A pup named Bruce

Owning a dog is not one of my priorities these days. But the kids around me and the kid in me prevailed. I heard raising a pure breed dog is quite expensive, the very reason why at first I can’t seem to like the idea of buying and raising one. Nevertheless, I do dream that someday a dog in the house is just so cool. So, when someone advertised through the internet that golden retriever pups are for sale, I just thought this might be the right time to own one. This is how the Bruce mania starts.

Before the name Bruce was officially adopted, several names cropped up as suggested by the kids like, Max, Sparky, Jack, etc. I chose the name Bruce because it sounded just right for a dog that I perceive to be strong and connotes a real stud in the making.

Here he was, a new and young intruder in the house ready to bring entertainment to everyone. The breeder handed me Bruce’s Birth certificate and he explained to me its significance. His original name was Spark. I was told Bruce came from a family, from a lineage with a Champion line. Proof was in his Birth certificate dotted with red prints signifying his family were mostly winners in dog contests. Bruce was a 2- month old pup whose traits I enjoyed so much. He was adorable, cheerful, playful, friendly and uncomplaining. Uncomplaining because not like the young askals when put in a leash, Bruce never tried to resist and never did he whimper even once. He’ll just look at you submissively, as if telling you , “yes, master, as you wish”, he’ll lie down flat on his stomach readying himself for a good night rest.

Others want a guard dog or a watch dog. But as for me, I just want a pet, a house dog trained to co-exist with his superiors/masters. A dog who knows when and where he’s supposed to poop and pee. If a dog can learn that then he’s a less stressful animal to manage.

My mom told me to put Bruce in a cage. But I stubbornly refused and argued that he’s not gonna grow up in a cage. He’ll stay in the house and my task is to prove to them that Bruce can be trained to be an “educated” dog. A dog with urbane manners, which is quite a grand task. But I was determined to do it anyway. My Mom wanted him caged because she’s allergic to its hairy body, but I defied this. I didn’t listen and it was already late when I realized that putting him in a cage might have been the wisest thing to do.

It wasn’t easy raising and training a very young pup to follow my rules. I did quite heroic sacrifices just to show to them that he will be a good dog. Bruce tested my stress level, my tolerance and I will admit that sometimes I regretted having him. Sometimes, I asked myself why I have allowed myself into this situation. Whereas, on weekends I could sleep and wake up a little late and worry nothing. But when Bruce came, all my routine changed. I started to wake up early to give him a little walk, feed him and train him to poop outside the house. I went home early from office just to make sure everything with him was ok. I was just fortunate to have a housemaid who also loves dogs and never complained of the things I asked her to do for Bruce.

As days passed by, Bruce remained to be a playful and active pup freely roaming around the house. The kids love him and cuddle him whenever they see him. But young as he was, Bruce was like a very young baby, who innocently puts everything in his mouth whatever he picks up. He was also in the teething stage so biting things was a reflex thing for him to do to relieve the itchy feeling in his gums. He was a hustler when it comes to sniffing but had the habit of putting stuff into his mouth and played with it. He picked up through his mouth pebbles, pieces of woods, hard and scaly plants and other stuff that might have soothed his itchy gums. He ruined my precious boots. One fine morning when I woke up, I saw the other piece downstairs, full of small bite-holes and the leather was ripped off. With his small but sharp teeth, my boots was just one of his victims. That was the time I decided to put him in a leash but he still stayed in the house.

A week before he turned 3-month old, I noticed something. Though, he was still playful and cheerful, his poop was soft and wet and yellowish which was something to be alarmed about. I brought him to the vet for his 3rd vaccination for distemper but I informed the vet about his poop. The doc instead of giving him the vaccination, decided to treat his soft poop first. I was told that if we insist in giving him the shots Bruce will become weaker. And so his diarrhea was treated first and when the billing was handed to me I almost choked. My two week budget was a goner. But it was ok, facts of life. Indeed, pedigreed dogs are expensive. I didn’t mind, as long as Bruce will be cured of the malady. The vet warned me though that should he not improve the next day, I should let her know immediately.

The next day, things didn’t improve. He got worse. The cheerfulness was gone and there were only two sad eyes. He refused to eat and drink. Others noticed it too. I was in a dilemma, I couldn’t decide whether to bring him to the vet right away or just observe him first for a few days. I dreaded looking at him because of his pitiful condition. When I couldn’t bear it anymore, I brought him to the vet for confinement. The doc briefed me on possible scenarios. She told me too how much it will cost me. It was a little heavy on me but I swallowed the bitter pill, so to speak, hoping against hope that Bruce will be able to pull through, survive and recover in a 5-day critical period of confinement. The vet was a nice and gentle lady who lectured me on dog rearing. Boy, I got an earful.

Bruce was suffering from Canine parvo virus. The most fatal disease a pup could get. The target of the virus is the intestines and the symptom, bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. In worst cases, blood in the stool will be prominent with continuous vomiting. If a dog gets worse, it will lead to a heart failure which will be its cause of death. In all the talks I have had with the vet, the thing that lingered in my mind was about the CAGE. The vet told me that young pups whose vaccines are not complete yet should be placed in a cage first because their immune system are not fully developed yet. Young Golden retrievers like Bruce are always hungry and they will eat or chew on anything around them that they see. Their intestines are thread-like and very delicate. Worms and foreign bodies in the stomach are the culprits that will make them suffer like hell.

Seeing Bruce each day of his confinement is like a torture. My heart breaks whenever I see him in pain and getting weaker each day but there was still that glimmer of hope that he will be able to pull through and survive the ordeal. I prayed hard that his life will be spared. Each day, his eyes were getting sadder and sadder. In my moments alone, I told God, “If you want him just take him away,” but I said this with a heavy heart. On his fourth day, after office I went directly to the clinic. This was supposed to be the critical day. I have been wanting to hear from his vet that he will be able to recover, but all I heard from her was that his survival was a 50-50 chance. I imagined myself strangling the vet to throw out the words that Bruce’s gonna be ok. I wanted to say to her, “No, you will make him live.” But I wasn’t given false hopes. That night, while watching him sprawled on the cage, sleeping groggily, his breathing laborious, I called his name but no reply. Looking closely, I just thought I saw tears in his eyes. I left the clinic hoping that tomorrow he will be up and kicking and alive. Moments later, when I reached home, the vet called telling me that Bruce was gone. I don’t remember saying much but asked the vet instead how much I owed her.

These are moments where I hate myself for remembering things vividly on my mind. I went to the clinic, saw the hapless Bruce lying on his side. I saw a yellow stain around his belly indicating that he had peed before he died. Such a heartbreaking scenario which showed how much he was in tremendous pain then. I asked the vet how he died, which on second thought I shouldn’t have asked anymore.

His doctor said, he died with his mouth open. He made a spine-chilling cry of pain before his last breath of life was snapped out. I wasn’t there when he took his last breath but my mind was reeling with clear images of him howling in pain. My interpretation was that it was his way of saying, “Good-bye everyone and Thank you.” And so he was there, lying lifeless. There were no tears in my eyes just an overwhelming sadness. I wrote the vet a check and left the clinic.

News of his death was quite a shock to everyone of us. Deia, my niece who has grown so attached with Bruce was shocked about his death. She didn’t talk to anyone that night and cried buckets of tears, according to her Mom. Her eyes, the next day were swollen from crying.

Yes, our Bruce is gone. If he had become an adult he could have been a hunk-dog where female dogs will go ga-ga over him. To this day, I still nurture a sadness in my heart but I tried to pacify myself by saying, “stop mourning, he was just a dog.” Indeed, he was just a dog, a puppy whose traits I thought are better than humans. These are inferior creatures who look up to their masters. The innocence, loyalty, obedience, submissiveness, trusting and uncomplaining characteristics they exhibit are traits we humans should emulate and practice specially when dealing with our Master above.

My niece once asked me, “could we go to Cavite again and get another Bruce and name him Bruce again. I did not reply but just looked away.

And this is the story of Bruce’s life and his impact to other people’s lives, though shortlived.