Even though I already have a puppy, pretty much fed him and tried to train him minor stuff, I still tend to slap myself sometimes for actually getting into this dog-ownership thing. First of all, it’s not really required in an adult life. It’s a preference and a want. Second, I’m a person who requires feedback especially if I’m doing something that I really have to learn; and unfortunately limited exposure with dogs makes me really clueless. Wagging of the dog’s tail is pretty much the only feedback that I know.
As a certified adult, I’ve never envisioned myself the nurturing type. My motherly instincts are concentrating on achievements, trainings and instructions. My temper is an unreliable crescendo. I am also not what you would call warm and affectionate. I seldom find things cute and it’s always, for me, a voluntary burden to try to take care of other people or animals’ happiness. I love developments and anything to do to alleviate situations, but interaction and direct contact are not my expertise.
That’s why when my close friends, my families and even my boyfriend found out that I’m itching for a dog, I’m sure they didn’t take it seriously. For them, it was probably one of my instant cravings that would simply fade away. But every single day from the moment I realized that I wanted a dog, the desire just kept getting stronger.
Not that I was totally deprived of dogs. We have two old dogs at home, a Dalmatian and an askal (Mongrel). They are constantly tied due to their size and inconvenience, but they are good guard dogs. But it isn’t supposed to be that way. Dogs should be free and not tied 24/7. I just feel sorry for them, but my parents’ house is essentially not my house and there are rules which I have to accept. Even if I did try to train them, it would be close to impossible. They hardly see me come out or call their names. There’s a possibility of an outward attack towards me. The truth is, neither of them are my dogs. I didn’t choose to have them. I just found out that they were there. Our ASKAL’S acquisition, which JD named BUDDY, escapes my memory. The pure-bred Dalmatian was a gift to my sister by one of her ninongs. I wasn’t advised or expected to fully take care of them. Although I advocate their needs and occasionally fight with my sister over their freedom, my efforts all fall short.
But I had a dog once. At least I treated him as my dog. He came into our house as promised after attending a family friend’s Christmas dinner in my late elementary years. He was a pure-bred German Shepherd named BUSTER. As far as I could remember, that was our first pure bred, large, guard dog. Being a guard dog, he required a lot of training and exercise, which we never really gave him. He received minor instructions, but neither of us knew what's really right to do. But since I’m the eldest and more capable than my sister at that time, my parents expected me to walk and pet him on their behalf. I actually did walk him around our village park and I would always come back with cuts and bruises. He was too aggressive and I felt that he was seriously attacking me, but it took me some time to figure out that he was just playing. Since he was not used to being tied up, every weekend when I would walk him, I honestly prayed to God that I would reach the park alive. It wouldn’t be a surprise for passing cars to see him gnawing at my legs in the middle of the street. There was one instance that a man slowed down his car and asked me if I was okay.
It wasn’t Buster’s fault that he was too powerful, aggressive and demanding to care of. It was naturally our family’s fault, and again my efforts fell a little bit short to cover our shortcomings. But I secretly think that amongst my family members, I was his owner. But there was one unfortunate time that I was playing with him at our backyard. Since my parents are used to Buster being tied up, they thought I was following one of their rules. My father, who rarely came home early, casually roamed around the house, went out not knowing that we were at the far corner playing, as usual me being his chew toy. Buster suddenly saw my dad and ran towards him. He was too fast and too aggressive as he barked at my dad and tried to block his way. Every move my dad made Buster was quicker. From a stranger’s point of view, with Buster’s enormous form, he would say that my dad is being attacked. But in my point of view, Buster was just excited to see him and wanted to play. My father, who is neutral when it comes to dogs, was terrified. He tried to call for help and I ran to him, telling him not to move, but Buster already tried to gnaw at his legs, not bite, but gnaw. I told him to stay put, but my father ran and the inevitable happened. The dog went after him like some sort of game. The maids were terrified and my mom was watching. My dad, without any more option, climbed upon a glass table. In a few seconds, the glass shattered and he slid through the metal railings. The next thing I saw were pools of thick blood running down his thighs and ending up on the floor. Buster observed as I tried to pull him back. My dad was screaming with pain as the driver and the rest of the household helped him to the hospital.
Everyone pointed their fingers towards me. Since they did not fully understand the nature of the dog, they tried to make me feel guilty of my dad’s terrible condition. The shards of glass cut both his thighs and calves so deep that it needed stitching and a lot of painful bandage changes. My mother was really upset and vowed to either kill or send Buster away. Of course I would object, we were each others’ comforts.
For us, that was traumatic. Buster served a great guard dog, but it was unfortunate that he was brought into our family. I have a feeling he didn’t enjoy. He just died one day due to heartworm, and ironically my father was the one who saw it. I was so upset. It wasn’t supposed to be my dog and I took all the blame for its mishaps. Not that I would complain. It didn’t matter because I loved the dog, but feeling so terribly upset made dog-ownership so traumatic for me. I never want to experience instant detachment or hurt like some living thing just dies on you. From then on, I never bothered to care for a dog anymore. I appreciate them, but not to the point of owning one ever again. It’s too draining and too ambitious for me. I’ve limited myself to hamsters and fish, which I eventually sold or let go.
So it came as an instant surprise why I really wanted a dog to begin with. My parents knew that I’m the last one to attempt to go through the whole sacrifice again. They feel that I can’t manage it as I haven’t been able to manage Buster. They have not seen me with my “OWN” pet before, and knowing my developed personality of “Constant detachment to living things, they don’t think I’ll ever be a suitable owner. They fear that it is just a sudden phase that would quickly erode which would leave the dog to rot. At some point, I understand their fears.
I know I’ve made a couple of mistakes in the past and I’m no expert in taking care of living things. They also know that I won’t go into such an effort to spend for the dogs’ medications and vaccine, plus I don’t have all the time in the world to properly train him. It goes as far as saying that they highly discourage it. My boyfriend, being experienced with taking care of a dog, knows that I’ll be faced with a lot of trials. He hasn’t seen me face those trials before and he fears that I might get stressed or back out. Seriously, they all too care for me and the dog, that I can honestly say how much I wanted to shut them all out and prove them wrong.
The truth is I WANT A DOG. Why? Probably because I miss the thought of taking care of something to that extreme, I want to exert effort in making myself selfless one day at a time. A dog is a minor step after all.
But I know what I want, and whatever I want especially if it's something as big as this I give a lot of study. I've thought about it a hundred times and even battled myself with it, but every morning the desire stays the same. I just hope that I'll end up learning and being good at it since I'll be putting a lot of time and effort to this.
I want a dog and I luckily I found one after a long and grueling search. Every time I see him, good or not, I just know that I won't regret it.
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