Reminiscing about the past: My Bomber

The love we had transcends all planes.  Even though you’re not here right now, I would still stumble upon a new place and a memory of you would surface.  Reminding me of how it used to be.  Playing together, running together.  You were my constant companion.  My very best friend.  My Bebibu. 

I made this right after Bomber passed away, five years ago.  Sorry for the poor grammar, those were my raw thoughts as I try to immortalize my dog. 

I was at the washer’s today, sitting on a lonely bench while waiting for Minxie to finish her bath, when one of the staff stepped on a dog’s tail and the poor pup whimpered.  From where I was sitting, I could not see the poor creature.  But I remembered seeing a dachshund roam the place before and was reminded of my handsome Bomber.  Against all common sense, before I could stop myself, I asked the girl hopefully, “Meron po kayong dachshund?” (Do you have a dachshund?)  To which she replied, “Ah, yung aso?” (Oh, the dog?)  When I confirmed that I was after their pet, she asked her companion to bring out the puppy and handed him over to me.  And for a blissful half hour or so, I cuddled the seven-month-old dachshund on my lap, his wet nose touching my hands, his black fur shedding on my white shirt.  Shadow, his name was, but he reminded me of someone I love so very much.

His name was Bomber, my seven-year-old dachshund.  He was my Shadow, literally.  He followed me everywhere.  To the bathroom, to my bed, to the living room… wherever I go, he followed.  Even the video coverage on my debut showed him shadowing me—from the preparations, to the debut itself, and finally, to the post-party celebration, where he watched and protected me from my drunk guests.

His official bed was on a blanket on the foot of mine, but somehow he was always right next to me whenever I wake up.  When we fought (and oh yes, we did, bitter fights they were), the entire household knew as he would hide under my mom’s bed and would refuse to go out, despite cajoling and promises of treats.  He was a brilliant, clever, and charming dog. 

Bomber during the preparations of my debut.  I was sitting on the chair and he was right beside me. 

Until his veterinarian made a miscalculated judgment, and a fever somehow caused him to die.  He was running a fever and we took him to the vet to be confined, because we believed that she can provide Bomber with better care than we could ever do.  You see, Bomber had a kidney problem, and he needed assistance before he could pee.  Yet despite this knowledge, the vet gave him dextrose without a catheter, without informing us, too. The next morning, she called to tell me that Bomber passed away.  I hurried to the vet’s and saw my dachshund—his eyes open with the pain, his mouth grimaced in agony.  He died alone.

The pain of his death was a shocking blow to me.  I refused to go out of my room for a whole day, not eating anything.   My mom reprimanded me for crying myself silly over a dog, but for me, Bomber was more than a canine—he was my best friend and the living witness of my childhood.  He was one of the constant influences of my life.

After his death, I was very quiet.  Until my friend Jasper invited me to go to the mall. I forgot what we did—what was important was what happened next.  We were walking along Bioresearch and I saw a beautiful dachshund.  He was black, with brown feet and muzzle, and a beautiful white coat on his chest.  He was Bomber reincarnated, a beautiful reminder of my baby.  I stopped in front of the glass, and Jasper was quiet beside me.  The puppy and I were locked in an enchanted gaze.

The storekeeper went out of the store and asked if I wanted to hold the dog.  Now, most of you know that it is not allowed for people to actually touch the animals in Bioresearch.  But that staff took pity and allowed me to hold the small puppy.  When the dog touched his wet nose to my cheek, I felt as if Bomber was talking to me, telling me to be strong.

In that instance, I was able to let go of the pain I felt with Bomber’s demise.  I still miss him (his picture is still displayed on top of my bed, his snapshot my phone’s wallpaper), but I know that he is in a better place, one without pain, and one where he will bound up to me joyfully someday.

Shadow, the dog I met at the washer's