Thumbprint’s in heaven

The very first thing I remembered about getting my own dog was a big carton box being brought to my cousin’s house in the province. It had several holes for the dog to breathe through. The box was of medium size; however, it was untidily tied up with a long scrunched-up sea-green colored-string.

My uncle gave the dog to me as a reward for being in the honor roll when I was in third grade. My desire to have a dog was huge – so huge it wouldn’t fit in the biggest, largest, roomiest room in the entire world. So if somebody told me to work hard for it, I would do just that. Thus, I got Thumbprint, my Shih Tzu who had adorable brown ears and an uncanny knack for opening cage locks. So there was no way we could keep him in a cage, we had to let him loose.

Thumbprint was a toy dog with fur like which looked like scattered cotton (you know, like when you throw cotton on somebody and the cotton scatters all over the place), he had the cutest, wettest triangular black nose, big black eyes, coupled with a friendly smile and a long pink tongue hanging out.

Life changed with Thumbprint around. My mother and I had to train him to pee on old newspapers. My mother did not want Thumb print to pee on the white tiled floor because it would stink. Eventually, Thumbprint got a leash and collar. I used to walk Thumbrpint around the village every afternoon. All the kids in the village where we lived would follow us around.

Thumbprint was as intelligent as he was naughty. Once, believe it or not (believe it), I forgot the key to the house, so I figured I could step on my stroller school bag and get in through by the window in my room. That worked, but it wouldn’t have – if Thumbprint didn’t bite my hand and pull me inside with all his might (believe it or not, he sure helps a girl get around). Also when I was sick, he kept me company by lying on my lap and keeping me warm. Thumbprint was very malambing.

Thumbprint was also adventurous. He roamed the streets and came back before dark, scratching at the door.

But as a moody and always-look-on-the-dark-side kind of person would say: Happy years don’t last forever, kid. So they don’t. When I was in fourth-grade I moved to Manila.

What happened to Thumbprint?

Well, he stayed with my elder sister and she took excellent care of him. I regretted every single moment that I didn’t take care of him. Every weekend, I would go with my mom to visit Thumbprint. He always welcomed me with wet licks and a wagging tail.

There is always a first time for everything. And, there is always a time when a helpless loving child loses a puppy.

I remember that there was a time when Thumbprint got lost. My sister searched for him and announced that she would pay a good price to anyone who found him. Eventually, he was found being sold to people on the streets, tied with a rope. A rope – can you believe the injustice? The impertinence and cruelty of it all! Only God could have stopped it – and He did.

Thank the Lord he was saved. Yet, that was not the end of his sufferings.

My mother and I were about to leave for Manila one night when my sister called my mom on her cell phone. After a few terse statements, my mom told me in a shaky and small voice the bad news. I didn’t catch it, so she told me again. Thumbprint was gone. He passed away. A tricycle had accidentally run over him, and he didn’t make it to the veterinarian. My sister, her boyfriend and his family buried Thumbrint that afternoon in their garden. They loved Thumbprint too.

I mourned along with those who cared about my poor little doggie. It takes a lot of time to recover from the loss of a loved one – Thumbprint included.

Now, when I think about him, I believe he’s in heaven, enjoying the afterlife, with other dogs as they play on the clouds, gnawing on doggie bones, snarling along playfully with a certain beloved Tuffy. Now if you are interested in Tuffy, then that’s another story – from another millennium which I ’m sort of embarrassed to go back to.