RIP Tropicana July 26, 2009

Why? Of all the days of the week. Of all the months of the year. Of all the years of century. She picked Sunday to die. Sunday, to be so blind that she couldn't see the pool and walk right into it.

It's been almost been a week since it happened. And just last night, it hit me. I was about to close my eyes to sleep when the dread and sorrow fell over me like a thick blanket. And just as I realized it, the feeling was already gone.

I've made my peace with what happened to my poor dog. I won't ever forget the time when we took her with us on a vacation. She was still a puppy then. During the whole ride, she slept next to me. She laid right next to my thigh, keeping half of me warm while my parents blasted the AC in the rented van.

I remember when we were looking for her one night. We couldn't find her since her fur was so black. And the only reason why I found her, sitting on the couch in the living room, was from the silver gleam in her eyes reflecting the light from the next room.

But now, all I remember was my mom screaming as she pulled Tropi's limp body out of the pool. I remember the empty eyes that stared at the ground. I remember the sopping wet fur that must've dragged her down when she fell in. My poor dog. How long she must've struggled. How long she must've gasped for air. My chest gets tighter the more I think about it; the more I dwell on the images floating around in my head. My poor Tropicana.

I miss her.

My sister, Raissa, asked me on Monday if God was going to take care of Tropi. Well, it's not exactly easy to say to a kid (and a disabled one at that) that pets (deeply loved as they are) don't go to Heaven. So I just said, "Yes. He will."

My poor Tropi. I'm so glad I had a dog like her. Unlike most Pomeranians, she was gentle and didn't bark much. She loved people, and loved sleeping even more. Now, she'll be able to sleep as much as she wants; under the cooling shade of the tree; beneath the brilliant blue sky.