Okay. Forgive me first for being gross.
That's because I just have to relate what has been happening this week. Last Sunday, our flea-ridden family dog, Shobi, surprised us all by giving birth to originally "six" puppies. My sisters commented that the number was just right because we were six siblings after all ( I don't actually mind naming a puppy "Paolo").
But over the next few days, a nasty smell pervaded the house and it was clear that a puppy just died. Since I was the bum, the responsibility fell on me to be the grave digger. I found the puppy carcass conveniently thrown out of the dog cage so I started burying the poor fellow. That night, I told my sister there were seven puppies originally since I counted six after burying the dead one.
However, that wasn't the last of my troubles. The smell didn't go away and it was apparent that there was another dead puppy out there. I searched again but to my consternation, there wasn't any corpse. Mama reasoned out that the smell might be caused by Shobi's dried blood or placenta or whatever fluid came out during the birth.
Then this morning, after I washed our dog (Anyway, if you don't mind, can someone recommend me an effective anti-flea/lice dog shampoo, especially something that kills ear mites on the spot? Thank you.), I found the second puppy. It was only skin and muscle filled with maggots all over. The probable reason why I didn't discover it earlier was because it was covered with dust. So I set out to dig up another grave and I buried the poor creature. I told Papa there were eight puppies originally, six alive and two down.
In my family, this cycle often pervades: one family member brings home a dog. But another family member takes care of the dog (often, this job goes to Mama). Then, when the dog dies, the ones who usually bury it are the Bataller brothers: that's me and my two brothers. Rarely does the perceived "owner" take part in burying the dog. This is probably why I'm not that keen into dogs, or pets in general, because the dirty, smelly job of disposing them fell on me (or, if I'm lucky, to my brothers).
I believe my brothers and I already have a lifetime of stories on burying dogs. For some odd reason, our dogs never live to a ripe old age. We've buried dogs which were hit-and-run victims. We've buried dogs bloated to twice their size because of all the gases inside their corpses. We've buried small dogs, medium-sized dogs, and large dogs. We've buried dogs in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the dead of night.
In fact, if some future archeologist would decide to dig up our house, chances are he would be overwhelmed by the number of dog skeletons surrounding our humble abode (He'll probably deduce that our family is a band of dog serial killers).
So what am I driving at? Well, it just dawned on me that if ever there was a criteria for what a real dog owner should be, one prerequisite should be included: that is, the owner must have buried his own dog in the past. That's because burying a dog takes courage and only real owners can stomach the entire venture and still love the dog so much as to utter a few sincere words of farewell afterwards.
I think I'm going to stay away from dogs for awhile.
That's because I just have to relate what has been happening this week. Last Sunday, our flea-ridden family dog, Shobi, surprised us all by giving birth to originally "six" puppies. My sisters commented that the number was just right because we were six siblings after all ( I don't actually mind naming a puppy "Paolo").
But over the next few days, a nasty smell pervaded the house and it was clear that a puppy just died. Since I was the bum, the responsibility fell on me to be the grave digger. I found the puppy carcass conveniently thrown out of the dog cage so I started burying the poor fellow. That night, I told my sister there were seven puppies originally since I counted six after burying the dead one.
However, that wasn't the last of my troubles. The smell didn't go away and it was apparent that there was another dead puppy out there. I searched again but to my consternation, there wasn't any corpse. Mama reasoned out that the smell might be caused by Shobi's dried blood or placenta or whatever fluid came out during the birth.
Then this morning, after I washed our dog (Anyway, if you don't mind, can someone recommend me an effective anti-flea/lice dog shampoo, especially something that kills ear mites on the spot? Thank you.), I found the second puppy. It was only skin and muscle filled with maggots all over. The probable reason why I didn't discover it earlier was because it was covered with dust. So I set out to dig up another grave and I buried the poor creature. I told Papa there were eight puppies originally, six alive and two down.
In my family, this cycle often pervades: one family member brings home a dog. But another family member takes care of the dog (often, this job goes to Mama). Then, when the dog dies, the ones who usually bury it are the Bataller brothers: that's me and my two brothers. Rarely does the perceived "owner" take part in burying the dog. This is probably why I'm not that keen into dogs, or pets in general, because the dirty, smelly job of disposing them fell on me (or, if I'm lucky, to my brothers).
I believe my brothers and I already have a lifetime of stories on burying dogs. For some odd reason, our dogs never live to a ripe old age. We've buried dogs which were hit-and-run victims. We've buried dogs bloated to twice their size because of all the gases inside their corpses. We've buried small dogs, medium-sized dogs, and large dogs. We've buried dogs in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the dead of night.
In fact, if some future archeologist would decide to dig up our house, chances are he would be overwhelmed by the number of dog skeletons surrounding our humble abode (He'll probably deduce that our family is a band of dog serial killers).
So what am I driving at? Well, it just dawned on me that if ever there was a criteria for what a real dog owner should be, one prerequisite should be included: that is, the owner must have buried his own dog in the past. That's because burying a dog takes courage and only real owners can stomach the entire venture and still love the dog so much as to utter a few sincere words of farewell afterwards.
I think I'm going to stay away from dogs for awhile.
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