Foxy

I once had a mini collie named Foxy. A bundle of excess energy and endless mischief who always get himself in trouble especially with my dad. A sneaky little creature who somehow always manage to let himself free whenever he was put in a cage or tied up in a pole to pay for his penitence. Whose life purpose is to destroy things and testing people patience. But when he sit still and dozing never have I seen more beautiful creature than he was. The sleek face, wide eye but slanted, his upturned ear and his soft long brown and white mane. When he slept at the corner of my bedspread he always looked so peaceful and angelic one would not imagine he was the same dog barking like mad at no one and happily sashaying in the rooftop breaking the roof tiles. One would not guess that the dog who had caught a mouse and played with it’s remnants is the same dog that gracefully raise his paw to my palm.
In the end I began to be busy and started to neglect him. Soon he became just a nuisance and I cannot see the beautiful creature in him that I used to see. I cease to play with him, I stop letting him sleep in my room, and I started to forget him. But when he began to grow old and ill ridden I realize how much I love that dog. And when he passed away and I wasn’t around I went to my bathroom and started to cry quietly. I cried for hours and the grief didn’t left me for days. I cried for that dog much more than when some other people in my life passed away. I was mourning for this being who had loved me unconditionally even when I neglected and forgot him.