For my sister.

A few days ago my sister's dog, Rebecca, passed away after eleven years of being the entire family's adopted doggy-woggy. Aside from my cat, Buddy, otherwise known as Greatest Cat In the History of the World Ever Even Though Bela Comes a Close Second, and my brief but well-loved pet rat, Buster (I've never spoken of him. His story is too tragic. Perhaps another time.), Rebecca is the only pet my family has had since moving to the US. As a puppy, she saw Kristina through life as a college student at UC Davis and living with a couple of other college girls while dating her then-boyfriend Greg, to becoming a microbiologist at UC Davis and living with (gasp!) her then-boyfriend Greg, to becoming engaged to her then-fiance Greg, and becoming a newly-wed in Sacramento to her now-husband Greg. Eventually, the years saw Rebecca adjusting to life as the family pooch to a young family that all of a sudden included a little miniature hairless creature called Kat, and, eventually, less than two years ago, another little miniature hairless creature called Vanessa.

Becca was the perfect family dog. She never barked, except when somebody she didn't recognize came up to the front door. But when that did happen, her bark was so ferocious it would scare even the most fervent Jehovah's Witness straight over next-door to the next home of non-believers. Also? She had this giant lump atop her noggin. I don't know what it was -- a bone? A second brain? Who knows? But I loved petting her giant lump and calling her Lumpy Head. Kristina found it to be offensive, but I think Becca loved it. I loved it. It was, how do you say? ...Our thing. And she didn't doggie-fart...that often. At least not too much around me. And when she did, she never displayed any shame. It was always accompanied by the slight raise of her brow and a look that said, "*sigh* Yeah? What?" Every now and then she'd take a vacation and go stay at the grandparents' house in Santa Rosa where, although my dad would initially feign slight disapproval at having a big heavy furball crashing at the pad, Rebecca would nevertheless be guaranteed meal after meal of home-cooked Filipino leftovers and, inevitably, go back home to Kristina and Greg a good five pounds heavier than when she left.

Sometimes I would go visit Kristina and Greg and, after the first two or three days straight of raiding their entire kitchen from top to bottom, I would feel bloated and disgusting and as I sat on their couch with my feet propped up on their coffee table, one hand clutching the remote while watching the Food Network or HGTV, and the other hand slowly rubbing my distended belly, I'd glance over at Rebecca and she'd look back at me and we'd both kind of say to each other, "Methinks it's time for a walk." Then I'd go to the garage to pick up her leash and roughly 1/1oth of a second later, Becca would be at my side, leash firmly in the clutch of her jaws and me practically shoved halfway out the door. And then the following half hour would see me struggling to keep up in my high-heeled boots (fabulous!) while this German Shepherd mix dragged me all over the neighborhood, stopping only to smell...well, every single goddamn flower, weed, blade of grass, giant turd, etc. that she came across on the sidewalk. Upon returning to Kristina and Greg's house, Becca would be panting happily, I'd be a second away from passing out, and we'd both reward ourselves for a job well done: she with a couple of doggie biscuits and me with whatever cookie, pie, cake or tupperware of leftovers I somehow overlooked before the impromptu workout. And then I'd pet her lumpy head.

And while I'm sure that she was a little freaked out by the arrival of the first little miniature hairless creature, she never became malicious towards Kat. Not with the overly-aggressive petting, or the playful ear or tail pulling, or all the other well-meant, albeit horrifying, displays of affection that only a little toddler could offer. As my father (fake) begrudgingly took Rebecca in a few times ("*sigh* I guess she can stay......squeeee!"), I'm sure Rebecca (fake) begrudgingly welcomed it when the second little miniature hairless creature came to stay ("*sigh* Oy, now I have to watch over another one?! Yeesh.").

As I told my sister, eleven years is a great run for a big dog like Rebecca. And she picked a good stretch of time to spend with our family. When she was a puppy, we were all still kids really. Going to school, unsure of what we were going to be, still asking the parents for money. Now my sister has a great job, drives a fabulous red Volvo and has a fantastic family. My brothers are both computer geniuses making the big bucks working for tech companies and the government. And I'm...unsure of what I'm going to be and still asking the parents for money. ...Oh wait. Goddamnit!

Anyway, Becca, you were a great dog and we will all miss you. Say hi to Buddy for me.

I'm sure this scene re-enacted itself up in the ether somewhere.

Becca: Hey Buddy!

Buddy: Oh, it's you.....again.