Foxy

After a recent incident in which a toenail fell off,

the vet suspects that my 12 year old furry friend may have cancer.

He may be put down if it continues to persist after the holidays to avoid prolonged suffering.

Even though I have not seen him for a good 2 and a half years,

 I feel terribly sad knowing this. 

The pup has been there with me since primary 5. 

Out of 3 furry siblings, I picked him because he was the most naughty and eager to get out of the crate to greet me. He turned out to be a chaos because he was the most stubborn and untrainable puppy that ever was. 

One day my mum got so fed up that both my parents made a decision to give him away to my uncle. I cried the entire day. I remember crying at every picture of a dog that I saw in my science book, and every clip of a dog that came on Animal Planet. My dad promised to get me another dog in good time but I just ended up crying even more, because it was him that I wanted, not another random dog.

 By 6pm my mum couldn't bear to see me suffer anymore and agreed to take him back. Bear in mind that my mother is a tough woman who does not tolerate us whining and crying very well, so I must have been an absolute wreck then!

He was my baby, my Marley:

 I dressed him up in my old toddler clothes until he outgrew them. 

I took him out on car rides with my dad and carried him in my arms like he was family.

He chewed up our slippers, the leg of several tables in our house and my school worksheets.

He wouldn't eat unless one of us sat on a chair and accompanied him.

He hated lizards that used to taunt him by sticking themselves to the wall just out of reach.

Once, he stopped my hamster Tempang (or Crippled, because it had 3 legs) from escaping by barking continuously until I came out and found it petrified on our kitchen floor.

True to his name, he was clever and cunning, and knew how to open the sliding doors to sneak into the house. It's not uncommon that you hear my mum shouting down the house frantically every now and then,

"OI!! FOXY!! FOXY MASUK RUMAH!! CAPAT!!"

("Oi!! Foxy!! Foxy's in the house! Quick!") 

And there he would be, sliding his paw on the door, running up the stairs to jump on my bed, or 

sitting smugly on our couch as if to say "Ha-ha, got you this time, suckers"

Like my grandmother's cats and dogs,

he made good friends with the three stray cats, all of which he outlived. 

For show, he would wake them up rudely by barking down the house in the morning. 

But he was gentle, and slept and ate with them from the same bowl.

He must have been sad and lonely when they left for good.

Little sparrows would hop inches away from his face and steal his food but he would just bat a lazy eye at them. My niece, Dezellaine loved him from when she was a baby. When she got cranky I used to take her to him and she would giggle and laugh and forget her tears. 

He was there throughout my prepubescent years,

my teenage angst,

and when I left for college.

He was there when my brother got married,

when I left for the UK

and when Dezellaine joined the family. 

I can only wish that he would be there to greet me the next time I'm home...

But I know he has lived a long life as part of our family and deserves his doggy freedom.

I miss the days I used to sit on the kitchen floor with your head resting on my knee while I stroke your soft little furry ears to sleep.