I dreamed about Julian today.

I fell asleep while reading a book and the next thing I knew I was back in Davao, playing tug and chase with him. And then I cried. When he died I didn’t allow myself to cry. I just couldn’t. He was just a puppy, just another puppy, we’ve had lots of puppies and we’re going to have more. It was a lie.

A 3 month old Julian

Other people have a thing for babies, I have a thing for dogs, particularly this puppy. He was my baby and I doted on him like any mother would, even more than his birth mom at times. Sam, Julian’s mom was a clumsy mom at best. She carried the puppies by the tail instead of the scruff by their neck, she’d stand abruptly to greet whoever is at the gate even when she’s not done feeding her babies, and she wouldn’t  allow other dogs near the puppies, not even Tammy, her birth mother.

We’ve  had puppies before but I never threw myself into really taking care of one until Julian. I acted like his mom, his surrogate mom. I fed him (a lot) from the usual food to french toast or anything I could get my hands on. I bought him milk when Sam couldn’t produce anymore milk. I even gave him his first bath, which was a riot since he was screaming and crying the whole time.

Julian posing like a pro

I knew from the start we couldn’t keep him. He was going to be my grandfather’s dog but still I was quietly hoping my parents would decide to keep him. We were all into Julian and his antics, even my father would lie on his stomach (and on our floor nonetheless) to play with the puppy.We were spoiling him and I was the leader of the pack.

Julian was a brat but I didn’t mind. The only time I did was when he’d push his siblings out of the feeding dish. That dog can eat and eat and eat. His stomach was round always and if it isn’t I’d panic and get some more food at the kitchen. I knew I was falling for him  when my mother scolded me one day for giving in to Julian’s demands one early morning.

One of the memories I have of Julian is waking up at 3 in the morning to let him in the house. For some reason, Julian would cry as loud as he can at this hour begging for someone to let him in the house and play with him. Our normal mo would have been to ignore a crying dog till he or she shuts up. But not with Julian. I’d drag myself out of bed and let him in. I’ll get his toy, an old girl scout scarf and wave it around so he can chase it until he’s tired or gets bored of the game. Or, when I’m really sleepy I just carry him to our room, hang a cloth or scarf on my bed so he has something to play around with then sleep. My mother caught me during one of our 3 am sessions and told me I was spoiling the puppy and turning him into a big brat.

At least he was a cute brat, I reasoned to myself. Even with the words of warning from my mother I went on and spoiled Julian even more, laughing and bragging about his antics, and taking loads and loads of pictures of him.

Julian with his sisters

When it was time for him to leave I put on a brave front and carried Julian to the car where he sat on my lap for the trip. I gobbled up 2 bowls of ice cream that day in hopes of chasing away the blues caused by Julian’s leaving. And because our grandparent’s house was just an hour away, I found myself visiting them more often than I usually did just so I could play with Julian.

Julian’s dead, my father told me one busy evening. I thought it was a joke, a cruel one at best, but still a joke. In my head it just wasn’t possible, he was young, healthy, and he was full of energy last I saw him.

But it was true. Julian decided that the fertilizer for the lanzones in the backyard was good enough to eat. It wasn’t.

The world turned black for a while and I wanted to hide, to curl up, and cry. But I didn’t because he was just a puppy, just another puppy.

What a lie. I fell in love with that puppy and until now I’m still mourning for him. Death really doesn’t scare me. It just makes me sad.