in loving memory of ruff

Typhoon Florita will always be memorable to me, because just as most of our fellow Filipinos in Northern Luzon were losing their property, my family lost a dear loved one… our dog for 13 years, Ruff.

Ruff was no special breed; he was an askal with the features of a golden retriever. My soon-to-be brother-in-law gave him to us in the summer of 1993. My sisters and I were so fond of him that we even invented terms that referred to him:
Jelly-jelly: the soft part right under his nose
“Lap-lap” : the sound he makes when he drinks from his dish
“EB” : short for “et-baet” which is further short for “baet-baet” which is what he is when he does not struggle loose when we hold him

He used to stay inside the house, until my first nephew was born, afterwhich my parents constructed a small shed for him in our wash area. He can move freely around it, but my mom also took him for a walk every morning minus a leash, since she was sure that Ruff will never wander away. But when she lost sight of him one day, we were so depressed when he did not show up for 24 hours! The following morning though, my mom heard scratching on our gate, and there was Ruff! She let him in, and he headed straight to the room where my sisters and I slept, and announced his presence! When we saw cuts and bruises around his jaw, we deduced that he was caught and gagged to be sold (or maybe killed and cooked!), but he freed himself and found his way back home to us! He endeared himself to us even more after that!

Ruff’s morning walks became less regular after that, though he had the chance to go out across the street during the yearly inoculation sponsored by the barangay, where he met other dogs in the neighborhood. (He even had a “book,” just like babies for their monthly checkup!) We just contented ourselves with teaching him tricks at the back of our house. He learned to jump at pieces of bread thrown at him, stand on two legs when the bread was held too high, and put his paw onto our outstretched palm at the command “shake!” He also loved being tickled on his belly! But what he couldn’t stand was the sound of firecrackers on new year’s eve! Every year, my parents would give him a bath so he could be tied up in a cozy spot inside the house until the explosions faded.

My sisters married and moved out, but Ruff stayed with us. Every time they came over, he would bark excitedly. (Actually, he would do that every time my mom came home from work, which means he would be given his dinner after a whole day of being left alone in the house.) My nephews have grown fond of him as well and have even called him “Good friend Ruff.”

So, it was sort of far from my mind that Ruff should start manifesting signs of old age: he cannot jump for bread, or see or sniff his food in the dark anymore. Furthermore, I was not quite sure how it happened, but he developed a nasty wound in his groin area, which at that age, would hardly heal anymore. My parents took turns in giving him antibiotics and treating the wound, which luckily, dried up soon after. However, one night, Randy and I were the first to reach home, and found him immobile beside his shed. It turned out that his hind legs were trapped on his platform, and he got soaked in the rain that day! We immediately removed the entangled wood, but when he still didn’t get up, I was worried that he was going to die then.

I saw him walking the next morning, but my mom said his legs were getting weaker. A few weeks after, he was no longer walking and started losing his appetite. On hindsight, I heard him whimpering the past nights because he wanted to shift position or eat, but couldn’t. My parents had to move him and clean up after him because he pooped and peed where he actually lay down! Poor Ruff… my heart bleeds…

On Tuesday, July 11, 2006, when I called home before leaving the office, my mom broke to me the sad news… Ruff had died… my dad discovered when he was about to give him some bread. When Randy and I came home that night, we went to his spot at the back of the house, and true enough, he was no longer there… We sat on the stairs and I wept…. I sobbed and Randy comforted me…

That night I was in my room, which was above Ruff’s shed, but it was eerie knowing that he was not there anymore. It was raining, and before I knew it, I was crying again… that I would no longer see his face pop up on our kitchen screen door, that I would no longer hear his panting and “footsteps,” that I would no longer smell his “doggy smell” (which I like, by the way), I would no longer be able to stroke his brown fur or hold his paw… I was very sad… I was crying because he knew that it was best that he left before the typhoon came… because he would get wet, be more sick, and he would not want to cause more trouble for everybody… I was very sad because he was helpless when he died… not even on all four legs, but down… as though beaten hard by a long-fought battle… I was so sad… so, so sad… our doggy…our Ruff… gone…forever…
I have cried other times for Ruff since then. Now, I try to look at his demise as a wake up call to move on, a challenge to be strong… after all, he has lived a full life… most of all, I look at it as a reminder that everyone around us has a role to play in our lives, they are there for a reason… God sent them to us to tell us that He loves us… and that we should always seize the chance to tell them that we love them… and not just in words… but in genuine actions, too...