Lyka

I borrowed my mom's dog for a couple of days because my husband and I wanted to find out how a small dog can move in our apartment. Well, small dogs can be quite energetic, I think we need to get a bigger place if we want one.

Spending borrowed time with my mom's dog brought back memories of the very first family dog we had. Her name's Lyka, a mongrel given by our family driver. She looked a bit like a Corgi, packed like a sausage, short legs but with the sharp face of a Collie. It didn't matter what her breed was, for us kids, she was a gift from the heavens. She was a short-haired dog with brown patches, one patch covered her left hind leg just below the 'ankle' that it looked like she was wearing brown pants on that side. I found that really cute, I would always 'fix' that 'pant leg' whenever I play with her. Everyone, even my grandma doted on her. My cousin C was living with us then and since she's my older sister's age, they were inseperable. Cousin C. and Ate L. named the dog Lica, a contraction of both their names. When my dad brought Lica to the vet for shots, the vet issued a shots-card for "Lyka" -- he thought we named her after a popular 80s boldstar. As with any other puppy, she was a lively one and slept in my parents' room until she got too rowdy. She was marooned to the sitting room by the verandah where she can bark down at strangers knocking at our massive gate and eagerly greet us when we open our bedroom doors to head downstairs. Our grandma, whom we call Nanay, would wake us for breakfast and help us get ready for school. Of course, as kids who prefer to play than go to school, it would take Nanay several trips up and down the stairs to knock on our door and persuade us to eat breakfast. She would always complain how tiring it was to climb up and down the curved staircase, so she devised a plan that was sure to wake us up the first time she called. Her plan was to let Lyka in our room. Lyka would dash to our bedroom, jump on our beds and lick our faces until we wake up. We would all wake up shrieking as Lyka was not the, well, the most fragrant dog. She also had fleas, so we'd rush out the door to let her out. Lyka hated baths and I remember that she'd stink up my mom's newly renovated living room by rolling around on the vast oriental carpet spreading fleas and a rich doggy funk. Badong, our club cook and dog-man, would try to give Lyka a bath but would almost always end up with a bitten leg or arm. One day, I saw Lyka leashed (she wasn't a leash-dog) by the garage faucet quietly enduring a shampoo. I thought that she learned how to appreciate a cold bath on a hot day when I saw Badong holding a soap and a dos-por-dos with a nail sticking out held above her head. That was how Badong was able to peacefully give our poor dog a bath.

She was a good guard dog, but never did bite anyone and the most loyal dog you'll ever encounter. She would always know when my dad's near the house and would position herself by the kitchen door near the garage, ready to greet my dad as soon as he comes in. When she got really old, she would wearily pull herself to the door to greet my dad and quietly go back to her corner to sleep. She did a lot of sleeping during the latter part of her long life. She claimed a corner of our living room and would stay there day-in day-out, hardly moving except for a little food and drink. When she did move, a cloud of stink would erupt in the living room, but we would just ignore it, it was the least we can do for a long life of servitude, apart from respecting her wish of a bathless existence. I remember one day when I opened the heavy front door to buy something from the sari-sari store next door, our old Lyka got up and went out the door too. I thought she just wanted a bit of sun, but surprisingly, she followed me to the store, her short legs almost dragging on the concrete and followed me back inside the house. That was the last memory I have of her, as a couple of days later when we got home from school, Nanay told us that Lyka passed away. I cried a bit because our dog with the most adoring brown eyes is no more and I will never again have a stinky old dog with the brown pant leg follow me when I go to the store next door.