Best Buds

Extracted from a scene in “Scrubs”:

JD had strategized a way to show off his newly developed technique and prowess in basketball. Of course, in order to perfectly execute the plan, he had snagged his best friend Turk along with it.

After relaying the details to his chocolate bear the set-up (otherwise known as Turk and no, it is not a gay thing), JD zoomed towards the ring and leapt. His aim was completely off. Miscalculation of both height, distance and trajectory had his frontal lobe meeting the acquaintance of the hoop.

Hoop: Hello!

Frontal Lobe: Aaaahhhh!

The resounding bang of forehead hitting

metal echoed in the entire court. Unconscious, JD went free falling from the three feet height he cleared from the ground. As an unfortunate result of what just happened, the posterior side of his body awaited, likewise, the acquaintance of the ground:

Posterior side of JD’s body: Hello!

Patch of cemented ground1: You’re mistaking me for a bed!

Patch of cemented ground2: Here’s another one!

Turk, in support of JD’s state of lying on the ground, settled himself down

beside JD. His reasoning? He would not want JD to look like a fool lying down there all by himself. So, he got comfy, horizontally parallel to his partner in crime.

Much in the same way, this reminded me of the

agreement – unwritten and unspoken, just this mere understanding communicated through our bond – between Leon and me. He knows that I am a clumsy idiot, always becoming instantly alert at a squeak that I make whenever I made a misstep.

Stupid wobbly ankles!

Anyways, a couple of weeks ago, I was playing with my beloved dog, getting him to race with me- though a bit pointless as he goes up to speeds

of 100mi/hr. He likes to smugly zoom past me though and I like letting him get the upperhand here at the very least.

We used the coconuts trees at the end of the empty lot as the starting point. After sharing a look with him, I shouted, “Go!”

There we went, digging our feet/paw in the dirt to push ourselves forward. Loose rocks were on our way – I struggled to avoid them but Leon was undeterred. Disaster struck as we, rather I, reached the end of the line. As Leon waited for me there, tail wagging, the balls of my feet rolled along with the pebbles they landed on.

My legs flew up in the air and my rump predictably kissed the ground as I noisily descended on it. A tear or two would have leaked out of my eyes if I hadn’t found Leon suddenly on my side, tongue out, mouth wide ope

n as he huffed in and out.

Yes, maybe he was laughing at me, but I couldn’t discount the fact that he was there. Rump smarting, I hugged him and giggled along.

Love my doggie.

Tinee’s Revenge

Despite her nasty mannerism (read Tinee’s Tongue for more details), its kind of nice to sleep on the bed beside her. She doesn’t smell as much as Topi and Minime. More so, she doesn’t treat you as though you are an extension of the bed during nap times –i.e., making use of your back to cross from side of the bed to the other, trudging on your back as though it is a bridgeway, resting halfway on top of your leg like you would do to a pillow, etc.

What I didn’t expect was for Tinee to take advantage of  her eligibility to be chosen to snooze on the bed to elicit a long overdue revenge.

The other night, I drowsily made my way to the bed, picking up Tinee in the process. As I settled for the night, I let Tinee loose so she can do the same, noticing that Talia’s entrance to the room, laptop and camera phone in hand, probably feeling the need to have a change of scene after being locked up in her room the whole day (entirely her own doing).

The stage was set. I succumbed to the summonings of sleep. Unbeknownst to me, Tinee had padded casually to the top of my head, sidled close to me and laid down, butt right in front of my face.

Remember the camera phone that Talia had with her? She used it. The picture below is the shot she took. Please, feel free to laugh at my expense.

Talia! Tinee! You both are she-devils!

Minime Eternally Lazy

Cats laze around, slump pretty much anywhere — on the ground, on the tops of wherever they can perch on without immediately falling over; generally making a living and breathing figurine of themselves. Minime, for reasons that I would later disclose, mimics this manner of hanging out, thinking that chillaxing this way would not be disturbing to look at.

Minime, as you very well know by now is a male shitzu. He is cute, in some respects, especially if you are into ancient, bug-eyed, missing several of his fangs kind of dog. The cuteness does not end there. He is also slow and has a tendency to simply stare at a cat instead of barking at it.

This is where it all started. A growing brood of uninvited stray cats had decided to take up residence in the corners of our backyard. We would have set the dogs on them, but truth of the matter is the cats are slightly larger and bulkier than our pets. It certainly is a battle lost before it even commenced.

Can’t say the dogs harbored the same notion. Topi, one of the female shitzus, still attempts to scare the cats away with her barking, while Minime, following close to her heels, does nothing except to curiously look at the cats. Despite Topi’s threatening yelps, the cats remained undaunted, unblinkingly perusing Topi and Minime.

Maybe it was their cool unaffected attitude, or maybe it was how they were able to easily stretch and drape themselves on whatever spot they wish to be on, I could not be certain. Nonetheless, what Minime had observed, he adopted. Since he couldn’t suddenly acquire the flexibility of a cat, he had resorted to lying down on his back, legs and paws splayed wide open, spotted balls showcased for anybody to view, not a care in the world.

Almost everyone in the household who saw this shrugged it off (the exception is Ate KC, of course, who absolutely thought it was cute). Nothing out of the ordinary–Minime’s slowness will eventually cascade down to something and this was it. Minime’s habit would have remained comment and/or insult free until Talia, not one of Minime’s fans, decided to share her two cents about it.

Passing by the bed where Minime was slumped on, lounging in the style that he though suited his way of life, Talia took one raised-eyebrows-gander at him and said, “That is a dead dog.”

Minime instantaneously woke up, jumped off the bed and swished his tail at her before disappearing off somewhere to continue chillaxing. If he had known how to do so, Minime would have haughtily looked back, stuck his tongue out (should have gotten lessons from Tinee) and appropriately delivered a ‘pffft!’

Dead dog my arse.

Non Selective

My belgian malinois – you guessed it, Leon– recently shared bodily fluids with a female of his kind. The minute he saw her, its as though a race gun has been fired and he was galloping towards her — deaf to our commands not to maul her. I can’t say that it was love that propelled him forward, but I can attest to the overdrive of hormones that fired up his engines to the hilt.

Needless to say, it all went well. Our dog made us proud, he left his partnerr cross-eyed satisfied, and utterly knocked-his-socks-off amazed the owner of the female belgian. Truth to be told, it did not feel like threading the needle hard as in the case of some other dogs, its more like “hole-aim-shoot”, dust your hands off, we are done easy.

Well, except for the waiting bit in the end.

At any rate, taking in all account of events relayed above, what I don’t understand is when Leon came face to face with Minime (Ate KC’s male shitzu) instead of making a meal out of him, Leon attempted to hump him.

All this time, I thought my tough as nails, all-ladies dog would never be “confused”. I tried to rationalize it, but no reasoning stuck. I kept coming back to this image of three shitzus prancing in Leon’s vicinity — two female and one male– and he choose to plow his shlong on the male one.

Namnit.

The Fear

I fear the mere idea of setting Leon (my belgian malinois) anywhere near Ate KC’s shitzus. No, not only because he would instantly get this imagery of hotdogs (no pun intended), frankfurters, chorizo, sausages, insert name of food with the same physical structure here lined with fur romping around his heels, which undeniably would result to him getting tempted to take a sample taste-test of them, but also because fo the shitzus’s special friends. They are not imaginary, they are not invisible, they are not mere creation of the mind, rather they are true-to-life athletes; in human terms, it is as though they can cleanly leap over skyscrapers.

Unfortunately, none of their kind (Ate KC’s shitzu friends) acknowledges this feat. The reason why? While one is doing a crazy, million times multiplied imitation of what that guy in “Jumper” (the movie) can do, everybody else is busy sucking blood.

Yes, my friends, they are fleas or for those who really want to be all scientific about it: ctenocephalides fellis. Even I can’t pronounce it.

Se-se-te-no-fa…. ah forget it.

Shitzus Can Also Be Gophers

My oldest sister’s dogs (yes, they are the same shitzus that I have mentioned in my previous posts) have a penchant for interrupting us when we are doing yoga. Just when we are about to transcend to that state where, even if we are exerting ourselves, everything seemed to flow languidly, these furry little mammals suddenly poof into existence, lop around the mat, “accidentally” land a paw on our faces, “coincidentally” tickle our noses, lick pretty much everything that they can reach and generally make a nuisance of themselves.

Ate KC doesn’t mind this as her perception is muddled with the fact that anything that her canines do is cute. I, on the other hand, am not plagued by such oversight.

Earlier today, I had decided that the era of meddlesome shitszus will come to an end. The concept was easy enough to think up but the execution came with a little difficulty. You see, apart from taking the liking in disrupting our yoga session, these dogs also had taken up hiding under the bed when they know they are in trouble. This is exactly what they had done (panickedly scrambled to vanish to the abyss below the bed) the minute I had rounded them up in the room for a good two-minute meeting about the importance of not—and I mean NOT—frolicking to the vicinity to where we are exercising.

Gone from the spot where I had planted them on, the vein in my forehead came alive, throbbing. I sent a quick prayer for at least a cupful of patience before I dropped down to my knees, rump sticking out in the air and thinking: This Better Work.

I yelled, “I better not see your furry little asses in our yoga area today!”

It did not, of course. Too late did I realize that I did not factor in the following 1) these dogs are untrained, 2) do not really listen to me (coupled with the fact that they don’t understand human language), 3) one of them is beyond antiquated, the other is like magnet to Ate KC, and the last has a beard even if she is a girl (yes Topi, this is you).

Ice Picked – Lovely Bones Style

Author’s Notes: This is in no way to trivialize what had happened; rather, merely a way to recount the harrowing events that had transpired in a different perspective. Minus the background from which the story was recreated, everything is fictional. Condolences to the family of this victim.

Saya (changed for the purposes of this fiction), as with many of her friends, had been accustomed to taking the jeepney. They are cheaper, had the zero likelihood of being filled til the middle aisle is packed with passengers, never had the history of having bomb threats and if you and the jeepney driver can get away with it, you can alight pretty much at the most convenient spot of your destination.
Commuting to pretty much everywhere she goes, Saya contributes to the growing fortune of jeepney owners.

Typical Monday, but finally time to get off work. It was nine-ish or ten-ish, Saya wasn’t sure. What she was certain though was the fact that she is running home late. She had dinner to attend to, not to mention her ever growing wall of posts in Facebook.

When she got to the waiting stand, there was no one milling about. Well, except for this one man. He looks relatively harmless, sitting on the bar provided for waiting passengers. Saya ignored him and chose to stand near the curb.

Without her knowing, the man sidled up to her side. Saya was startled but did not further react as her attention was diverted by the arrival of the jeepney.

She mounted, the man naturally followed after her. She no longer put further thought in his actions earlier, but gave him a severe frown when he occupied the seat far too near her. As though taunting her, he even placed a hand on top of the backrest of her seat. What kept her from putting her guard up was the fact that his face showed no remorse for his antics- like as though he had no business with her.

Again, she flicked her gaze away from him. She wasn’t one to say anything nasty for the sheer hell of it.

It was a mistake too late to recall, and unfortunates of the unfortunates, could not be used to further learn from.

The next succeeding events unfolded like an avalanche gathering speed. The jeepney screeched to a stop, allowing the man to fall on top of her. Before Saya can push him away, he had already stabbed her once, twice – she lost count the same time shock and the accompanying darkness consumed her.

She died. But, there was no light that came to fetch her. Though relieved of her body, she was forced to remain and watch her killer cradle the body that used to be her own. The driver did not seem to realize the crime that had happened. He was busy screaming at the drunk man that stumbled in the path of the vehicle.

Saya was gasping. At least, it seemed like she was. With no physical container, it was hard to tell. She yelled, hysterical now. The sound thrilled in her ears but no one appeared to have heard it.

She crumbled into herself and wished that no other life is taken tonight.

Gnawing at Bones

I thought of scaling my Everest as I crouched in front of my beloved pet. The effort he exerted, the dedication he displayed in finishing what he started. It is awes inspiring; it made me want to do something akin to what he is doing.

Enthralled I looked on. Moving as he moved, clenching my teeth when he slipped a bit, fisting my hand as he got into the rhythm of a stroke. I felt like rallying him on, but I fear that my cheering will distract him. Thus, I remained silent — a quiet force behind his ministrations.

Due to some great curiosity (or extreme nosiness), you may wonder what my dog is so involved in. He is gnawing, with his heart and with his soul, at a bone. It is no small feat. There are still meat and congealed collagen clinging on the bone’s sides, which Leon had to steadfastly rip off in order to fully enjoy his feast.

Every piece of meat or collagen that he was able to tear out was like a victory, savored like kobe beef. Every bone fragment he had been able to drill into was a moment of triumph. As a whole, he was the embodiment of a self-satisfied smirk.

As for me, since I couldn’t just very well chew on a bone in a whim (strange even for my taste), I’d have to find other ways to become a walking, talking smiley face. Anyone care to lend me a mask?

How to Lessen Dog Impact – A Remake

Have more than one dog (with or without breed) in your household? Not exactly a breeder or seller of those lovely pooches but has a penchant of growing your clan of canines? Always been greeted with someone yelling, “I Slid On Your Dog’s Pee! AGAIN!”?

If you are mulling over (no surprise here) getting — buying, persuading your friend to cough up, randomly picking — a puppy but winces at the highly likely result that 99.99999% of the population of your household will object to this action, here’s what you can do.

1) Determine the breed of the dogs (no need to put in the singular form, we know you have more than one) you own. Take note of fur length, size, slobbering capacity, barking tendencies, frequency of pooping and/or peeing, etc

2) Find a breed that will (should and must, are the requirements) not only give the impression that it will be an exaggeration of what you already have but will also guarantee that it will double the headache (possibly, body ache) that it will induce.

3) Present your find to your household and when they are right on the edge of pulling their hair out and screaming bloody murder, immediately swap it with the dog that you want. Please make sure to add this tartly delivered remark, “Are you kidding me? I’m not bringing that home.”

Example: If you own three shitzus that despite their size can store and excrete large volumes of solid and liquid waste, sheds faster than the feather duster you bought from a street vendor, smells only hours after being thoroughly (and I mean thoroughly) washed, however, still desires to bring home another one of these lovable creatures (sarcasm, anyone?) but know perfectly well that you would not only be met with a picket fence of protests, an actual picket fence, and probably an an army of shield bearing soldiers, you would have to first consider bringing home a chow-chow. Not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, chow-chow, mind you. Rather, but a chow that would automatically trigger one of the following comments:

“Why is that dog wearing a fur coat? It already has a fur!”

“Is it a bear? Is it a lion? Why do you have it on a leash?! Why the hell is it here?!”

From fifty-yards away, “What is that god-awful smell?!” (To achieve this, you have to let the chow roll around any place that will guarantee stinking-to-the-high-heavens fragrance).

You have to find the best time when everybody is gathered around for you to casually stroll in and have the chow strut with you. Once the stage is set, remember to do exactly as what is recommended on step 3.

Ate KC – this is for you.

Contradictions

Say it, act on it, get it out of your system. Keeping it bottled up will be like poison to your system. But remember, as abstract and as fleeting as they are — what ever those words or actions have built or destroyed, the results and the repercussions will haunt the longest, will reverberate in one’s memory most often, will become the startling or devastating epiphany of somebody.

Bear it, take it, whilst the rest buckle down. As the calluses of your exterior thickened and roughened with hard work, there you would be utterly composed on the outside – logical and unwavering. Inside, you are collecting pieces of yourself that got hemmed and crushed in, cryptically thinking, this was me. And this. And this. And this. Now rendered all useless. Was there a you somewhere before worth salvageable?

Look back at the past. There is no time like the present. The future is what matters. Once, I tried to do these all at the same time — took me days to reverse being cross-eyed.

The logical and illogical. Strange, but sometimes it helps to mix them to make sense of things.