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Bobby
By Joyce Navarro
I was in high school then. I decided I did not like dogs when I got bit by a multiparous momma that hot sticky afternoon in Zamboanga when I walked by a neighbor's house on my way to school. It was almost one o'clock as I hurried and forgot my umbrella. I could have used it to fend away that nasty dog.
I did not realize it was getting late as I added finishing touches to my Spanish homework, an essay that was due that afternoon. Chipla te, what was I supposed to do, whip up 500 words or so in 24 hours when I could not speak a sentence of Spanish as of a week ago? It turned out my homework was too short, as I saw my classmates' Spanish essays that morning. Of course, they've been speaking Spanish since they were a year old, or Chavacano, if you will. I knew that Spanish was not Chavacano and Chavacano was not Spanish, but to me, it was the same difference.
From that time on, it was hands off on all dogs that crossed my path. I had a full blown case of canine phobia, and I didn't even know it. I didn't care. I had more important things to worry about at fifteen.
The years passed by swiftly and I was now halfway across the other side of the globe, a Texas taxpayer mingling with 23 million other Texans in Bush country. My husband loved dogs, the kids were crazy about 'em, and the neighborhood was full of dogs. I was living in Caninelandia, Texas! Cats did not survive in this subdivision. Dogs in our neighborhood could tree a cat in five seconds flat. People usually walked in the afternoons more often with their dogs, than with the spouse.
The twins' tenth birthday was coming and as they were having a small party that week-end, I asked them what they wanted. Both shouted in harmony: a dog! Oh boy, I shouldn't have asked.
The next day, I found myself driving with the family to the Humane Society and looking at dogs. The lady at the pound told us to check out the first section and not to go beyond the double doors. She added that the first group of dogs were ready for adoption that day so off we went to look. The boys looked at me for approval when they saw a dog they thought was cute but I did not show approval, so on we walked through the kennels, with dogs barking and pacing on both sides. After seeing some sixty dogs, we came upon the double doors. I opened the double doors and checked if somebody was on the other side but all I saw were kennels filled with dogs of various breeds, pretty much like the previous section. The twins followed me, with my husband behind them. I walked quickly through the corridor when I saw the cutest dog in the world. He was in the late stages of puppyhood and had white, long hair, a left ear that drooped and a right ear that stood up straight. He jumped up and down when he saw me. This dog could smile, I was so surprised since I knew so little about this specie.
We asked the lady about the white dog and she said this dog had to be neutered first before we could take him home. She said that he was in a separate section with the others because they were waiting to be euthanized the next day but she said that should not influence our decision because they had a lot more candidates for adoption. We played with the dog and observed how he reacted to us and the kids. We all fell in love with him and so a week later, Bobby came home with us.
At first, Bobby was an outdoor dog but as the winter winds of Texas blew across our backyard, we decided to let him in. From that time on, Bobby became my third child. Just like other boys, my twins forgot their promise to feed and bathe the dog, so the chore fell on me. I taught Bobby some tricks and he was quick to learn. I became a dog expert and a dog psychologist. Even our neighbors were impressed with Bobby's manners. He was smart, quick to learn, quiet and cute. He was such a good-looking American Eskimo dog that strangers stopped to pet him and tell me how great he looked. He loved to ride in the car, and even the lady at the toll booth noticed how handsome he was. She said she was going to get an American Eskimo as well.
"My beautiful, cute puppy
My white fluffy Bobby
My smart, loving spitz
A food taster wiz."
We had a lot of good times with Bobby. One time, we brought him skiing with us in Colorado. Though his ancestors must have pulled sleds a long time ago, our American Eskimo was from Texas so he looked for a patch of green grass to do his business. We all hollered with laughter as Bobby looked everywhere for grass. There was only snow on the ground so I told him it was OK to do it where he was and he left a smoking hole in the snow.
The twins eventually left home for college. My husband and I were empty nesters and would have been lonely were it not for Bobby. We went camping and fishing with Bobby. We went to different places in our van and Bobby kept us company. Like us, he could no longer run. He grew old with us as we kept on walking him in the afternoons. Little by little, the walks became shorter. Bobby would pretend to do his business every few steps. I knew then it was time to retire him from afternoon walks. He ached every time he stood up. He stayed on his bed most of the time but he stood up to greet me whenever I came home from the hospital. My husband said Bobby would be by the door five minutes before I even arrived. I just knew that Bobby and I must have a special bond.
Bobby was fourteen when he developed liposarcoma. He had his tumor resected a few years earlier but the lesion recurred at age fourteen. The vet said the tumor was no longer operable and she suggested that we treat Bobby symptomatically. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was time to retire Bobby. I asked the twins and my husband but they said the decision was mine. How could I euthanize my beloved pet when I was against euthanasia? To me, Bobby has ceased being a mere dog years ago and was family. He even had Christmas presents from each family member every year. One night, as my husband was watching TV and I was at work, Bobby gave a long, melancholic howl. When my husband rushed to his side, he was not breathing, so my husband gave him chest compressions. Slowly, Bobby started breathing again. I did not know what to make of it on the phone.
A week later, I was at the hospital and my husband told me that Bobby was breathing heavily. I felt flushed and my heart was pounding. Bobby died that night and my husband and the twins buried him right next to the magnolia tree in the backyard. I wanted to see our lily-white American Eskimo Bobby in the white magnolia flowers that adorned the tree behind our house. We had a service for Bobby the next morning and there was not a dry eye in the group that included my family and a few friends and neighbors as we prayed for him.
"Now we lay you down to sleep
My pet, my child, my sweet,
In dog heaven tonight you dine
Waiting for your master's time."
The twins were both home for the spring break that week. They were doing the dishes when I heard someone barking in the backyard. It was late in the afternoon, the day was ending to give way to the night, Apollo welcoming Diana. The sound appeared to come from the magnolia tree. I opened the back door and the barking stopped. The late afternoon breeze kissed my cheek as silence greeted me. The twins and my husband claim they heard nothing.
The next day, Kris and James were with the twins in the game room upstairs. I was on the computer within ear shot when James suddenly asked the twins if we had a dog. They both said no and James said he could hear someone barking from the backyard. He looked out of the window and pointed at the magnolia tree. I froze in place, goose bumps at the back of my neck and arms. Kris claimed he heard it, too. The weird thing was, so did I.
For the next six months, we would hear someone barking in the backyard usually late in the afternoon or early evening. I was the only one in the family who heard it. Oftentimes, neighbors and friends who visited us would claim they heard a dog barking in our backyard. The twins and my husband did not hear anything.
"Cry not for me when I am gone
Shed not tears, nor sorrow
Someday, we'll laugh as one
Someday, as in tomorrow."
One day, a friend who was with me the night Bobby died, asked if I wanted to adopt one of her dog's puppies. She said it was time I had another dog. My husband agreed when I told him. The twins promised to feed and bathe the new family dog.
I was surprised when I saw that my co-worker's dog was an American Eskimo. How cute the puppies were. There were five and I had the pick of the litter. They were all white except for a brown male. I chose the white middle puppy. We brought him home and named him Byron. He was cute and had a long, white and fluffy coat.
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Byron |
Choco |
I introduced him to his new surroundings and to the backyard. Immediately, he walked over to Bobby's grave and sniffed around and started digging. I stopped him and led to him to another part of the yard. We played around with squeaky toys. Each day, Byron left a toy on Bobby's grave. By this time, grass has grown on the grave and the grave was completely covered with freshly mowed grass. I could not explain how Byron would have known. One day, Byron left his collar on the grave and I felt goose bumps on my arms as I walked to pick it up.
"We'll see each other again
On God's eternal garden
For now, share your love and joy
With another canine toy."
A few months later, we found a stray dog walking around our subdivision as we came home from vacation. He was a chocolate-colored cocker spaniel so we called him Choco. We called all the vets and dog groomers in our community but nobody knew where Choco came from. Byron stopped leaving toys on Bobby's grave as he played and pranced around the backyard with Choco. The mysterious barking in the backyard ceased.
Bobby was at peace.
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