Reminiscing . . .

This is an old photo of my dogs Sumo (left) and Sweepy (right).

They were the father and son tandem

leftover from my huge mongrel family in the early 2000.

All my dogs are adorable like most dogs

but mine are special because from this batch

I learned a more exciting communication

and learned to appreciate animals more . . .

The photo above was how they posed

when I hold my camera and tell them it is for their blogs.

(Yes, my dog blogs way before I did)

And this was how they looked

when I take candid shots 

and they were not posing:

They exchanged bantering

which always made my off days

colorful and relaxing.

I think some of you know what this post is all about.

Yes, it is about this big guy.

My alpha dog Sumo who passed away last year.

I always told myself that on the first death anniversary

of my black Alpha dog Sumo 

I will look back and tell our tale. . .

It was a wonderful tale of how a dog can teach us

beyond caring, beyond trust, beyond doggy tales

and of how two creatures reached a moment

where our two worlds collide

on a hot afternoon . . .

It was difficult to narrate it 

without people thinking I've gone insane.

I probably am and I don't care ;-)

. . . but what happened was 

from Sumo I learned to listen to plants 'talk'

(some plants like people are shy but some are overly talkative!)

and from there my senses awakened to a magical world

where nature and animals share our quirky world.

A lot of animal people know this too well.

But on 'normal days'

my lovable Sumo looked like this:

. . . like he will eat you alive

and people practically cringed at the sight of him!

I know some people like that too.

They look stern and cold and unfriendly

but in truth, they are gentle and caring

and like Sumo can teach us things

if only we will allow them into our world.

I miss Sumo a lot.

I miss our stories.

I miss how he followed me protectively . . .

. . . well, he loved legs . . .

and on his senior years,

(he was 12 years old when he died)

he probably loved when I massaged his bulky self

and reassured his blurry world

that I will always keep an eye on him.

I kept that promise until his death.

And the reason I tried to ignore the nagging voice

that remind me to write on his death anniversary

was because no matter how much I shake it

I always sense him around.

Those subtle warnings when there are bees (I might get stung),

or something falling (I was jerked inches away
when a rock fell from nowhere!)

or when there is an intruder
(I was awakened at dawn several times

to find possible robbers in the neighborhood

and I had to call the village security)

while his son and my superdog Sweepy

was snoring like mad and not on guard.

I also tried to beat around the bush

because I tried to avoid the tears 

that is now falling like crazy just writing about this.

Oh look how foolish I am crying in front of the laptop, Sumo!

But I am not the only one who missed Sumo.

This was how Sweepy, Sumo's son, looked

months after Sumo passed away

and Sweepy was left alone 

to endure a quirky keeper!

But Sweepy's lonely days are over.

We got Babur as a gift in August last year.

Maybe Babur was a gift from Sumo 

who probably thought that his son Sweepy 

need a companion when I am always away. 

I miss Sumo

even when I still sense his presence.

Sidelight: several feng shui masters (I got read every year!)

would somehow sense the presence of "something dark"

but "harmless" and "protective of me"

in my house Heaven.

They are not in illusion.

Something dark was and is a part of my mad life.

And the tears I shed

are tears of joy and happy reminiscing

because that was Sumo
then and now . . .

Lovingly Remembered

Sumo

15 January 2000 - 4 February 2012