My Dad and his Dogs (I)

      Observers noticed my dad's heart was in the grave. At that age, he had nothing to live for or to look forward to anymore.I was warned my dad might not live long.

The story of my elderly father first appeared in the Animal Scene magazine written by my college buddy Mona Sabalones Gonzales (copy paste her blog -- http://monasabalonesgonzalez.blogspot.com/2011/03/how-dog-gave-new-life-to-its-elderly.html on your address bar). It's the story of how a dog prolonged the life of a 79-year-old widower -- who thought he had nothing to look forward to anymore -- by an extra 15 years.

During my mom’s one-year hospitalization, friends and relatives warned me that my dad could just as soon follow after her. They had been together for 53 years. How can a man find a new life after all that? All my siblings were abroad and I was living on my own apart from them. So he was, indeed, doomed to live alone after my mom dies. On Christmas eve my mom died. I can imagine what must've gone in his head that day after the funeral. In two months he will be 80. Too late to start anything new.
              That's why old people look back. They see nothing up ahead.
              I have to give thanks to my cousin Marimi whose parents were also aging at the same time. She was the one who led me to the right direction. “Find something your dad loved to do when he was young,” she said, passing on the same advice her father’s geriatric doctor had told her. “That indicates his natural talent, a passion which he can do easily.”

My dad headed the legal dept of the military. Here he is shown reviewing arms surrendered by rebels. This was taken probably in the late 1950s or early 1960s, at the height of his career.

I looked at my dad and took stock of his “passions.” He was a military man, through and through. He loved military law. It was his life. He loved golf too. He also loved jazz music. He enjoyed tinkering around the house. He had a good hand with plants. He was also good with animals.

I decided a new dog would be easier for me to give.

But I didn’t address that until several months later. Soon after my mom died I packed my stuff and went home to keep him company. There, I saw the silence that surrounded his life. He read all day. TV in the evenings. Monday mornings we’d visit the cemetery. Once a week he’d trek to the market to replenish food supplies. At home, he’d read again.

When I found a new job in a magazine office I’d leave him alone until I come home in the evening. Observers noticed his heart was in the grave. At that age, it seemed my dad had nothing to live for or to look forward to anymore. I was warned he might not live long.

One day, I was sent to interview a dog owner who wanted his prized Boxer dog featured. It had just won the All-Breed Championship title the third time in a row at a nationwide dog show.  

It turned out the dog owner named Joey, kept a lot of dogs too. I saw a long kennel of snub-nosed canines leap and bark excitedly when they saw me. They were the most attractive animals in the world. That smart military stance, that alert and intelligent look in their eyes, and that dignified hold of their heads – they were Boxers! Joey had a lot of them. He was a breeder.

During the interview I had many questions outside of the article I planned to put together. I told Joey about my dad. I told him stories of how my dad was good with dogs but I was not familiar with Boxers. Would that be a good breed for an elderly?

After the interview Joey walked me out but led me first to a cage where a tall 6-month old Boxer rose when it saw us. Joey took it out and presented it to me. “Give it to your father,” he said.

That Ugly Dog

The dog had a small head. But it was a purebred. “It won’t qualify for show,” Joey warned me, explaining that he breeds only show dogs. “Those that don’t qualify either I sell cheap or give away to friends.”

I looked down at that brindle pup with its black mask and miserable-looking wrinkled expression. It looked the ugliest dog in the world. It didn’t look as smart as those other Boxers in the kennel (especially the tan and white ones). My heart didn’t go out to it. But maybe my dad’s heart would. Maybe this dog was meant for him.

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