A Doggy Life

Exactly a week ago today, Bogart, our family's mini pin, went missing. I slipped out of the house early that Saturday to catch the bus to Baguio to make it to the opening of “Produce from the Garden” at Cafe by the Ruins (still up on its walls are our lip-smacking paeans to fruits, herbs, vegetables, favorite ulam and desserts, all things that sustain our lives).

I wasn't aware of anything unusual until I got an urgent SMS from my sister while the bus traversed Tarlac asking if I had seen or heard Bogart before departing. No, I answered, but I heard him wailing a short while the night before— his usual lament for his mistress, my kid sister Gigi, because she wasn't home at her usual hour. But I dismissed the sound

Earlier, I made a mental note to use Bogart for a future subject for a painting. His “austere dignity”, to borrow poet Denise Levertov's phrase, never fails to impress me, especially when he sits very still on his haunches, his head up, his eyes looking past the window, his ears like antennae, keen to the sound of the car as it turns left on our street with Gigi at the wheel. Mommy calls him a good guard dog because he yelps non-stop when he picks up the scent of strangers at our gate.

Because I was too far to be of any help in the neighborhood-wide search for him, I texted that they post a picture of him in Facebook. This social network has helped others find their missing pets. Gigi managed to compose an emotional email with a photo of Bogart attached. She sounded like she was saying goodbye, giving him up for lost.

My youngest brother Eric got a rude awakening that Saturday when he heard the news. Without even splashing water on his face, he dashed out, going from street to street, alley to alley of Barangay Kapitolyo, calling out Bogart's name. Another sister recounted how Eric would return home just to quaff his thirst, catch his breath a few minutes. Then he went out to resume the search.

Later in the day, Gigi thought of telling the security guards to spread the word that she was offering a cash reward for information leading to Bogart's recovery. She went in to shower. She wasn't done toweling her body dry when the doorbell rang, and a street urchin came forward with information. The child had seen someone catch the dog when he wiggled his small body free from the fence railing and jumped to what he must've thought was freedom.

Because Bogart can be fierce and noisy, the captor put him in a sack and brought him to a new home. Gigi was led to the place. From her account, it was blighted, filthy and dark, a narrow passageway allowing one person at a time to pass through. There a man reeking of alcohol met her and demanded P200 for Bogart's release. He kept the dog in a bird's cage.

Gigi paid up, he asked for more, but once Bogart was handed over, she left, silently furious.

Yesterday I called to ask how dog and mistress were doing. Gigi said Bogart has shown signs of trauma, fearful and shaking at the sight of strange men when they go out for walks.

I impulsively said, “He might need the services of a dog whisperer.”

I could feel Gigi brightening up on the end of the line: “You know of one?”

I told her I was kidding. I've heard of horse whisperers but no one for dogs yet.

Bogart has been the center of everyone's attention since his return. Bruno, the playful, spirited mini pug, doesn't mind playing secondary actor to this little drama.

I imagine there must be double poignancy when Gigi calls out to Bogart and Bruno when she leaves for work each day, “Be good boys now. Take care of each other and the people at home. See you later. When I get back from work, we’ll play.”

Photo above shows Kimi Fernandez carrying Bogart a few days before he went missing. Lower photo, Bogart in his green shirt on St. Francis Day