Monday, April 04, 2005

I just read an autobiographical essay that my brother wrote. Apparently, one of his earliest memories was playing with our dog, Tiny, which made me smile. I miss Tiny; she was my favorite pet.

Then, Mac talked about Tiny's death. I remember that day very clearly:

Jan. 31, 1996. I was in Grade 6 at Bridget, it was the last day of sportsfest, so that was fun. When we got home, Tiny was there by the gate. She was jumping up and down, so I patted her head and went inside the house. I didn't really want to play with her at that time because she kinda smelled. She was scratching at the screen door to get in. Normally, she would've just opened it with her teeth, but mamang locked it to keep her out. It's better than her getting chased around with a broom, I guess.

Anyway, I went to my room, read the third book on R.L. Stein's Fear Street Saga (At least I think it was the third book. It was the one with the family where one person bashed his/her sibling over the head with a shovel and buried him/her alive out of jealousy), and ate sampaloc. It was getting dark, but it wasn't 6 yet. Ella, our cousin, came running into my room and told me Tiny got hit by a truck. She had followed Kandy out to Walk-In, and on the way, started barking at the aforementioned truck. Fucking Bastard Truck Driver got mad and intentionally hit Tiny. I didn't think it was serious at that time, so I was all "Lumabas ka nga dito, I'm reading!" Later on, she came in again to report that Tiny died.

We all cried. Hard. Ate Karen went in to comfort me and I tried to pass off the crying as a result of the book that I was reading. I wanted to hunt down Fucking Bastard Truck Driver and run over him with his own truck. One of my uncles was a cop, and I seriously contemplated reporting the murder to him to get the guy arrested. It was a dark, dark day.

We had other dogs after Tiny, but no one really lived for as long as she did, which was one year. Yeah, we have bad luck with pets.

Whatever. This is sad and stupid and I'm just procrastinating, anyway. I have to go study, dammit. I'm going to die in school tomorrow, I might just have to call in sick again.
Heh.

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