A Dog Named Pebbles

The maid is walking out with the urn in her hands. She is wailing inconsolably, indifferent to the annoyed stares of curious onlookers.

There are some things just worth crying for. Especially if they've been a part of your life for the past 17 years.

Not every one lives to be 119 years old. 

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Pebbles, when she was just a tiny stone

She remembers the time when Pebbles saved the house from fire. It was in their old house, where an altar sat facing the door.

One of the candles had slipped and caught fire.

Pebbles' keen sense of smell brought her to the fire, and she immediately yelped in panic, and the family rushed out to see what the commotion was about. They put out the fire just in time, and Pebbles was treated like a hero.

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Too cool for doggy school

There was a time when they had let Pebbles' fur get a little out of control...  Pebbles looked like it had a big white afro on its head and its body - a walking, yelping doggy cloud.

Her friends who came to visit often exclaimed "Wah, this dog lie down that time ah, like Persian rug ah!" or "Man, it's like a fluffy tissue box holder!"

Pebbles the tissue box and Lucky

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Pebbles loved her durians. They had just finished eating some one evening, and had thrown away the seeds into a basket. Pebbles duly rummaged into the bin for the seeds with bits of flesh remaining on them, but she didn't have them herself first.

She nudged the first piece to Lucky, their other dog, first. Because Pebbles is all about sharing.

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Doggy style

Pebbles had taken part in various competitions with Karen. Sure, she was not a pedigree to enter into the proper competitions, but little Karen didn't care.

She walked past the judges for the Most Cuddly Dog, and a collective "Awww..."  arose from the judges as little Karen doddered by, with a fluffy Pebbles clinging around her neck like a little baby.  They won that one, hands down.

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"Come here, Pebbles!" the maid said, holding the bowl with the mid-sized folded papers in her hand. They were numbered from zero to nine, and Pebbles would pick a number, which the maid would quickly snatch before Pebbles could chew it, and then replaced it into the bowl.

Pebbles was right on four occasions, and Karen's grandmother and maid won up to a hundred and fifty dollars each time. Pebbles was good luck, it was.

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To the Batkennel!

There was this other competition where they had dressed little Pebbles up in a Batman costume. It was cute beyond belief. But Pebbles was a shy dog. Instead of strutting proudly like a superhero dog should, it whimpered fearfully instead, its supertail between its superlegs.

Lucky was also in the competition, decked out in sunglasses, a beach shirt and a scarf around its neck, like a doggie Sophia Loren on a day at the beach. Lucky walked past the judges like it owned the place, and won first place while Pebbles came in second.

They went home and told everyone that Pebbles had won instead.

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This was a dinner routine - the maid would finish cooking dinner, and then lean down and say to Pebbles - "Pebbles, go get mama and nana."

Pebbles' four little feet would scurry to the bedrooms of Karen's mother and grandmother, and it would leap on their beds, its eyes looking intently with its mouth half open, its tongue half sticking out as it breathed heavily in anticipation. Karen's mother and grandmother would stop whatever they were doing and make their way to the dinner table.

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Karen had a pair of yellow and orange Garfield slippers which fascinated Pebbles no end.

Whenever little Karen wore those slippers around the house, Pebbles would snap at her ankles - trying to catch the cat that was pretending to be a pair of slippers.

Dog-napping

One night while little Karen was studying at the table in her bedroom, she felt something tugging at her feet. A telltale little puffy tail was visible from the edge of the table.

"Pebbles!" Karen scolded.

Pebbles caught Karen with its guilty puppy eyes, before running away into the living room. It stopped once it was at a safe distance, its doggy mind planning its next attack on the feline slippers.

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"Ohh... My poor gou gou is dying," Karen tells me, looking twenty-eight but feeling all of five.

Pebbles was a grand seventeen years old, and age was catching up with her. She had lost her eyesight, and was going around being guided by her weakening sense of smell. She had lost her furry coat - her proud puffy coat - due to skin problems, and her worn out knees had lost their spring.

She had only enough energy to eat, and pace around the house a little before falling asleep again.

One day, Pebbles fell into a sleep she never woke up from.

They came home with her remains, the family weeping as if they had lost a child.

Now there is a vacuum in the little corner of the house - and of their hearts - which Pebbles made all her own, and only echoes of the familiar pitter-patter of feet which would come to call them to dinner.

Rest in peace, Pebbles. I'd like to believe all doggies do go to heaven.