my little ones

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Dad adopted her for my birthday from the SPCA soon after when Bobby, a black and white cocker spaniel, got taken away from me...I loved Bobby, he was my first dog and I spoiled him rotten...His previous owner took him back when Bobby refused to respond to him when he visited one day. Looking back, I know now that Bobby had been neglected, perhaps even abused, by this guy, because Bobby was always afraid of people. Bobby was with us for less than a month...Up to this day I am full of regret I didn't fight harder to keep him with us, and I still think about him. I wonder what sort of life he led when he left us, I wonder how he died...I wonder if he ever forgave us for giving him away...

Jinger bundled towards me that day on 5 October 1988, when I just got back from school. In waddled this gorgeous brown baby when I walked in - she was tan/pale brown in color, and had deep brown streaks along her back. She had spiky fur, a very thick coat...She resembled a chow, except her face was a lot smaller, angular and she had a pointed nosey :). She was also a lot sleekier, more well-toned, and handsome. She had the body of a Lab almost, although a little smaller - she was adorable. But the cutest thing about her was that she didn't have a tail! At her rear end instead there was this rounded stump, so this lil baby was born without a tail...she had this tuft of fur on the stump, some bits stuck out too...and the stump bobbed in all directions like a hyperactive bulge whenever she was happy, as if she was wagging this tail that didn't exist. She didn't jump at me when she first saw me, but sniffed around me curiously...she was such a baby :). She'd scamper around excitedly, not knowing what she was doing or where she was going...She was sooo cute.

Kitty had been with us for almost already 9 years at this time. Keeper of the house, she loved every bit of attention showered upon her by the family. She was a domestic shorthair, and a fat lil brat, bossy and all. She thrived on fresh fish, and excessive/expensive canned food...She loved to perch by the window sill and watch the birds fly past. Kitty joined our family back in 1981 when my kindergarten teacher moved to the UK and couldn't take Kitty with her.

Kitty saw the little puppy's arrival with dismay and hate, and hissed and scratched at her whenever possible...she did not welcome this happy, bouncing ball of fur at all. The poor baby was a curious baby and endlessly followed Kitty, resulting in wild screeches from Kitty and bad yelps and sad whimpering from the newcomer. In the meantime the little puppy, only four months old, went without a name for days, although I had begun to call her Lucy (lol) in secret, which of course she ignored (and hated?) with fervor...Then one day mom said that we should call her Ginger, so it stuck, although I later changed the G to J because I wanted her name to be special, just like she was.

In time, who would've guessed...but Jinney and Kitty became the best of buddies. Jinney would share her food and bowl with Kitty, and Kitty would lick Jinney's nose when they exchanged sniffs...In fact they got along soo well, in due course they started to collaborate stealing food off the table together - Kitty would jump onto the table to grab a piece of meat or two with Jinney awaiting nearby, and both would hungrily devour their booty. I loved seeing them together this way, I think Jinney kept Kitty on her toes, which Kitty needed coz she was getting bored and old...and Kitty took Jinney under her wing and cared for her in a very surrogate-mother type of way...

From then on, our flat became a menagerie of creatures great and small. There was George and Mildred, the two lovebirds, and later I got Michael, Michelle and Miles, small turtles I named after my then-best friend and her brothers. Then Dad one day came home with a shoebox under his arm with three unwanted baby chicks inside, left to die after the hotel he was working in didn't need them after an outrageous and stupid Easter stunt (involving more than 200 baby chicks on display in a glass cage under bright, flickering lights). Three dogs - a dalmatian, rottweiler and Doberman - also temporarily took up residence for a few weeks/months when our flatmate acquired them for some reason.

The baby chicks, christened Fritz, Spritz and Fluffy, tragically didn't make it past five days...Fritz died first on the third day, Spritz the fourth, and Fluffy the fifth...As for the turtles, I still don't know why they died so soon (a few months). We gave them the proper care I'm sure coz we read up on how to look after them :(. Mildred the lovebird produced a few eggs, which unfortunately she ate eventually. George soon died, and we replaced him with George II. Mildred saw through this and died barely a few weeks after. George II then escaped from his cage - he flew out of the window, then up to the roof...We ran after him and found him perched atop a TV antenna...he looked at us one last time then flew off to an uncertain space and fate...I hope he made it ok...

In September of 1989, a West Highland White took refuge in our flat, and in no time in my heart, after my mom saw it chained up for a few weeks in the playground of the school she taught in. Turned out she was the school principal's, but she didn't want to keep her in her house (ridiculous, no?). When mom asked if we could look after her instead, she didn't spare a second's thought. Thus, Westie of Kenee - offspring of Timothy of Farrington and Llanandras Kirsty - became a very welcomed member of the growing entourage of furry babies, the babies I loved more than anything in my life.

Westie aka Wessie was a highly prized pedigree terrier, born and bred in the UK. She came with a certificate from whatever association tracing her perfect lineage from over five doggy generations. The whole of her family was perfectly pure-bred, with each member having these posh, Brit-sounding and very dumb names. How sad that pups are being brought into this world when there are already hundreds of thousands in animal shelters being put down every year...Whether a dog's pure or not isn't supposed to matter, when will these shallow people realize that...Wessie to me was just as any other dog, deserving of love and respect. All I cared for was to make her as happy and healthy as she could be, to feel the love I had for her, and I had so much for this little baby...

Baby Wessie was nine when we took her in - she had dirty matted fur and rotten teeth. She yapped constantly and bit people. She was hyperactive and high strung...she was in an awful state...but she was beautiful to me, and I loved her like anything. I did my best to care for her: I took her to the vet, dewormed her and vaccinated her. I bathed her and brushed her, cleaned her eyes, did up her hair with fancy ribbons, brushed her teeth, trimmed her fur...In no time she was beautiful in everybody's eyes...Wessie started to take a liking to me lots and soon progressed to sleeping on my bed with me, under the covers. She snapped at everyone else, and was very protective of me and jealous whenever I was around people. Wessie followed me everywhere, even when I got up to get a glass of water...Wes was a wonderful baby.

Unfortunately, Jinger and Wessie never got along. Jinney remained as easygoing but Wessie was a tyrant, always nipping at Jinney. Jinney was more than three times Wessie's size yet it was always Jinney who retreated. It could've been the age difference...I remember taking Jinney and Wessie for walks, but always at separate times, one after the other. Both loved their daily walks. When Wessie became part of the family, Jinney was 3, the peak of a dog's life...she was a healthy, active adult always on the go. Wessie however was reaching old age: always timid, hostile, defensive, nervous.

Early-November and it was obvious there was something wrong with Wessie. She showed all the signs...she stopped eating, stopped drinking. She was lethargic, breathless, and refused to budge from her dog basket. She got too weak to walk, so she couldn't control her motions. Vets at the SPCA found nothing wrong with her, other than a slight bump on her head which they said had probably been there since her birth...In the meantime Wes degenerated, worsening day after day...I remember many days at school when I did not want to return home because I could not stand to see Wessie in the miserable condition she was in. I'd come home to see Wes in her doggie basket, sleeping in her own mess and filth. I'd greet her openly and pet and touch her, but it was slowly killing me inside to be around her, seeing her in this way...she was so sick, I could not bear to see her suffer...I felt so helpless...But I did not want her to feel alone and abandoned, not when she was this sick. If anything I wanted her to feel even more loved.

Wessie died at about 2 am on 10 November. I had woken to find Wes convulsing violently in her bed. Dad and I rushed her to the SPCA, and she was swiftly euthanized. As if it was supposed to comfort me, the attending vet said that she had cancer of the brain - so Wes never stood the chance.

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