One dream involves me in the middle of the Zombie Apocalypse, and another involves me being chased by Hitler, who for some reason, wants to kill me himself. I had dream #2 last night. When Hitler was about to kill me, I decided to play dead, and it worked for a couple of days. He figured out I was faking and he was after me again not long after that. I think I died, too.
You know what, I had the exact same dream. It was World War II in Manila, and I was an American lieutenant leading his troops scouting a rather illustrious mansion. It turns out that the mansion was hq for top German officers. A few of us were in the dining when they charged out (which is a Japanese thing to do, I rekon). I hid under the dining table. All I could remember was that chandelier, the glittering china cabinet, and that for a moment, I thought we were cornered. I died.
Then when I woke up, I was still the American lieutenant but it wasn’t WWII anymore. It was present day Manila somewhere near the Singgalong/Vito Cruz area.
You had Hitler. I was a male American lieutenant with the countenance of one hot Dylan McDermott.
I love animals. I love the 5 dogs we already have, the dogs owned by relatives and those owned by friends. Most of the “clan,” as I collectively refer to ourselves, live in a subdivision that is surrounded by other subdivisions and this division isn’t really the problem.
Chalk it up to my being a night-owl, but this habit of mine may have saved us from robberies and other atrocities that have been plaguing this area. It would have been great if our whole subdivision was walled in or fenced in, but it isn’t.
Polo is a healthy Japanese Spitz who knows his name, knows his owners and his owners’ next of kin. He was spoiled, loved and known. His name tag wasn’t always attached his collar (which was always on him anyway) but the moment you hold it to look at it, he approaches you and presses the side of beautiful face next to you. I don’t really know what to do the first time this happened, but he seems to love being scratched behind the ears.
He walks around the neighborhood and into the area adjacent to the village, presumably to mate, and he comes back to my aunt’s house where he lives. Animals know when it’s time to eat. Our own household menagerie which includes adult dogs Jack and Georgia, their puppies Gaston, Bubba and Max and cats Penny, Michiko and Junior all know when it’s time to eat. They restlessly crawl around our backyard, without fail, at 5 pm. It’s mostly the puppies and the cats who make noise. You know it’s pretty late if Jack barks. He’s patient when it comes to meals.
Polo, however never came back. A dog was witnessed nearby to have been slaughtered for meat around the time of Polo’s disappearance. One can only guess.
I don’t oppose eating dogs. Humans have fed on stranger things but feed on pets…on an animal that was owned and loved, is just wrong and evil and too f***ed up for words.
I haven’t really mourned a dog whose final moments were that of fear and pain and this is because I’ve never come to know one whose fate is unknown and tragic. Jonathan, a previous dog who was around before Jack was even born, died on our back porch. When I called out his name in shock of the state he was in, he managed to lift his head and look at me. Then he settled back to die. Jonathan was different from Jack, just was the both of them are very different from Polo. Jonathan had a temper and I was the only one he would allow to touch him. Jack talks and communicates, so does one of his brood, Max. Curiously, all three puppies love eating fruit. Georgia sneezes like a human and has a melancholic-phlegmatic personality. Polo was mild and innocent.
Our subdivision/village desperately needs a perimeter fence. We don’t have that on the areas surrounding this area. We’re walled against New Bilibid Prison property, Katarungan Village, and Ayala Alabang. The edge of the house I live in is apparently the very end of our own street but there is no fence separating here and there. People have been robbed, assaulted, killed, and raped right in their own homes. I grew up with some of those people.
The very culprit here isn’t the absence of a fence. Not only is it the group of people who decided that a well fed dog would go well with cold beer. It’s also neglect. The neglect of putting up a fence for security, the neglect of concern that someone might be missing their dog.
This blog has helped me moved on from denial to anger. Yet this blog post is for Polo. While we may never know what has happened to him, let it be certain that he was loved.