Had I been his mother, I would've commented on his looks with "You've become so handsome!". He was a good looking dog indeed, even for a mutt. The brown fur around his ears spread until he looked like he was wearing a chocolate-colored bandanna with holes cut for his eyes to see through. There was a blaze of white fur that cut the bandanna in half from between his eyes and ears. He had a good shape, his fur was soft and fluffy one the "elbows" and tufted up on his chest. He had strong legs, a good, medium sized build, white fangs, a healthy pink tongue, hazel eyes, and white fur dotted with light spots. His pawpads were black now, and he had become very loyal. But my sister lost interest in him when he grew. She only wanted him back then because he was cute and small. The up side? He became mine!
Raising him myself has brought him and I very close to each other. I learned a lot from him, his confrontations with other dogs, the way he wagged his tail when he heard me walking down the street, he missed me whenever I was gone. The way he whined when he saw other dogs (usually strays) trying to copulate was funny at first, and I would ruffle his ears or cover his eyes (he tried to watch, the little tyke!). But then, I thought... what if he was lonely? Maybe he wanted to be with a girl dog and make puppies and have a family? But I couldn't let him do that, not with strays. Strays could barely feed themselves as it is. So we patiently watched them do what dogs do together, learning. I looked like a nutter.
I learned more from him after my parents left me alone with my dad's aunt to take care of me and my sister. I didn't have any friends in the Philippines, not yet. My Tagalog (native Dialect) was very rusty, and everyone called me "Ingles-Boy". I was often bullied, to which I resulted in attacking verbally. I learned that I had a sharp tongue, and that usually leads to physical injury... or detention. When I get home, I would sit by Dexter in his spot in the garage, on his little clean patch of floor which I think he keeps clean so I could sit there with him, and tell him about my day. I'd tell him about my teachers, my nice class adviser, Teacher Chee. She was a nice woman who paid close attention to each and every one of her students, despite having 63 of us all in one class. I told him about my classmates, how they were funny, how they were mean, how they were different. I told him about the food at school, it was okay. I told him about the bullies, and my problem with my own native tongue. I learned that this helped me every time we "talked". He would either sit there silently, eyes on mine as I talked to him, or he would have his head on my lap as I absentmindedly pet him, talking, or he would be on his back, or have his back against the wall like I have (its funny because he's mimicking the way I'm sitting. Sure, I prop him up like that just for fun sometimes, but he stays that way.) or he would be lying on my lap, looking up at me patiently.
Talking to him made my life easier, I didn't care if he understood or not, it was nice having a friend to talk to. Even if just one, even if the he doesn't talk back, I appreciate him for not walking away while I talk. Then there are times when I'm crying, because I was so lonely, or so fed up with myself, or just plain hurt. He was a lot more concerned when I talked to him while crying. He would lick my faces, maybe just tasting my tears, but it was comforting. He licked my neck, my hands, my knee, my arm, my shoulder, he would just lick tenderly, as if comforting me. Sometimes he'd pounce and make me laugh. I love him for that.
My sister was always out with friends, and I was always at home alone. Even my grand-aunt was out with her bingo buddies. I let Dexter in the house when no one's around, and let him roam with me to my room where I shut the door, got him on my bed for a few hours and just talked or cuddled, or watched TV. When there were people home, I just sat with him. You see... he can't really leave his spot. He was chained there because he chewed our garden hose a couple of times, my dad beat him with the hose until I got in front of him. Poor Dexter whimpering and shivering, tail tucked between his legs... I got my dad to tie him in his spot instead of kill him, I promised he would be a good boy, he was, he IS a good boy. And so, he sat, ate, slept and stayed in his spot, except when I took him out to do his business. Sitting in the back with him, he was behind the bars of a gate, and I often lay there with him, talking and hugging. One day...
The neighbor visited my dad's aunt and said I was doing indecent things with him.
My question is... How the hell did she decide I was doing stuff with my dog? His spot is in the garage, behind the bars of two gates, the front gate, and the gate leading to the back of the house. In front of the back gate, is lots of laundry, obscuring my Neighbor's line of sight, so what the hell did she do? Use binoculars? Isn't that illegal or something?
I was forbidden to ever go near Dexter or stay with him too long ever again. It wasn't fair. He was the only friend I had, he was so close, and now I couldn't even lie down next to him, and hug and talk like we used to. I got depressed without anyone to talk to, without anyone to love. Time went by, and I made one friend, who I lost when I changed schools. Dexter was still my friend. I sneaked out back and sat to talk with him when I was POSITIVE no one, not even neighbors, were around. So it was usually at late night. I vented, telling him about how stupid I thought people were, how mean they were, how they spread gossip... I felt better, and his tail was wagging. I really did love him.
This went on a few times, and one day... I fell asleep in his spot. He draped himself over me and it was comfortable, despite the hard tiles. I woke up to yelling. My dad's aunt was swearing at me, a lot. She said I was a disgrace, I was filthy, she was disgusted, and lot of stuff. I felt miserable. I only fell asleep with him, nothing was wrong with that. Why were they all accusing me of doing dirtier things than that? I hated everyone. Now I wasn't even allowed to go near him at all, even to feed him. Dexter trusted me, and loved me, he never once bit me or hurt me. Not when I tugged on his ears, or his tail, or danced with him, or moved his food, or fed him from my palm, he was a gentle soul, but fierce when he felt like it. I settled for petting him goodbye and hello every time I left for school and got back. It was our thing, our bond of friendship, the only thing we could do as boy and dog that could not, would not be misinterpreted.
One day, December 21, 2006, I was running late for my school's Christmas party. The service (the guy who picked us up) was honking his horn, and I just couldn't cross my Lancer and pet Dexter goodbye, so I waved at him and went on my way. It was a good party, the few friends I had made were there, it was the start of Christmas vacations, everyone was happy. We played games, danced, talked, ate, exchanged gifts, it was all good. I went home at 12pm (having went to the party at 7AM) with two tubs of icecream. By now, I had a reputation at school and at home as "That guy who was never down". It was only because of Dexter that I'd never let them see me sad.
When I got home... Dexter was silent. He wasn't wagging his tail either.
I propped my things on top of my Lancer and went to pet him. But I froze. The floor was wet with yellow fluid... urine? He never pees on his spot... To my horror, he was draped over the horizontal bar on the gate, his leg had caught on the intricate metalwork and he was hanging, the bar pressing against his stomach, maybe his bladder or other organs. The liquid on the ground was viscous, sticky, like saliva, but thicker, clearer, and yellowish. It was then I noticed the speckles of blood... and the strand of liquid still oozing from his open mouth. His eyes were open, his ears were laid back... but he wasn't breathing.
I got him off the bars, gently, heart aching... I set him down where it was clean. He was climbing the gate like he normally did, going in front of it and behind it... but this time... his leg snagged. Maybe he was in a hurry? Was this because I didn't pet him goodbye? I never pet him goodbye... the one single time I didn't... he had gone. My puppy was dead. My teacher, my student, my father, my brother, my son- all that he was to me, he was dead. What if I had returned home sooner? Maybe I could've saved him! It was a horrible way to die... it must've been slow, it must've been painful... it must've been... it WAS my fault.
Who will miss me when I'm gone? Who will listen to me when I'm in pain? Who will show me affection and comfort when I'm hurt? Who will accompany me when I'm lonely? Who will love me in this god forsaken house? Who will I love? I couldn't show my pain to anyone, so I put a smile on, and trudged up to my room, where I closed the door, locked it, turned the TV on loudly, and cried myself hoarse.
And now in memory of the most important friend to me, even more important than any human I've ever met, even kinder, even friendlier, the forbearing, gentle and fiercely loyal Mutt, my Dog, Dexter... I dug up this cheesy music for when I bow my head and pray for him.
Memory - Pet Love.wav -
If you've lost a beloved pet, whether dog, or cat, or hamster, or bird, or even fish, any pet at all, feel free to post here as well. And please remember the dog you've never met, who was always cheerful and patient with his freak of a master... Dexter.
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