“It was in his second month with us that the answer to why some owners sleep next to their dogs came to me.”
I USED to hate dogs. I used to cringe every time I see one wandering on the streets under the open sky, near our house, or even inside my room. They’ll bark at you unceasingly if you’re a stranger to them. Some will bite you without any notice or voluntarily and confidently share their saliva by licking your feet, your hands or sometimes your toes.
I can still remember how I told myself that I will never touch a dog again. In my childhood, one afternoon, our family dog bit me on my right cheek while I was eating a crispy fried chicken leg. My mom immediately approached me and tried to disinfect the wound with soap and running water. Her grip of the nozzle is still vivid in my memory. I couldn’t understand the gravity of what happened and the possible consequences of being bitten by our dog then. I didn’t know that it has to be taken seriously.
After going through careful examinations in the hospital, my mom told me to be brave because I had to be injected with Rabies vaccine just to make sure. I took more than five shots. All the doctors were fond of saying the same thing every time they held my arms: “Be a man… It’s just like a bite of an ant.”
But one day that fear vanished inside. Everything changed when my younger brother bought an apple head Chihuahua in a pet store in the neighboring city. My family named him Chua and he greets me whenever I get home. He runs so fast that those sleeping in our living room have no choice but to be awakened. No, it’s not because of his short loud cry but because he runs over them. He’s a consistent and amenable welcome committee member.
Wagging tail. Tiny paws. Hanging tongue.
I would play with him as he nuzzles my leg and my anxieties would temporarily exit my mind. My initial distaste for him transformed into delight. It was in his second month with us that the answer to why some owners sleep next to their dogs came to me.
With the right fit, fun will show itself naturally with them around. Give it some time.
“It’s wonderful to imagine that a person spent his or her precious time thinking about you, your wants and desires; for preparing everything that’s inside the box.”
IT’S HEARTWARMING whenever someone appreciates us. It’s when a friend or someone we know give thanks to a small, little deed that we did for them. It’s when they reciprocate our goodness because we never bilked them at any point. While it is true that we should do things for other people not expecting in return, it’s still overwhelming. It could be a favor, a long-forgotten help that we offered for them in college or at work, or because of a recent event which had you both rejoiced. Whatever it is, it surely puts a smile on our face.
But do you know what’s more exciting than that? It’s receiving a package. Cutter. Tape. Unboxing. Bubble wraps. And sometimes a letter.
We may be living in an age when things are done in an instant but nothing beats a box that came from a different place; a present that’s been well-thought-of. It’s wonderful to imagine that a person spent his or her precious time thinking about you, your wants and desires; for preparing everything that’s inside the box.
Words are special but actions matter more. Blessed!
“But if you’re running late, it can be considered a blessing from above for your wish to be heard. There’s sweat and blame and reasoning going on.”
YOU FELL in love with the thrill of reaching out to something, of being a triumphant being, of defeating time itself. But inside your head, you only have one wish: let the elevator be available for you not to be late again.
An available, working, and sometimes empty elevator doesn’t happen that often especially during rush hour. The building is full of people who use it on their way to the nearby mall or restaurant or just because they want to breathe in fresh air outside the confines of their office. But if you’re running late, it can be considered a blessing from above for your wish to be heard. There’s sweat and blame and reasoning going on. Images pop in your head every time: your boss reminding you of the Code of Ethics of the company for tardiness; the guard who doesn’t miss the chance to inquire what went wrong; and your conscience itself silently telling you that you’re better than this.
Shift: 9 A.M. – 6 P.M.
Ground floor: 8:55 A.M.
4th floor: 8:57 A.M.
9th floor: 8:59 A.M.
Time in: 8:59 A.M.
“This will never happen again” you would say. “I promise.”
And it’s a good thing that you work on the 9th floor. Can you imagine the struggle of those assigned on the 32nd floor?