A dog’s tale

The more one comes to know men, the more one comes to admire the dog. She came to us one September day. Tan, with long ears and a long body with short legs, we immediately christened her Ginger. My youngest daughter Cheska wanted initially to call her Nido, in honor of her favorite brand of milk and as partner to Ginger’s brother, which we called Milo. But since the only white parts we could find were the whites in her eyes and teeth, we opted for Ginger. This, we thought, was a more appropriate moniker for a hotdog-like body, stubby-legged, floppy-eared Dachshund with a pungent smell!

A year before, we lost a beloved pet to old age, a yellow Labrador named Kaiser, who grew up with the family. He was a Christmas gift from my mom and was the first pet that was given to me and my husband. My mom has a menagerie of pets in her house. At one time or another, I remember growing up with seven German Shepherds, two Japanese Spitzes, a French Bulldog, a Pomeranian, a PomSpitz, two rabbits, two turtles, chickens, ducklings, stray cats, goldfish, love birds, hundreds of homing pigeons in the backyard, parrots, white mice (dagang costa), guinea pigs and hamsters. No, we didn’t live on a farm, it just seemed like that most of the time, especially when it was feeding time at the "zoo"!

And so, thinking perhaps that I would miss all that when I got married and moved out of the house, Kaiser was to be the link between all those childhood pets I left behind and a symbol of a new life, a new start. Kaiser became the kuya to all my three daughters. He would play with them in a gentle way, never biting in jest, never growling nor stepping on them with his big paws. He was also sweet to me, especially when I was pregnant. There was no fear that he would knock me down playfully whenever I would feed him. But with my husband, Kaiser was rambunctious and rough. Probably figuring out that the children and I were to be taken care of while my husband was to be his playmate. Smart dog!

The day he went to heaven (all dogs go to heaven, right?), I found my husband and my kids crying on the sofa. Cheska was inconsolable for a while, refusing to talk about him and asking us not to mention Kaiser’s name around the house. She was only three at the time.

It was only when I told her that Kaiser is now a dog angel looking after us that she was appeased.

Fast forward to the present. Feeling that it was the right time to introduce a new pet, we decided to get a smaller dog this time. A childhood friend’s Dachshund gave birth to a litter of five which was being sold at a discount since they didn’t have papers. My mom already got one (Milo) and decided to get its sister. Hence, Ginger became our second family pet after Kaiser.

Excited about this new breed of dog in our life, I did a little research on the Net and found out that the breed Dachshund is known as a German "badger dog."

It’s a breed of hunting dog originally developed in Germany and used to drive badgers from their holes, which the dog can enter because of its short legs.

Now they are seldom used for hunting, but Dachshunds are valued as pets for their bravery and good disposition. A friend told us that Dachshunds are good mouse catchers (I cringe at the image of Ginger holding a mouse in her mouth and offering it to me. It was exactly what my old pet, a German Shepherd named Sebastian, used to do.), probably a remnant from the breed’s badger-catching days in Germany.

So far, I’ve seen her catch roaches outside the house, ants under the rug, and spilled food under the dining table, but no mouse.

Voicing my concern one day to my husband about this flaw in our dog’s character, my husband gave it some thought, turned to me, and said: "Has it ever occurred to you that Ginger might not be a Dachshund after all?" Alarmed and slightly irritated that he might be referring to the puppy as an askal (asong kalye or cross breed), I snapped: "Of course she’s a Dachshund! I did some research and saw pictures of her breed. Although, she doesn’t have any papers from PCCI attesting to her lineage, I think she is a pure Dachshund."

Just then, the object of our debate came into our line of vision. Sauntering happily to a favorite spot in front of the bathroom, with tail wagging, she made one circle, sniffed and bunched her bottom, leaving a little something for her owner and master to clean up later on. After doing her business, Ginger came over to where we were sitting on the sofa, put her front paws up and demanded a pat on the head for a job well done.

Glaring at the puppy, my husband said: "I told you she is not a Dachshund. She’s a Shihtzu!" To which I gave him a look that said, have you gone daft, man? "My mother has a Shihtzu and she’s got a beautiful, long coat of hair. What are you talking about?"

"What I’m saying is that the puppy is just pretending to be a Dachshund. She is actually a Shihtzu. Because… because. . . she shiht-zu much!" – with pun intended, and of course referring to the pup’s penchant for generously scattering her droppings all over the house.

Well, house-trained is a word that is definitely foreign to this German Dach! I tried to train her to do her thing on old newspapers strategically placed all over the house one day. My husband laughingly asked if I was training her to read or to sh___? Neither, apparently, as the papers were literally chewed up, torn to shreds and eventually mashed into a fine mess. "Must be nothing but bad news," I muttered.

But Dachshund or Shihtzu, or whatever breed she might eventually mutate into (I suspect from the amount of food she eats that she is also piglet), we love her. We love her sweet, warm body as she cuddles with us on the sofa. We love her soulful eyes and wet nose. We love her clattering her bowl demanding her food if her lunch or dinner is a minute late. Or when she plays hide and seek with Adrienne, Nina and Cheska. We even love her when she drags all the throw pillows on the floor and sleeps on them, or when we have to look for days for the partner of a pair of slippers that she has hidden.

I guess that having a pet helps build character. We learn from our pets that love is unconditional. Plus, it teaches the kids to have a sense of responsibility and to be gentle with and caring of God’s creatures.

As for me, I learned that dogs are sometimes better companions than humans. They forgive easily, they don’t argue with you, they listen attentively, and they love you, imperfections and all. Ahh, to err is human but a dog’s love is indeed divine.

And in the middle of the night, when I hear noises and scratching on the floor,I ignore it. It’s just Ginger… looking for badgers.