In Loving Memory of Pepe
I have a picture of you and I when you were just a baby and I was 16. If I was technologically savvy, I'd scan it into this blog, but all I can do is describe it. We were sitting outside on a balmy late Spring afternoon in the backyard. You were just a little black blop of a puppy sitting on my lap, dark black fur with just a hint of white at the tip of your chin like a little goatie and a splash of white on your chest as if you were always dressed up in a tiny tux. Your soft puppy fur had little hints of brown at the tips of your ears too. So cute, so tiny - we fell in love with you in a puppy heartbeat. We were going to name you "Oreo" but that didn't really roll off the tongue, so we chose Pepe which in Hawaiian means "baby" and also "low to the ground", both were quite fitting for you, hee hee.
My parents paid a whopping $20 to one of my dad's students whose dog just had a full litter of half cocker spaniel half terrier mutt pups. Mom and dad picked you because you were the most rascal one, toppling over your brothers and sisters and yanking at the window drapes. Off you went in a box special delivery for me, my first pet, and I squealed and screamed as you rolled out to greet me. I remember that day so clearly even though that was over 17 years ago.
You gave us such joy over the years and made us laugh to tears with your little antics. You used to cock your head from side to side when we talked to you in high tones as if you were trying so hard to understand us. You chased empty tofu containers, soda cans and tissue boxes around the patio - such a penny-pinching pup. You lounged in strawberry boxes and acted bravely around lizards and crickets until they jumped or moved, then you'd run away barking with complete puppy fear. One day, I let you free in my elementary school yard, and I swear you were flying from the exhilaration of freedom in that large space span. You'd peak around corners and half-closed drapes, so shy, yeah right, so cute. You were so playfully possessive of your toys trying ever so hard to hide them under your little paws as we teased you and threw your play toys down the hall after which you run after them with gusto skidding to a stop just in time. And no matter how quietly we opened snack packages for ourselves, even though you seemingly lost your hearing and even though we thought you were at the other end of the house, there appeared that little black shadow peering at us glimpsed from the corner of our eyes, your big curious eyes, hoping for a tastey treat - ha! Your puppy doctor said you were "gorgeous, beautiful" - every pet-owner is partial to theirs but in this case, this summation was very true, very true in indeed. "Pepe, you're so cute!" we'd exclaim to you, and you looked at us as if to say, "I know." Hee hee.
Don't leave doors half closed because Pepe burst right through them whether you were decently dressed or not. I'd be peacefully sleeping, and you'd push my half-closed door (I didn't want you to bonk your head so I never really closed it) open with your head, march into my room in the morning and playfully bump the side of my mattress just so I'd wake up and pet you on the head and greet you "good morning". I put you in the back of my yellow convertible rental Mustang, and the joy and wonderment on your face was absolutely priceless, big eyes, head whipping around, tongue wagging, when I eased the top down, hee hee. You became an indoor dog, but we'd let you outside in the backyard periodically to do your little yard inspections making sure everything was in line, nose to the ground, sniffing around following your nose from end to end of our yard. As my Grandma O. would weed the grass, you'd lay next to her as if making sure she did a good job, inspector Pepe. I moved away to college, grad school and eventually to live in the Bay Area, and everytime I'd come back to visit, it would take you a little time to recognize me. Something like an hour after my arrival, I'd see this lightbulb go off in your mind and this look in your eyes as it finally clicked in your memory as to who I was, classic look of epiphany, so funny, sort of absent-minded just like your owner. Hee hee.
As you got older, you couldn't walk anymore due to arthritis, but you were still bright-eyed, happy-spirited with a healthy appetite as usual, and people still always mistook you for a puppy with your cute baby face and little body. You'd bark at 4:30 PM every evening signifying to everyone in the house that it was your dinnertime; even though your doggie age was starting to show, you sure knew what time it was when it came to your tummy. You loved milk, cottage cheese, jellybeans, raisins, grapes and, of course, your doggie treats in addition to your regular food which you feverishly chomped down everytime like you hadn't eaten for days. You didn't like tofu though, bloop, you'd spit it out whole even if we tried to hide it in your regular food. Funny.
And when we took you to your doctor for the very last time to put a stop to your suffering as a 17-1/2 year old, 90-something year old in dog years, you had this amazing peaceful look of content as if to say "I'm ready to go", "I'm ok with this", "I'm happy with the life you've given me". You went quietly and peacefully surrounded by us so loved, yes, so loved. We will always love you. You were a part of my life for more than half of it which is totally unbelievable, a true rarity of a dog. It's going to be strange without you in the house and everything reminds us of you...but the memories live on and on. Rest in peace, my dear Pepe.
My parents paid a whopping $20 to one of my dad's students whose dog just had a full litter of half cocker spaniel half terrier mutt pups. Mom and dad picked you because you were the most rascal one, toppling over your brothers and sisters and yanking at the window drapes. Off you went in a box special delivery for me, my first pet, and I squealed and screamed as you rolled out to greet me. I remember that day so clearly even though that was over 17 years ago.
You gave us such joy over the years and made us laugh to tears with your little antics. You used to cock your head from side to side when we talked to you in high tones as if you were trying so hard to understand us. You chased empty tofu containers, soda cans and tissue boxes around the patio - such a penny-pinching pup. You lounged in strawberry boxes and acted bravely around lizards and crickets until they jumped or moved, then you'd run away barking with complete puppy fear. One day, I let you free in my elementary school yard, and I swear you were flying from the exhilaration of freedom in that large space span. You'd peak around corners and half-closed drapes, so shy, yeah right, so cute. You were so playfully possessive of your toys trying ever so hard to hide them under your little paws as we teased you and threw your play toys down the hall after which you run after them with gusto skidding to a stop just in time. And no matter how quietly we opened snack packages for ourselves, even though you seemingly lost your hearing and even though we thought you were at the other end of the house, there appeared that little black shadow peering at us glimpsed from the corner of our eyes, your big curious eyes, hoping for a tastey treat - ha! Your puppy doctor said you were "gorgeous, beautiful" - every pet-owner is partial to theirs but in this case, this summation was very true, very true in indeed. "Pepe, you're so cute!" we'd exclaim to you, and you looked at us as if to say, "I know." Hee hee.
Don't leave doors half closed because Pepe burst right through them whether you were decently dressed or not. I'd be peacefully sleeping, and you'd push my half-closed door (I didn't want you to bonk your head so I never really closed it) open with your head, march into my room in the morning and playfully bump the side of my mattress just so I'd wake up and pet you on the head and greet you "good morning". I put you in the back of my yellow convertible rental Mustang, and the joy and wonderment on your face was absolutely priceless, big eyes, head whipping around, tongue wagging, when I eased the top down, hee hee. You became an indoor dog, but we'd let you outside in the backyard periodically to do your little yard inspections making sure everything was in line, nose to the ground, sniffing around following your nose from end to end of our yard. As my Grandma O. would weed the grass, you'd lay next to her as if making sure she did a good job, inspector Pepe. I moved away to college, grad school and eventually to live in the Bay Area, and everytime I'd come back to visit, it would take you a little time to recognize me. Something like an hour after my arrival, I'd see this lightbulb go off in your mind and this look in your eyes as it finally clicked in your memory as to who I was, classic look of epiphany, so funny, sort of absent-minded just like your owner. Hee hee.
As you got older, you couldn't walk anymore due to arthritis, but you were still bright-eyed, happy-spirited with a healthy appetite as usual, and people still always mistook you for a puppy with your cute baby face and little body. You'd bark at 4:30 PM every evening signifying to everyone in the house that it was your dinnertime; even though your doggie age was starting to show, you sure knew what time it was when it came to your tummy. You loved milk, cottage cheese, jellybeans, raisins, grapes and, of course, your doggie treats in addition to your regular food which you feverishly chomped down everytime like you hadn't eaten for days. You didn't like tofu though, bloop, you'd spit it out whole even if we tried to hide it in your regular food. Funny.
And when we took you to your doctor for the very last time to put a stop to your suffering as a 17-1/2 year old, 90-something year old in dog years, you had this amazing peaceful look of content as if to say "I'm ready to go", "I'm ok with this", "I'm happy with the life you've given me". You went quietly and peacefully surrounded by us so loved, yes, so loved. We will always love you. You were a part of my life for more than half of it which is totally unbelievable, a true rarity of a dog. It's going to be strange without you in the house and everything reminds us of you...but the memories live on and on. Rest in peace, my dear Pepe.
posted by M at 12:00 AM
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