One Rainy Afternoon

Dear Ashley,

I've gotten so used to calling out your name and knowing that, in a matter of seconds, the jingling of your choker chain would follow and you'd appear, smiling your big Labrador grin and your tail wagging 18371973018302 miles an hour.

Now it's so weird. I feel so empty. Uttering your name just saddens me in ways I can't describe.

Yet I don't want to stop saying your name. I don't want to stop what I've been doing for the past nine years.

You've been such an important part of my growing up years. When I obsessed over my first celebrity crush and would sing his famous movie's theme song to you (out of tune, I might add), you'd listen willingly. Even if I know I probably hurt your eardrums back then. When we moved from house to house, you helped ease the stress of packing and unpacking furniture, appliances, etc., with your larger-than-life smile. When I graduated from high school, I wished you could've been a part of my celebration; it was okay with you though, since I gave you leftovers of my graduation dinner. When I went off to college and exams drove me insane, you'd patiently listen to me as I rambled aloud the works of Marcel, Merleau-Ponty, George Gerbner, and the like, and you tried your best to understand. When I started going to work and things got stressful, you never complained even if the times we spent together became less and less.

Whenever you and I were together, it's as if time ceased to exist. It's as if I were still 14 years old and you reverted to puppyhood, brimming with zest for life. The last few times I'd take you for walks, you'd still tug at your end of the leash, leaving me to run after you while gasping for breath, and when I'd feed you with bread, you'd jump up and down on your hind legs; nevermind the fact that you were already 9 years old — a senior by most standards.

I don't know what went wrong, Ash. I don't know why you were very much alive and kicking one second and the next, I'm bawling my eyes out after hearing you were gone.

I have to admit, I resented you, Ash. For the first time in these 9 years I've known you, you let me down. You left me alone. You weren't there at the time when I needed you most.

Yet, after talking to family, I guess it's true that, if I had seen you waste away and suffer, I would've felt worse. If I saw you take your last breath, I would've gone insane. The pain I'm feeling right now cannot compare to the pain I would've felt if you suffered.

But you didn't. You moved on from this life to the next with the same gentleness and grace you always exuded. You never thought of yourself, Ash. Many times in the past, you never let on when you were feeling pain. You always let Shadow and our other dogs steal your thunder; you were simply content receiving an occasional pat or one-on-one romp.

And yesterday, once again, you didn't think of yourself. If you experienced any ounce of pain, none of us knew. None of us had any clue. I don't think you wanted us to know.

I really miss you in ways I never imagined. I knew the end of your road would come someday; I just wasn't prepared for yesterday. At all. What once started out as an ordinary day turned out to be one I would never forget.

You know what, Ashie-Boo? It's been raining nonstop since yesterday. Pretty much matches my mood, huh? I've been crying and mourning on and off since I heard about your passing. And I guess God and the angels are commiserating with me.

On the way to the Bingo game this afternoon, I shouted, "Hi, Ash!" in the direction of where you were buried. I was hoping you heard me. And on the way back, I greeted you once more.

Oh, I'm rambling, as I always do. I can go on and on and on about how much I miss you and how I really wish this were a nightmare I have yet to wake up from. A part of me still hopes that you're hiding somewhere and if I whistled loud enough, you'd come running. Mom, however, says that she pretends you're just taking a really long nap. That thought makes me chuckle inside when I remember how loud you used to snore and snort in your sleep.

So, Ash, wherever you are, I hope you're okay. I hope you're watching over us in Doggie Heaven along with Spike. Say hi to him for me, okay? Chuck misses him a whole lot.

And if we ever decide to get another puppy, don't take it personally, okay? I know you didn't like it everytime we introduced a new canine member to our "pack"; you always wanted to make it clear that you were the boss.

But it's not because we want to replace you; we can never do that and no dog can ever hope to achieve that. We're just hoping that, with a new pup, we'll get distracted, which, in turn, will divert our pain into something productive. It's just that it really hurts to remember you because you were a really special member of the family and we'll probably wallow in depression forever unless we do something about it.

Shadow misses you immensely. I hope you can help him. He's really lonely. So perhaps a new pup would give him the company that he so badly needs right now.

I'll be writing to you a lot, okay? I figure that, since I can't ramble to you aloud anymore, I can at least voice out my thoughts to you through the written word.

Gotta go, first, Shling. I love you.