‘It’s almost time to let you go, my friend. But my muscle memory of holding you will be my consolation till that day when it’s my time to go.’
SEVENTEEN years ago, I lived in a studio unit in Legazpi Village with one lovable Maltese. I named her Cleopatra, Cleo for short; she was as lovable as a Maltese could be, as white as snow and as pushy as can be. I remember why I ended up with her: I was in Tiendesitas in April 2008 with my friend Shylock picking out my first ever dog. I chanced upon a seller of puppies. I want to see a Maltese, I said, and he showed me a litter out of which I espied a male playing with a ball. “I want him,” I said, but instead of picking him up, he told me, “Sir, tingnan ninyo ito” and he dropped a second one on the floor. This second one proceeded to run at – and I mean run at – the male, pushed him aside and grabbed the ball. “That’s the one I want,” I told the dealer, and that’s how I ended up with Cleo.
In the privacy of my small space, I trained Cleo to pee and poo on a tray.
The problem was, Cleo had separation anxiety every time I left to work. I could hear her whimpering from the elevator lobby on my floor and was always torn about leaving her for the day. That’s when I decided to get her a playmate; back to Tiendesitas I went with my friends Jon and Gerard and this time I spied a cute Dale brown and flask Shih Tzu jumping up and down as if to tell me “pick me.”
I named him Hayden after the male lead in the most famous “Careless Whisper” scandal of that year.
Hayden became a dutiful and always respectful younger, albeit bigger brother, to Cleo; whenever we’d play ball and his ball would end up behind Cleo, Hayden would carefully tiptoe behind her until he got to his ball and then would run free.
He’d give me back the ball and I’ll say, “Love you, Hayden!” before I toss it again.
When Cleo died in November 2016, I shed more tears than I did when my father died two months before. Hayden sulked in a corner for days on end.
To keep him company in January 2009, I brought home another Maltese, Apollo, a male version of Cleo. The eight-year age gap showed as Apollo would drive Hayden nuts; to escape his younger brother, Hayden would rely on his powerful hind legs to jump up on a table or baul.
The two lived happily until 2021, when they were joined by Goya the Shu Tzu and then by Aqua the Bichon half a year later. Unlike Apollo, Goya never accorded Hayden the respect due the oldest dog, so for most of the last two years I’ve had to make them live apart.
I write all these as my way of psyching myself up for something that is coming soon – the time when I will need to bid Hayden goodbye. At 17 years, he has outlived Cleo by nine years and most other dogs born the year he was. But time has taken its toll: totally blind in one eye and half blind in another; hard of hearing; incontinent; and now, his once powerful hind legs could no longer hold him up.
On two occasions, as I emerged from the shower, I spied him on the floor, having crawled out of his doggie bed. When I approached him, I knew why he had crawled – he wanted to pee. Unable to stand and with his diaper totally drenched, so was half of his body.
While his appetite remains strong – he finishes his food bowl of specialty renal dry dog food, which I mix with milk – and while he laps up water like there’s no tomorrow, he needs to be propped up to either eat or drink.
He has chronic, irreversible kidney disease.
When it’s time to let Hayden go, I will be filled with such joy and sorrow I know I will never feel again for one pet dog. He has been the ideal – gentle, obedient, easy to train; while the Malteses seem to be “smarter” dogs, they’re like canine versions of me – irreverent and hardheaded.
Not Hayden.
It’s almost time to let you go, my friend. But my muscle memory of holding you will be my consolation till that day when it’s my time to go.
Love you, Hayden!
