The Dog that Lived

163. We both love dogs. When we met, I had a feisty boy-hating German Shepherd while you had around four mixed breed dogs at your house in Pulupandan. You came to school in a really bad mood. I could practically see a strange gray mist enveloping you in a foreboding way. Irritable, snappy, I knew something wasn't right and when I asked you about it you told me that your dog died last night. He was run over by a tricycle on the road and your neighbors hurried to your house to tell you. It was terrible because it was so sudden and your were so fond of that particular dog. Your whole family was in mourning, especially you and your mother. I imagined the horror and anger you felt when you found your dog, probably still twitching in pain, in a bloody mess. The driver of the tricycle didn't even bother to stop, had he done so your entire male- dominated family would probably have pounded him to a pulp. He was a creep, to say the least. You told me that his name was Domingo and he was the dog that frequently placed his head on my lap when I visited your home in the past. Your eyes became watery as you told me about him and you even shed a tear or to. Clearly, you were grief stricken. I comforted you the best I could. I remember that we drowned your sorrows in pancit and coke. I remember telling you that it wasn't your fault and there was nothing you could do about it. It was simply his time to go. What matters was that you would remember him in your heart; where he could still live on. He's in a better place now, I am certain of it.