The Story of Butchie Boy

          It is not enough to just love a dog. You have to learn to understand his kind so you will know how to take care of him.

            The first time I encountered this issue about a dog being “given away” was when we were first taking care of Boxers. I was seeing a vet on a regular basis for all sorts of doggy reasons: yearly shots, mange, flea control, indigestion, and all those concerns that beset first-time dog owners.

            That morning, I had brought in King Kong, my dad’s favorite tan-and-white Boxer for some minor ailment. Because I had work at the office and could not come back to pick him up that day, I asked if the dog could board at the clinic for a day or two.

            My vet refused, saying she only allows sick dogs to stay over. “The dog might think you’ve given him away,” she said.

            That was new to me. “Why?” I asked. “What will he do?”

            The vet shrugged her shoulders, indicating the reaction could be any variety of behaviors. “He might get mad, might get depressed, I can’t say what he might do,” she replied.

            In the background, I could hear the whine of her canine patients. If you’re familiar with the usual sounds dogs make every day, you should hear them cry when they’re separated from their loved ones and long to go home. Their voices are different. These are the heart-wrenching cries dog owners don’t hear.

            A few years later, Butchie Boy came into the picture, another tan-and-white beauty from the second brood of puppies produced by Alfa. By that time, King Kong was not with us anymore. My dad had passed him to his physical therapist when he saw how much the young man wanted to own a magnificent Boxer like Kong.

            Butchie was 2 years old when I brought in a Dalmatian pup called Spotty as his new playmate.  Spot went under my personal care. Butchie belonged to my dad and was being taken care of by the maid.

            But I wasn’t managing the dogs well, this being my first time. I didn’t know they had a canine hierarchy. Spot was clearly a favorite at home with his playful ways and cheerful expression. He was always petted first, fussed over first, fed first, and taken out on walks first. Butchie looked at all this with a sullen face.

Spotty was undeniably cuter and more pleasant to look at than Butchie Boy's perennially scowling Boxer face.

            When Spot reached a year old, Butchie suddenly unleashed his anger on him one night when Spot just arrived from an after-dinner stroll with me. Pampered Spot, thinking the world was a pleasant place to live in, under some angry dog’s jaws locked on his neck, learned to fight back. Spot won first, of course, being younger (Butch fought until he collapsed of fatigue). But Butchie Boy did not leave it at that. In the following days, he persisted in enforcing their natural canine hierarchy, asserting himself as the top dog of the house. This is a culture among dogs I wasn’t aware of.

            I surfed the internet frantically, consulted books, and talked to various dog trainers, seeking answers to why my dogs were suddenly fighting. As is common to this approach, you receive a wide range of advice. But most of these you feel you can’t apply because of insufficient understanding on your part. In my case, I want to know what I’m doing – not just obey the method from step 1 to 5. The most practical advice (which I felt I could handle) came from a local trainer who said, “Let the dogs settle it among themselves. Don’t try to stop their fights.” When I said Spot keeps winning but Butchie keeps challenging, the trainer said, “Let them fight some more. Your Boxer hasn’t accepted yet his new position.”

When fights occur inside our house chairs tumble off their feet and furniture is in disarray. This is one of the most important reasons why we should understand and train dogs before they start to live with us. Fierce animal fights do not belong in the home. We are left in constant tension, apprehensive when the next attack will occur.

Arrangements at home got affected. Both dogs, once free to walk in and out the house, were leashed all day in separate locations away from each other’s sight. Nobody was happy with the set-up.

            The fights were getting expensive too. Surgical bills were in danger of piling up because of holes and tears.

            Finally, I noticed Spot was not only fighting back whenever Butchie challenged.  He was also starting the fights. He believed he was the top dog in the house. This aggressive behavior was due to our fault. We had ingrained that belief in him!  

In the end, the issue unresolved, one dog had to go. That had to be Butchie Boy. I was preparing Spot for agility training and had plans for him.

Butchie Boy when he was with us. He lived with us for 3 years.

            My dog trainer, Jonathan, was still with us that time (his solution to this tension is another story, another blog). I rehomed Butchie with his family. Jonathan had other dogs there and I knew Butchie would have playmates.

            But Butchie didn’t do well there. One day, Spot was “vacationing” there (for a “refresher” course in his basic obedience) and the dogs were kept apart. Spot was leashed in the garage while Butchie was in the backyard. Jonathan’s son, Joseph, had just given Spot his morning walk (big mistake!), when he entered the backyard to fetch Butchie for his turn. An enraged Butch attacked Joseph.

            Jonathan relocated Butchie to a woman who had a Boxer female. Butch did well there for awhile. Jonathan raved about how loved and spoiled Butch was by the woman when he’d visit them. I was promised a Boxer puppy from Butch’s line.

            But a year or two later, it happened again. I received frantic phone calls from the woman to report to me Butch had suddenly attacked her. In stitches and bandages all over her arms and legs, she called me from the hospital where she was confined. The woman begged me to take the dog away.

            I called for Jonathan, my mind busy on what to do next. I cannot bring Butchie back to us because Spotty was here. If Butchie was on aggression mode, I didn’t want to consider any of my friends. My only alternative was to get in touch with Anna, one of the directors of PAWS, the Philippine Animal Welfare Society.

            Jonathan came to the house that afternoon after delivering Butchie Boy to the PAWS animal shelter. He had to sign a waiver for me, giving the dog up. I grieved about legally disowning Butchie Boy from us like that and felt his fate was due to our ignorance. During the months that passed after I had Butchie moved away from us, I had finally understood what had happened between him and Spot. But by the time I knew enough about their social phenomenon, Butchie was not living with us anymore.

Butchie stares at the camera while Spot, still a puppy, playfully nips at his hind legs. Boxers are ideal children's pets, being extremely patient to being poked and manhandled by young hands.

               Butchie seemed fated to lose those close to him. When he was over a year old, he lost his caregiver, a maid of ours named Ming, whom he was very devoted to. At first, when Ming's 9-year-old daughter, Jasmin, was temporarily confined to the hospital for fever, Ming would spent the night at her daughter's bedside. After she leaves, I'd see Butchie sit facing our front door in the living room. When I turn off the lights, I'd still see Butchie facing the front door.
               One night I awoke to hear a long, wailing howl in the living room. I snapped up in bed when I recognized it. That was Butchie. The dog was crying for Ming, wondering why she wasn't home yet.
               Butchie would have continued his wailing hadn't I not rushed to the living room to interrupt his sorrow. It was a terribly unhappy sound. The other dogs woke up to distract him too.
               A few months later, Ming and her daughter left us. Butchie's expression changed. I thought the dog had just gotten more mature and mellow. But not until our family friend named Fely brought it up. "Butchie looks different," she remarked. I agreed, then the realization hit. The dog was grieving. Ming will never come back to him.
               Boxers have such expression-filled faces.
               But I was never able to protect the dog from more losses in his life.   

             During the days Butchie was at the shelter, I steeled myself from visiting him. Should I see that familiar Boxer face, what might I do? My father had died a few months back and Butchie was a part of that sentimental past. But I had taken him away from his first home, had him relocated twice, and finally had him brought to a shelter because he could not go back to us, his first family.
             A few days later, Anna called me up after visiting Butchie at the shelter. “Such a quiet, tight-lipped dog,” she commented. She inquired on the dog’s background and to collect information on his behavior. The following week, she called back. Butchie was 6 years old, suffering from a minor ailment (which I can’t remember anymore), but with his background of hostility and aggression, he cannot be re-adopted. The decision was to put him down.

    For the next two weeks I tried to busy myself with other things while I tossed the issue about Butchie in my mind. I didn’t know what to do.  At the time when Butchie and Spot were living together, I didn’t know about this canine hierarchy the dogs follow on instinct. More experienced dog owners or dog behaviorists could probably have settled this social issue of theirs. But though I later understood the culture, I didn’t think I had enough confidence to face the two dogs again. That’s why Butchie couldn’t go back home to us.

    One day, I received a call from the shelter. Butchie was going to be put down in 15 minutes. I was deeply saddened and at the same time helpless. I still didn’t know what to do. WHAT DID THEY WANT ME TO DO??? They had given me the chance to do something but I could offer no other option to save Butchie’s life. In the end, I resigned to my dilemma. I told them I was letting the dog go.    

    Butchie left our world quietly that morning. 

     New dog owners make a lot of mistakes in the beginning and the price of that is always some dog’s life. No matter how much you love them.

The House of Popeye

Young alugbati bushes. This plant is so prolific even our neighbors are finding them growing in their planter boxes.

           Since our dogs eat only dry nuggets, you might as well compare them to a child growing up on any of today's snack foods touted to be "vitamin enriched."

            My maid Lourdes loves to grow vegetables. When I decided to strip off a 10-year-old vine with hanging roots off our trellis for a change, I gave her permission to plant a prolific vegetable vine temporarily. This fast-growing vegetable, I noticed, has been lording it over our front garden for quite awhile.

            But I didn’t know how fast it would grow.

The Malabar Vine or alugbati covers our trellis.

            Before I knew it, this spinach vine has been providing a shade over our trellis, with black berries hanging over the grills like clusters of attractive grapes.

            If only they were red so the birds could pick on it. But they’re black and dry to the taste so they’re useless.

            This edible vegetable is a kind of spinach vine called Malabar Spinach, Ceylon Spinach, or the “red vine” because of its red purplish stems. Locally it’s called the “alugbati,” a kind of spinach with an earthy taste and slimy texture. A lot of people don’t like it because of its slippery texture. I don’t like it because it has a taste like soil (or sometimes called "earthy").

            In other Asian countries, the spinach is eaten boiled (boil until cooked and discard water), used as a salad ingredient, or in dishes with noodles or other vegetables. Lourdes once invented a “vegetable burger” made of very young spinach leaves, carrots, turnips, and dipped in beaten egg. The alugbati is an excellent source of calcium, iron, Vitamin A, Vitamin C. and Vitamin B. It contains saponins that act as phytochemicals, fighting cancer and other diseases.         

The plant is also popular for its medicinal properties. Here are what alugbati can do:

1.      the roots can be used as a poultice to reduce local swellings;

2.      the sap can be applied to acne areas to eliminate irritation;

3.      the sap has a softening or soothing effect, especially to the skin;

4.      it is a diuretic;

5.      it is a mild laxative;

6.      pulped leaves are applied to boils, ulcers and abscesses;

7.      Leaf juice with sugar is effective for inflammation of the nose and throat with increased production of mucus. Also used to treat gonorrhea and balanitis

8.      Leaf juice with butter has a soothing effect on burns and scalds.

9.      Stem and leaf extract can cure habitual headache.

10.  Fruits maybe used as cheeks and lips make-up and dye.

11.  Good source of fibers.

But when you have a ton of that growing in your garden, what would you do? We feed it to the dogs.

Whenever I go out to buy a sack of dog food it would always bother me that our beloved pets are growing up on processed food. When I read about how dog food  kibbles are made, it makes an informed dog owner look twice at his pet’s food bowl and ask: Is there anything fresh in that bowl? Where are the valuable enzymes?

Enzymes come from fresh food. In humans, enzymes are what help dissolve those metabolic wastes which pile up in our blood – cholesterol accumulations, uric acid formations, toxic wastes, and others. But because the modern man’s diet is now seldom fresh, the cancers and various other illnesses of today are found in younger and younger patients. Once a food passes through heat the enzymes die so you can imagine how sensitive these are. Modern man may eat well but he eats “dead food,” or food with no life.

Packy eats his morning meal with alugbati mixed with his kibbles. Seedlings sprout between stones around him.

 Since our dog eats only dry nuggets all his life, you might as well compare him to a child growing up on any of today’s snack foods touted to be “vitamin enriched.” In other words, our dogs are growing up on purely manufactured food.

            We have a lot of this spinach so we might as well add it mashed into the dog food kibbles to at least provide the dogs’ systems with something fresh, from where the much-needed enzymes will come from. Thus, every morning, Lourdes runs a harvest of this yucky spinach in the blender and adds it to their meal, mixed with a lot of water. Sometimes she also throws into the blender the skin of bananas and papayas (taken from my morning fruit shakes). The afternoon meal is pure dog food. 

            There hasn’t been any complaint so I guess the dogs can take it. But just as fast as Lourdes cuts their stems, the vine grows back quickly. Now, their black berry-like fruits have scattered all over the ground and there are seedlings everywhere. This is too much. Lourdes now is put to task to uproot those seedlings and add them to the blender every morning, aside from the regular harvest of leaves. 

Alubgbati seedlings sprout behind the pots and the wall.

No, this is not grass growing between the stones. It's the alugbati seedlings.

Seedlings share space with potted plants. On the ground below seedlings grow like an invasion army.

Spot eats his daily kibbles with spinach. Dalmatians have a high uric acid level in their system so we feed Spot his food soaked in water. A well hydrated dog is not prone (hopefully) to kidney stone formation.

A young alugbati seedling struggles to emerge between the stones along the garden pathway.

The University of the Philippines in Summer

Spot watches soccer practice on a Sunday morning at the Sunken Garden.

It’s beautiful at the UP during the summer. Now if you can only keep your dogs away from accidents. . .

            I own Dalmatians. These dogs when they are young are like big Jack Russell terriers. They are like coiled springs that need to loosen up. Dalmatians were originally bred to accompany coaches and carriages as guard dogs before the arrival of the motor car. Because this horse-drawn vehicle often travel long distances, physical endurance is one of the major traits of Dalmatians. These guard dogs are built to run for miles and miles.  

Spotty was the first Dalmatian I acquired and from him I learned about his kind. I’d take him out twice a day for long walks in the neighborhood. Twice a week it would be 3 kilometer walks along the Marikina River (Marcos Highway to Sumulong Highway then back). Daily I’d run with him at our dog agility circuit when we had the dog school at a park. Just about any place which would allow dogs I’d bring him. These tiring excursions would send Spotty to his bed that night snoozing away to canine dreamland and the following days I’d see a well-behaved pet.

Old-generation trainers used to remark that the Dalmatian was slow to learn, difficult to control, and hard to train. In my opinion, they don’t know the breed. They don’t know that you can’t train a Dalmatian right away. The dog is too restless in the beginning to pay attention. Tire this dog out first with a good run. When he comes back to you worked out and spent – he’s ready to listen.

So when I saw four-year-old Toby ripping green coconut shell halves with a vengeance and leaving husks scattered around the house, that was the sign. He has twice-daily walks around the neighborhood – isn’t that enough?

            Clearly it wasn’t and now the dog was gnashing his teeth on things he could destroy.  Maybe he missed his Sunday walk in the park because his other Dalmatian packmate, my dog Spotty, and I spent an overnight at my aunt’s house out of town. So I didn’t attend to him when I got home that weekend.

            Now Toby is unleashing some nervous energy.

            I decided to give my two Dalmatians a big open space to run freely the following Sunday.

            At dawn that Sunday, I folded over the back seat of my SUV, spread an old blanket over the enlarged carpeted baggage compartment floor, packed in water and doggy emergency kit, and with Dominic and 2 excited Dalmatians in tow, we left the house very early and headed to the University of the Philippines. By 6:00am the acacia-lined academic oval of the college campus was busy with morning joggers. It was May and it was summertime. At that early hour, the sky was already brightly lit by a sun rising from the east.

            Dogs are banned from the oval where the joggers are. But along the University Avenue on the right, before you reach the Main Administration Building, you will see a wide and grassy sloping field. I drove down the wide avenue, turned right along the academic oval, then turned right again after the detour sign which the campus security erect every Sunday morning. The oval is closed to vehicular traffic so the joggers can exercise freely. I parked at the Coral Building or the Office of the Campus Architect and opened my car door to the deafening whine of cicadas from the trees around us, a sound always associated with summer after a rain the afternoon before. 

            With Dominic walking Toby on leash and I with Spotty, we led the dogs down the sprawling meadow still in soft shade. A cool breeze was in the air. The newly cut grass was loaded with morning dew.  I could hear a noisy bird cackling loudly up the tallest trees. Another bird kept hooting. Toby paused midway several times, listening attentively to the strange sounds, one foot folded in the air, bringing out the Pointer blood in him.

            Down the slopes we set the dogs free.

This is doggy heaven on earth: wide open space, no leash, a playmate, and freedom to run. 

            This is heaven for dogs yearning to stretch their legs sans confining leashes. I watched Toby’s lean body zip through the air like a coiled spring unloaded. He ran around Spotty in wide circles but my eight-year-old Dalmatian refused to be intimidated. I saw my (early) senior challenge his younger packmate and together the two spotted dogs decorated the green landscape with their games.

            A small creek snakes throughout the land. I headed there to give the gamboling dogs greater space with which to frolic. Toby’s sprints alone seemed to need a lot of space. Tall grasses line this break in the land a natural spring bubbles along. The creek yawns open at a certain portion where one can cross comfortably. I went down the rocky bank and with one step I was at the other side. Spot hopped over neatly and galloped up to join me. Dominic was behind calling Toby to follow.

            The running water of the creek collected into a small pool before traveling onward. Toby descended to the bank of that pool, saw the expanse of water and looked around for a crossing. Then Dominic gave his Recall command at that very moment. Toby heard Dominic’s voice and with eyes focused on him took a step forward. The dog plunged into the pool with a splash. The waters were neck deep.

            The fall surprised us. My Dalmatians are not water dogs. This is not a pleasant surprise for Toby.

            The dog struggled to his feet on the pool’s muddy floor and climbed up the bank muddied and dripping wet.

            But that didn’t spoil his day. At the other side of the creek Toby continued his frolic, the dogs chasing and challenging each other, enjoying the wind and open space. I watched Toby discover brown long-tailed birds hiding in the tall bushes and try to give chase as each bird flew away.

            “Toby, now you’re a hunting dog,” Dominic quipped.

            Several minutes later the sun started to cast its bright light slowly across the meadow and the long shadows shortened. We will have to go home soon. But Toby has to dry up. His nosing around and chasing the birds among the tall grasses had further dampened his fur.

            I decided to go to the “ruins.” The “ruins” are located at the distant end of the meadow. It’s a good walk under the summer morning sun to help Toby dry up. What has always piqued my curiosity were the two large signs which forbid visitors to hang around the area. The two signs faced only the street on the northern side of the meadow, its backs turned to us. I’ve glimpsed them when driving out the campus in the past. What’s over there anyway?

The "ruins" with only one signboard by the time I shot this photo.

             The strange concrete structures were nothing but the ruins of a group of small maybe two-story buildings. But only their foundations were visible which you approach by going down some steps. Dried leaves carpeted the floor as the silent markers, under the shade of wide-spreading trees, made the place almost romantic.

            I saw a few big holes in the ground, old wells probably. I turned to go back to the open meadow and Spot turned too to follow me. I forgot that the dog was off his leash.

            Then I saw it happen. Spot moved to be beside me and as he did he walked into an open well. Good thing the hole was full of water. The dog fell in with a small splash. We were surprised at the sudden accident, our second in one hour that morning. Spot submerged then rose up. He floundered at the edge, front paws hanging for life. Dominic helped pull him out of the hole because the dog couldn’t hoist himself over.

“Why didn’t you see that?” I demanded as Spot shook himself up.

There were a number of those uncovered wells here and there. Obviously, like Toby who plunged into the creek without looking, Spot also didn’t see where he was going.

            Now I know what those signs are all about. Why the hell don’t they put an enclosure around those holes??? Or put signs on the opposite side, the southern side too?

            I’m just thankful that hole wasn’t dry or the waters way down below.

Water dog  Spot after we pulled him from the well.

            Dogs – their vision isn’t as sharp as us humans. We must always look ahead (and if off leash -- think ahead), and keep an eye on them. It’s like having children with you. They need to be continuously monitored, especially if they’re unconfined.

But the trouble is, dogs remain like children all their lives.

           

            By 7:30am, the heat of summer was beginning to be felt. Time to go. Spot had a slight limp because of the pull exerted on him when we hauled him out of the well. But he gamely continued to follow me back to the car.

I brought home two damp, dirty, tired but happy dogs that had a bath when they arrived. They had their mid-morning breakfast. Then a long relaxing nap.

             The next day I was right. Toby lay about contentedly ignoring any of the items he loves to rip apart.

 Amidst the busy chirping of birds at the trees overhead and the melodious music of the UP Carillon filling the air, morning joggers work up a sweat at the 2.2 km. Academic Oval.

The famous Oblation, an iconic symbol of the university.  Its original version, made of concrete,  was a naked man but to "promote morality and censorship" a later version added a fig leaf. . . The original statue, created by National Artist Guillermo E. Tolentino in 1935, can be found at the 3rd floor of the University Main Library. The Oblation statue stands 3.3 meters tall. It stands at the front of the Main Administration Building, greeting visitors entering the campus via the University Avenue.

The UP Carillon Tower along the Academic Oval fills the morning air with pleasant tinkling music. The bronze bells play from local folk songs and anthems to the Beatles.

The dogs inspect the creek. At the background above runs the tree-lined Academic Oval.

Looking for birds to chase -- or looking for trouble.

Toby enjoys his freedom as a city dog. Across the creek are the "ruins."

A dew-soaked Spot passes by a common weed locally called "Makahia" (Mimosa pudica) or Sensitive Plant. The plant's fern-like leaves fold before your eyes upon being touched. The leaves open again a few minutes later.
Spot wears a neon pink collar (Toby's is orange) with a small bag attached to it; inside are poop bags and some small change (for my use). The other collar in the photo is a flea collar. Under Spot's blue collar bag dangles his metal ID.

The dogs end their morning exercise under a Golden Shower (Cassia fistula). A summertime tree, the Golden Shower bears cylindrical dark-brown pods, one to two feet long, which furnish the ingredient of a purgative drug.

The Sunken Garden located behind the UP Main Library reportedly sinks 2 inches every year. This is due to either underground trenches connecting to the Marikina Fault line which passes a few miles outside the campus, or to empty streams that used to be there in the 1950s.  The 5-hectare field is now a favorite venue for sports tournaments, fairs, and military drills.

           

No Trespassing! See My Teeth?

 I watched Tootsie, trying to understand why the dog was so hysterical. The dog wasn’t growling. She was screaming.

Last March, my auntie’s dog, a spunky mini Dachshund named Tootsie, left the Philippines to settle in her new home in the United States with my cousin Marie, her husband Bobby, and daughter Francine. I used to mention this dog in previous blogs because she was our first encounter with her breed. My elderly dad, when he was still alive, fell in love with this dog when she came to stay with us for basic training before going to my aunt.

Her first (and temporary) name was Tutti. The dog was plucky and high-spirited. She was a puppy when she came to live with us. Soon after settling down and noticing there were other dogs in the house, she drew up her own rules. Tutti took it upon herself to make it known before our male dogs that she was the boss. She would initiate all the chase games and the wrestling matches. She would lead and she would end.

Our male adult dogs immediately gave deference to this young pup. Adult dogs do not seem to consider a pup a threat to their hierarchy (yet). Until that pup is a year old, that is. I learned about dog aggression the hard way with Spot. But that’s another story (another blog in the future).

Doggy antics were what made my dad’s afternoons light and amusing during those days. He’d watch their wrestling competitions and their chase games. Led by a little black Dachshund puppy the size of a sewer rat, they’d scramble back and forth past his open bedroom door until they were breathless. I guess an independent-minded dog like the Dachshund makes an ideal pet for an elderly. Unlike our big dogs that lie around waiting for their master, the Dachshund can lead and entertain himself without any human prompting. They’re naturally assertive and creative. In Tutti’s case too, she had no concept of size. You can take a lesson about life when you see a small puppy dominate our larger (and older) dogs, supremely confident without a doubt in that little mind that they would follow her.

They did follow her. 

After a month of basic training at my house, Tutti moved to live with my aunt for the next five years until my aunt died last February.

 The puppy’s departure left a void with my dad. He realized he liked the Dachshund because of Tutti but Tutti was not meant for us. To replace Tutti, Marie sent my dad another Dachshund which we named Packy.

A year or two later, my aunt invited me to Christmas dinner. In keeping with the spirit of the season, I took along my Dalmatian Spot, wearing a red Santa cap. Besides, I told myself, Tutti (now Tootsie) once lived with us. She will remember Spot. They can play together and keep each other company that evening.

But it did not happen that way.  

As soon as Spot entered my aunt’s house that Christmas eve, a shrill scream pierced the air. It was Tootsie. The dog glared, barking wildly at her spotted visitor.

We were all bewildered. “Don’t you remember Spotty?” I demanded at Tootsie. “You used to play together! You lived at my house for a month!”

Tootsie’s reply was still a hysterical scream at Spot.

The only way we could resolve this was to keep the dogs apart. Marie kept Tootsie close to her while I kept Spot a distance away. Tootsie was clearly very upset every time she’d see Spot.

Tootsie snuggles up to a larger-sized Spotty during nap time. How could I expect that she would not recognize Spot a  few years later when they used to be sleeping buddies?

Some two years later, my aunt invited me to drop by her house when she found out I would be staying overnight at a farm in Cavite with my dogs. She suggested I pass by her house on my way home that Sunday morning. “Let’s introduce Tootsie to Packy,” she said. “Let’s introduce her to a boyfriend.”

That late morning, I arrived at her house. We kept the two Dalmatians outside beside the car, while I headed towards my aunt’s house across the street, Packy on leash. My friend Fely met me at the gate but I didn't want to enter, remembering what happened that Christmas eve with Spot. I stayed outside on the sidewalk.
               “Bring Tootsie out,” I said, “Packy is here.”

Fely didn’t think my aunt would want Tootsie out in the street. So I had to enter the property. I stood a distance away from the front door. “Bring Tootsie out,” I repeated.   

Fely led Tootsie out. As soon as Tootsie saw Packy it happened all over again. The little dog let out a high piercing scream, barking wildly at Packy. Packy, meanwhile, for a dog that walks with a chip on his shoulder back home, stood quietly beside me taking everything in.

I didn’t think this was working. Tootsie persisted with her noisy reception. But I’ve been learning more about dogs since. I watched Tootsie, trying to understand why the dog was so hysterical.  I was confused because the dog wasn’t growling. She was screaming. She stayed before the screen door, backed against the front step but she wasn’t displaying the familiar dog aggression stance. Then I saw a fine row of white teeth in her small mouth. 

My aunt walked out, amusement all over her face.”What’s going on?”she asked.”Why is Tootsie like that? She doesn’t like Packy?”

“She thinks Packy is trespassing,” I replied, finally understanding what I was seeing. “We shouldn’t have introduced the two dogs here. This is Tootsie’s territory.”

After awhile we gave up. Tootsie was clearly not in a social mood. My aunt led the dog back indoors while I looked down to lead Packy back to the car. I had felt him pull his leash to crawl among the bushes (to get away from that screaming female) so I pulled the leash hidden among the plants.

The leash came up empty. Packy was wearing a harness and I realized his short Dachshund legs had easily slipped out the belts.

“Packy is loose!” I hissed at Fely in a panic whisper.

Fely immediately parted the bushes while I turned the other direction calling for the dog. My aunt had other dogs and they might pounce on the "trespasser." I wasn’t sure if they were confined. I knew Packy doesn't back away from fights. Finally Packy emerged around the corner coming from the back of the house. It seemed he had already scouted the property on his own and the other dogs hadn't spotted him.

Packy was never introduced to Tootsie as a future beau. We should have taken both dogs out to a neutral territory such as the basketball court across the street, introduced the two together and let them play for awhile. But because nobody could accompany Tootsie out into the street (my hands were full and Fely would rather chat with my aunt indoors) a second  introduction was never arranged.

I learned that you can’t just walk your dog into another person’s house presuming the dog in residence there will receive the visitor amicably. Some dogs will greet the new dog sociably, others won’t. At my friend Malu's house, I've taken Spot there lots of times but her fluffy-haired terrier named Happy has never demonstrated any territorial behavior. It was a mistake for me to presume the same reception would exist in every other house we'd go to that had a dog living there.

Packy, meanwhile, after pulling his “Houdini” disappearance trick on me that morning, now wears both a collar and matching harness attached to a couplet leash when he's taken outdoors.  

    

Packy with two new Dachshund friends named Lilo and Stitch. Packy wears a collar and harness on a couplet leash (it has 2 clips) to give us a good hold on him when walking him in public.

Preparing for the Big One (and Hoping it Won’t Come!)

Disaster preparedness runs by the motto, “Expect the worst but hope for the best."

            It took my sister living in far-off Germany to open the awareness. One night, she googled the “Marikina Valley Fault line” and came up with a wealth of fascinating – and at the same time alarming – information that she had to email me about it. Maybe us, urban Filipinos, living near and around that huge split in the earth’s crust, we’ve taken it for granted that it will stay just like that -- frozen in time -- forever. 

So it had to take somebody far removed from our complacency and indifference to point out a new and fresh fact:  that this Valley Fault’s long sleep is feared up. Reports at the website of the Philvolcs (Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology) at www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph warn that the fault line is due for “movement” because it hasn’t shifted in 200 years. Its last movement was in the 17^th century. We are now in the 21^st.

We have a chandelier which I look at when I feel any earth movement. If it sways, there's an earthquake; if it doesn't maybe it was just the dog scratching under my seat!

                In 2004, a study was done on the impact of an earthquake on the national capital region conducted by the Metropolitan Manila Development Authority (MMDA), Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology (Philvolcs), and the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). In 2010 last year, urban planner and architect Felino Palafox Jr updated this and submitted it to Malacanang. Maybe the timing was not in “tune with the times” because Manila was relatively disaster-free that time. President Aquino’s spokesman took his proposal lightly and called Palafox an “alarmist.”

Palafox will have his day. History has always proven that forward-thinking leaders who were ridiculed for upsetting a people's comfort zone often ended up right.

There’s nothing wrong with disaster preparedness. It doesn’t mean you expect doom -- or that you will invite it. Military strategists are trained to think of the worst possible scenarios from the enemy and to prepare for them. Should the enemy attack, they’ve covered all the possible movement beforehand. Should the enemy not attack – well and good! Isn’t that what everybody hopes and wants?

            I went through all the sites provided by the Google search engine about this Marikina Valley Fault line (or more correctly called the West Valley Fault line), searching for that one right map that would show up my neighborhood clear as day. Finally, www.nababaha.com/marikina_fault/marikina_valley_fault.htm; so I looked it up. The map was revealing. Two of my friends whose homes along the Blue Ridge subdivision which I suspected were at the edge of the fault (because a cliff was at the end of their properties) were actually a few miles away from the route of the Valley Fault line. You mean to tell me the land plunged several meters below the edge of their properties yet that didn’t mean they were on the fault line? Talk about their landscape being "redesigned"!

           What about those streets in pricey subdivisions where the fault line clearly runs underneath their mansions? Oh my. I’d use my money to plan a getaway from there. Better to be safe than be sorry for being in the stupor of such denial.

My friend Fely left me these 3 wrought iron candle holders and they're beautiful to use during a candle lit night. But they can easily topple over. I secured them (discreetly) with nylon string.

Closeup of the strings.

            One local television news report interviewed informal settlers living directly on  top of land warned by Philvolcs authorities as headed for liquefaction in the event of a major tremor. The reporter asked a woman if she was aware of this and if she had any plans for addressing this hazard. The woman looked guiltily around her, said no she hasn’t any such preparation. Then she burst out fatalistically, “Kung oras mo na, oras mo na (If it’s your time, it’s your time!)!” referring to the inevitability of Death's call. Her female buddy, to silence the TV reporter, interjected loudly, “God is with us!”

            This denial leaves one the excuse not to face the emergency. When I called our neighborhood handyman, Rudy, to drill some concrete nails in the wall because I wanted to bolt some tall cabinets there -- and why -- Rudy looked at me with wide eyes and said defiantly, "Hindi mangyayari yan (That will not happen)!" referring to the reason why I was doing this. I had to "readjust" his thinking.

            I sought out my neighborhood. Hey, we’re pretty far (sort of). Our house sits on adobe rock typical of many Quezon City properties and is on rather high ground. When the famous Ondoy typhoon in 2009 swallowed most of Metro Manila underwater, neighbors remarked our area was like being surrounded by a “moat.” There were floods on all four corners of our neighborhood but we stayed on dry land.

But are we really that “far”? The 1990 earthquake of Luzon involved the Philippine Fault Zone, bigger than the West Valley Fault. One of its splays, the Digdig fault made a move. The movement was felt for 20,000 kms. from the Bicol region up to the Cordillera mountains. The Digdig starts at the eastern side of Luzon then crosses central Luzon north of Manila. It doesn't even pass anywhere near the metro. The diagonally running Digdig fault movement had an intensity of 7.8. (This earthquake's massive energy collected underground and exited the following year out a mountain top which people never suspected was a volcano because it didn't have a crater -- Mt Pinatubo). The epicenter of that 1990 earthquake was in a remote town called Rizal in Nueva Ecija. Thankfully, Manila was marginally damaged yet that tremor rolled the streets of Metro Manila as if the city was on top of a bobbing sea (I saw this unusual movement happen down Aurora Blvd when the quake struck at 4:26pm in July. It was like the street and buildings were on a water bed!). In faraway Baguio the famous Hyatt Terraces toppled like a stack of playing cards killing tourists, some just having an afternoon coffee with friends, and hotel guests.

I leave you to imagine what would be the worst case scenario in your respective areas. In general, there may be no electricity to open your TV so you can check the news, no water might pour out your faucets, no cellphone service to contact friends or relatives because the servers might be down, there may be no internet, no landline, flyovers and bridges are collapsed, and streets are blocked with debris. Traffic lights are down, the drugstores and food stores are closed, and gas stations can’t load your tank. The city will be cut off; provisions can’t come in because major roads are blocked with toppled buildings. You can’t go anywhere either to check on loved ones because even secondary streets are barricaded with obstructions. The 2004 JICA study mentioned above even predicts Manila could be cut into 4 parts, each part isolated from the other due to collapsed roadways, flyovers, and bridges.
                What now, urban sophisticate?

Remember, disaster preparedness does not mean you expect the end of the world is sure to come upon you (and so it will happen).  You’re just covering all the possible territories that could happen. You can go from simple preparations such as stocking up on grains and water, to the big budget plans such as installing solar energy to power your house (or moving to a less hazardous address). If it happens -- and it may be less worse than expected -- you’ll not be left totally devastated.
               I still have a lot to do, other than just bolting things around the house. I have to stock up on canned goods and bottled water, store grains such as beans and mongo, and if I can do this, collect rainwater in plastic drums and keep them around (covered). When we were growing up, my dad, a survivor of the Bataan Death March and a USAFFE war veteran, had the habit of collecting rainwater in big drums. It was a strange practice to us that time because nobody else that we knew did this. During the summer should any of the drums be depleted (for example, to water the plants or wash the car) he would fill it up at once with a hose from a nearby tap and cover the drum with a lid. He also installed a special tank for our drinking water.
             We kids used to make jokes about this. Why was our father storing so much water? Just turn on the faucet! We were too young to understand, not having experienced much about life yet. But we were under the wing of a man who had seen life -- and had seen a lot. This went on for some years. Then a massive typhoon hit Manila and the city had no water, electricity, or telephone (there were no cellphones yet) for days because of the destruction. Water service was the last to be restored many weeks later. But we had water all that time. My dad's disaster preparedness paid off. 
               I still have to scan important documents (property titles, contracts, birth certificates, etc) and email them to my siblings abroad so they have a copy in case something happens to the original papers here. Even the combination numbers of the vaults which my dad left behind -- I have sent already.
               All computer files from the PC I copy to an external hard drive which the more portable laptop could open should there be no electricity.

Most homes keep a First Aid kit in their bathrooms. Is it because the family expects accidents and turbulence to fall upon their lives? No they don’t.

Disaster preparedness is like that. Just keep everything in place. Then go on with your daily life.

We have a pantry room and it would be disastrous if all those breakables slide out should the earth rock. We have unused jalousie blades from old windows from the past. They've been in the garage for years. I had them cut in half at a glass and aluminum shop and nailed them at the end of the shelves to act as a barricade. 

A clock is another breakable. Hang them on hooks -- not on nails.

We developed our backyard to grow vegetables to add to our food. I even allowed Lourdes, who loves to grow them, to plant alugbati (a kind of spinach vine) on our front garden trellis. I hate the taste but thankfully, the dogs have no complaints (it's blended fresh into their dog food).

BOLT all your cabinets (you'll need two; a small size for the left door to hold it secure inside and a bigger one for both doors outside) so your precious dinnerware will not fall out when the ground rolls. I'm still thinking how to hold the china in, though, because a recycled jalousie blade is too low a barricade when we tend to stack the plates up. But I told Lourdes to make it a habit to always bolt the kitchen cabinets (above photo) during the day. The 1990 earthquake, I reminded her, struck in the middle of the afternoon. These things don't occur only in the early morning.

Toby expends restless energy by howling with Packy as the tooting melody of an ice cream cart passes by. In a joint study between scientists from the University of the Philippines and authorities from the Philvolcs entitled "Quantifying Spatial and Temporal Dimensions of Premonitory Animal Behavior of the July 18,1990 Luzon Earthquake," dogs in the town of Rizal, Nueva Ecija had bayed (a deep-throated howl, not the give-it-all-I've-got howl Toby is demonstrating above) that afternoon before the quake struck. What dogs howl in the afternoon? That would be all the more ominous. The dogs in Rizal had warned of a coming danger -- but who was listening?