Eight years ago, I had a list of things I absolutely did not want:
Being late.
Dancing in front of people.
And, most importantly, a dog.
Yet, when my youngest brother walked through the door holding what looked like a furry potato with legs, my list became irrelevant. “It’s just temporary,” he said. Right, and I only eat chocolate on special occasions.
Immediately, I was on high alert. Who’s on poop-patrol? Who’s paying for this ‘Puppy Chow’? And who’s explaining to her that the couch is not an oversized chew toy? But, as days turned into weeks, this little furball did the unthinkable—she started worming her way into my heart. Not in a slow, heartwarming montage kind of way. More like in an Oh great, now I’m Googling dog hats at 2 AM kind of way.
She wasn’t just an addition to the house; she was a force of nature. She turned my Lazada cart into a shrine for dog treats, she claimed 90% of my bed, and—most importantly—she made me run the air conditioner just for her. My electric bill wasn’t thrilled, but her wagging tail? Absolutely worth it.
Then came the adventures—if you could call them that. There was the time she jumped on me, scratching my thigh in a desperate attempt to land a kiss on my lips. Romantic? Not exactly. Painful? Very. But who needs personal space when you have unconditional love?
Then came the day she went missing for nearly two weeks. I felt like a panicked parent who had lost their kid at a crowded amusement park. I searched high and low, called her name until my throat hurt, and even interrogated the suspicious-looking cat next door. When she finally came back, all muddy and clueless, she had no idea she had aged me ten years in a matter of days.
And oh, the injuries. Not hers—mine. There was the time she broke a bone (which also broke my wallet with vet bills). And let’s not forget the time she bit my nose—which, fun fact, led to me spending an evening at the ER, laughing with the staff about how my best friend had put me there.
But the moment that really sealed our bond? Years ago, when my younger brother was admitted to the hospital, she started sleeping beside me every night. She must have sensed the sadness in the air, the unease, the empty space at home. She stayed close, offering quiet comfort without a single word—because dogs just know.
Now, she’s eight years old. She doesn’t have the energy to jump on me anymore, but she still greets me at the door, tail wagging like it’s her full-time job. She’s a little slower, a little grayer, but just as full of love.
Looking back, I wonder, who was that person who didn’t want a dog? Because this mischievous, affectionate, occasionally furniture-destroying pup became the heart of my home. She’s my constant reminder that life, even with its unpredictable chaos, is worth every moment.
In the end, I didn’t find a dog. A dog found me. And thank goodness she did—because a life without her barks, yips, and snuggles? Now that is something I really wouldn’t want.
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