Jump!★

I wrote this 2 days ago, in my phone's Notes, and tonight I finally had the time and emotional stability to write it here. There is, was, a gentle stray dog who often lingered outside our house. We had bowls for her water and food. She wagged her tail whenever she saw any of us, although she never came too close. It pains me to write about her in past tense. I pass by her bowls every time I enter my house and it never fails to remind me of her. I wrote an entry after we went to visit her at the compound where they temporarily keep the animals the authorities catch, before putting the unclaimed to sleep in a month's time.

17 February 2017

They weren't scared. There was no reason to be so. They didn't know what will happen to them. They simply look on at visitors, wag their tails, eyes speak nothing. In a month's time, they will see heaven. Or perhaps nothing at all. Will sight and thoughts still exist then?

She threw us a glance when we called out her name, but made no indication to come over as she sat lodged in the drain niche at the far end of the square half-wall fenced room that makes up a somewhat spacious cage. She was just being how she always was - calm, faraway, alienated. Even when the heavy rain lashed on her, and even when we invited her in, she never took the initiative to cross the boundary of our house, rendering us frustrated as we look on at her state, roof above our heads. She often devoured the bones we left out for her. Sometimes we kept the flavourful leftovers from when we ate outside, and my Grandma would often say "Tonight she's going to have a feast!".

We see her sitting below our cars. We see her standing a distance when we greet her, her tail wagging, but she never made a move. We see her as she stand closer to us as time passes, but never near enough to be touched. We see her beside our car door when we open it and we would say "Hello!". Now we will never see her again. Just like how the other captives will never see anyone aside from the compound guard ever again.

It was a friendship of brief contact, but it was a friendship of almost a year. She was someone I would feel happy to see and to call out to. When my uncle brought his dog out for walks, she would ecstatically race alongside them, as if she was ours.

At the compound, there were many good dogs and good puppies. But there were also some dogs starting to be aware of their situation and these dogs tirelessly sought help. But of course help was and never will be given. They barked when they see us leaving. They know.

The puppies will grow one month in the cages, where they have to share the limited space with many other occupants and excrement. Everyone will grow thinner and weaker and soon they will realize. They will realize they cannot see the outside world. They can see the swaying trees and the tiled walls. They can sometimes see people scanning them, looking for the correct one as we did try. They will see new friends that was crying and pleading a while ago as they were made to break out of their serene reality. Friends who will repeat the same cycle. Friends who wouldn't know what is happening, and then they will realize.

And perhaps, I believe there will be, someone like me who grieves for the loss of a friend; a kind and humble soul. One less of you in the world makes it a bitter place.

I think, what have I done to deserve a nice bed indoor as I sob writing a tribute for you whom life never treats fairly?


Many times I think how they must have some sort of life before they were subjected to that fate, just like our dear dog. She was named Mocha Ah Yi, which literally means 'Mocha's Aunt', because she looks a little like our pet dog (we adopted him from the streets) but we weren't sure if she is the aunt or if she was from the same litter, but the name stuck. I was told that she was resting beneath a car before she was dragged out using the long rod. She cried so badly and so desperately. I wasn't there to witness it, but my Grandma's heart ached. We couldn't do anything.

Every time I open my eyes from sleep or a nap, I will think of the dogs in the compound.

Did they have a good sleep? Did they not sleep? Were they awake when the sun rises?

Did they have anything to eat today? Do they feel well?

Are they any new dogs? Were there any dogs that were put to sleep?

Is it cold and very dark at night? Is it even colder when it rains? Do they huddle together?

Do the puppies play? Are their tails still wagging and ears still perk?

Do they cry? The quiet dog with the insects on its wound, are you still here?