My puppy, Floss, passed away. She was 9, ancient in little dog years. She was a Miniature Pinscher, black with brown detailing on her brows, chest and paws.
I remember the day we got her. She belonged to my older sister's friend and her family. They couldn't take care of her anymore. Floss wasn't getting along with their German Shepherd (who bullied her). It was time she got a new home.
My sisters and I never really had any pets. We live in a predominantly Muslim neighborhood in a terrace house. Coupled with our collective busy schedules, it was not conducive for having a dog. For some reason that I will never find out, my mother (the queen of the house) okay-ed the decision to take Floss in. I'm sure dad had some say in it too, right D?
The day we got her, she sauntered in through the front door like she owned the place. She seemed tentative, but she got the hang of our house pretty quickly. I remember everything that came with her-- the dog food, the cage, the pink pillow. I remember also that Mom had said she was to sleep downstairs in our kitchen. Me and my sister Hillary were reluctant. We tried to get Mom to agree to let Floss sleep upstairs by saying things like, "everyone else lets their dog sleep in their bed." Mom stood her ground.
That night, as I lay in my bed, I heard our new pet crying and whining downstairs in the dark kitchen. I looked over at Hillary and we both were thinking the same thing-- "Operation Get Floss Upstairs." We snuck out of our rooms (we're experts) and got the pitiful puppy into our room. We also got her pink pillow, thinking that Mom wouldn't be so upset if we made Floss sleep on the floor.
Floss slept through the night and so did I. The first thing I woke up to that morning was Floss kicking the parquet floor of my room. The second thing I saw was pee on the floor.
"Aww crap.." I thought to myself.
Surprisingly, I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom to get toilet paper. I cleaned up her pee, sans complaints, whines or resentment. I lifted Floss up to my bed we just hung out. She seemed content. So did I. I remember the scent of my room after Floss spending the night. It smelled of dog. Not the bad kind. It was the smell of my puppy.
There are so many other memories I associate with Floss. Some involving my relatives, some involving my friends, many involving my sisters and my family. Our relatives always joked about cooking Floss. Not a very funny joke, I have to say. No, not funny at all. We called Floss a racist dog. She always barked at people with darker skin tones. It was amusing to watch. She was yappy for her size. God, was she yappy. Whenever the postman came by, we'd be bombarded with the screech of his motorcycle paired with Floss's shrill barks. Oh were those glorious, glorious sounds.
Not all the memories of Floss were great. I remember that she was a source of tension between my father and us sisters. He'd complain the we never got up early enough to let her out in the morning. Or that we didn't take enough baths for her. I guess he thought of her as his little baby, just like all of us did. Mom wasn't a fan of Floss. It was funny to watch her grow from being semi-warm towards the little four-legged pup to secretly feeding her under the table when we were eating.
Floss was my baby. Everyone said so. She was my baby. She'd always wait for me by our door after school, her stump of a tail wagging ever so vigorously. As soon as I'd get off the bus, she'd be there, standing, ears folded backwards, jumping happily in circles. Some days, I thought "Man, it must be nice to have someone so happy to see you all the time. Like a celebrity." She always did the same for both my sisters.
The night before I left for the States, I just lay on the couch with my pooch at my side. She knew, I think, that I was leaving. She seemed to quiet and calm, as if reassuring me, that everything was going to be alright. My oldest sister had told me earlier some time that small dogs don't live as long as big dogs and that Floss might die while I was abroad. I was pretty upset when she said that. The next morning, when I was about to get in the car, I looked back at my house, taking in the place where I grew up. I stooped down to give Floss a hug. She wouldn't come to me. She refused. I was choking up, and I felt as if my dog was rejecting me. Ooo burrnn.. I finally just caught her and gave her a giant hug. She didn't lick me. It was very unlike her.
Now when I look back, perhaps it was her way of saying, "this isn't goodbye. I'll see you again. stop being so dramatic." Haha, she did always have this haughty air about her. Little Miss Prissy. Here in the States, I remember being on the phone with mom. She told me that Floss missed me. Mom had been folding up some laundry when Floss came up to her pile and grabbed one of my underwear, safeguarding it. Mom told me also that Floss would go up to my room and sit there, waiting for me. Little did Floss know, that anecdote had made me cry when I heard it.
Earlier this semester, Dad texted me, saying that Floss had run away. I'd received the text in the (not so) wee hours of the morning. My oldest sister had left the front door open and Floss had decided to go on a little adventure. She was lost for about 3 days. I was distraught. I couldn't do anything, being so far away from home. I did what my generation did best. I posted a cry for help on Facebook, hoping someone would have some information about my precious puppy. Surprisingly someone did. Floss came home, a little shaken up. But she didn't care. She was all "yea I went on an adventure. Sue me.. sheesh."
My sisters would send me pictures of Floss from time to time, trying to give me updates. Sometimes Dad would text me, telling me that Floss had aged a lot over the last five years. I hated getting those texts that reminded me that she could go at any time. When I went home two years ago, I was a little miffed that Floss didn't quite give me the welcome I was expecting. There was no stump-wagging, or pulled back ears. She just seemed tentative. I guess she had a new favorite, Hillary.
But just like that first morning after Floss stayed with us, there was not a feeling of resentment. I mean how petty would I be to hold a grudge against a dog. I guess there are some things you overlook when you love something so much. I remember the one time Mom decided to return Floss to her previous owner. Dad had decided that we girls weren't giving her the proper responsibility she deserved. My uncle and aunt were in town from Singapore that weekend. I cried and cried the day she left. I was so upset with myself for letting her be given back. The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, my aunt remarked at my swollen eyes. All I could do was smile feebly.
But today, Floss left for good. A few days ago, my family noticed that she was having stomach problems. They didn't think anything of it. As it worsened, they took her to the vet, only to find that her stomach had ruptured. Even though she was a healthy dog (says the vet), complications arose. Even though the surgery went successfully, Death eventually claimed my puppy for his own.
The thing that sucks the most is that I was supposed to go home in a month. I had been so excited to see my little puppy. and my family of course. When I do come home, my puppy wouldn't be waiting for me at the door. The house would be silent of her yaps when the mailman rides by. There wouldn't be any poo waiting to be cleaned up when we come home from a long day. There wouldn't be any stump-wagging or ear-folding. There will be no Floss.
There are countless of things I wish I could tell you about Floss. How she curls up when she sleeps, or how she stares at you with her bug-eyes. I could tell you about how protective she gets when we give her Denta, or how she embodies the spirit of youth by always looking young. I could tell you that because of Floss, I prefer small dogs over larger dogs. I could also tell you how Floss taught my family the responsibility of caring for a pet, of loving a pet. I could tell you that despite how we might have ill-treated her (perhaps unintentionally), Floss continued to love without condition.
I find solace in knowing that she is no longer suffering from pain, that she had a good life with my family and that she could spend the rest of her life with people who loved her and doted on her every move. I find solace in knowing that she made an impact on our lives just as much as we had on hers.
Here's to Floss. from a hundred thousand miles away, I love you with all my heart and wish that you rest in peace.
Goodbye my furry friend. Sleep well.
