Few years ago, my beloved pug, Mozart, died of heatstroke. He had been with my family for eleven years and so endeared himself to us that for months, I grieved his demise. In one of my down moments, I wrote the following piece – to remind me always of how a simple dog can serve as companion and loved one in a lifetime.
A REQUIEM FOR MOZI
He came to us ten years ago. An answer to our family’s collective prayers. A special baby needing care. We took him in like a long lost child and he brought so much joy and laughter to a household battered by financial worries and uncertainties.
No one would have thought from the constant shrieks his funny expressions elicited that money was extremely scarce and that creditors knocked more times than ordinary.
Just like gypsies, we moved from place to place – staying long enough only to realize that we cannot afford to stay. He coped well with each transfer and when physically stymied, his “papa” was more than happy to carry him around. With gentle equanimity and quiet effort, he learned to adjust and explored new environment. Because of his congenital heart problem, he often got past the gate only to run for half a block. Most times, we caught up with him while he was panting from the unnecessary exercise. When we lived in a building, he found it good sport to quietly slip through the front door as family members came home. Once out, he would head for the parking area where he had a real treat inspecting stationary vehicles. The few times that he made it to the streets, he spent himself barking at all the white cars – only the white ones and most especially, the cabs.
Our last move was in 2004 – a move that should have served him well. Wide open spaces, friendly if nosey neighbors, and affordable accommodations. It was a place we could really stay – well – just! His papa took him for long, endless walks; adventures that he enjoyed for a while. Soon, he acquired many allergies – to the soil, to the bugs, to everything else. His illnesses required medications; medications that weakened him.
Always the center of the family’s affection, he wisely and humbly relinquished center stage to the arrival of my grandson, Hammie. He took to tucking himself underneath our feet and contented himself with snoring the afternoons away until the hour of his exercise. He likewise learned to post himself under the television set while we watched our favorite shows. He may have thought that in that manner, he still had our attention.
The years somehow passed without our realizing it and we all grew older. Slowly, he started dragging his feet but never was there a whimper of complaint. His long walks became a few steps to the street corner; then it became a simple short stroll through the driveway. Still, his adventurous spirit never waned. He spent long moments peering through the grill works of the gate with Hammie. Both may have been sprinting across the grassy fields in their minds. The older one remembering days of freedom and adventure under the sun while the younger dreaming of exciting days to come.
On February 23, 2008, Mozart passed on. Surrounded by his Papa, Mama, Tita Ly, Ate Tin and Hammie, he breathed his last. We wrapped him in his favorite towel and sent him off with his Dalmatian bag with all the accoutrement he lived with. He was laid to rest underneath the window of the girls’ room – a room that had always been forbidden for him in his lifetime.
For months, I would lay awake at night thinking of my baby Mozart and I often wondered if he was frightened to be alone. Was he cold or getting wet whenever it rained? Often, I would whisper a prayer that Poochie, Zing, Presley and all the other pets and loved ones in my life that had passed on may be there to make his transition easier.
There were nights when I imagined hearing his foot steps, his sneeze and even his snorts. I get most sad whenever Chinese new year comes around. This was his favorite time of year – a time when he got to gobble up tons of tikoy, his favorite food. After he left, the tikoy always became stale since no one in particular enjoyed eating them. Then, summer days roll in. Again I savor the memories of walking along the shore with my baby and remember vividly how he dove to the sea the first time he was brought to the beach. On and on, the memories of my beloved Mozart come rushing and they just make me miss him more. I make myself believe that he is there somewhere enjoying his days in the sun. I know and I am confident that when my time comes to cross the Great Divide, Mozart would be there for me. I can even see him now, wagging his butt off in greeting and challenging me to romp off and sprint towards wherever we could roam. We shall finally be together – happy and carefree at last.
Goodbye for now, my real baby love.
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