Dogs – Yzagada

Lessons from a Fur Baby

I thought I was smart enough to be able to teach my dogs, “Sit, paw, kiss mommy.” Unknowingly, they have been teaching me far more valuable lessons you wouldn’t expect to glean from someone who cannot utter a coherent syllable. Not unless of course it is a husky who is an expert in sassing. “Woo yoo woomoon!”

Show gratitude. When given a treat, wag your tail. Lick your owner’s hand. Let them realize you appreciate the gesture and the thought. Return kindness in however way you can.
Don’t live life at a breakneck speed. Stop and smell the leaves. Every damn leaf. Be in the moment. Take time to enjoy the simple pleasures.
Be silly. Chase your own tail. Get scared by your own farts. Fight with a lemon. Not everything needs to make sense.
Be compassionate. We might not understand the intricate workings of human behaviors but we sense these emotions and we react accordingly. We know that our warm, furry presence beside them draws out these happy hormones. Be kind, just because.
Interact. Connect. Bark your hellos to those you meet along the way. Hold your hands up, or paws, for a high five. Even a shy smile can mean a rainbow to someone.
It’s okay not to be okay. There are days when even an enticing game of tug is not enough to keep us bouncing off our feet. We have our moments too when we just want to be in our little, dark corner. Not every moment is unicorns and butterflies, and that’s perfectly alright.
Some, if not most things, are worth the wait. We know our humans and we trust that they always come back. Waiting for them to open that door does not take away the enthusiasm we show whether the wait was for five minutes, five hours, or five years. It pays to be patient.
Be lazy. Being idle is not a sin. Take a nap on the couch. Wake up then nap some more. That body needs and deserves a rest. Indulge whenever you can.
Fear can be overcome with love. Even the most aggressive and frightful dogs can become tame and gentle. Letting go of insecurities and being open to receive love make this transformation possible.
Forgive. Even those who love us hurt us sometimes. But that’s okay, we should not hold grudges. We still smother them with love like there’s no tomorrow.

And probably the most important lesson would be to PLAY. Life is too short to not live in the moment. We might live it driven by different aspirations and pressures but there should always be time to play. Because this means that we genuinely care for ourselves. That we are mindful of fulfilling our ongoing physical, intellectual, emotional, social, and moral developments. Play your way to happiness.

In loving memory of Cody, our fur baby with nine lives.

“Paint Me Like One of Your French Bulldogs”

Screen Shot 2018-10-04 at 8.00.11 PM — Copy captured from Facebook post

If I fancy myself being immortalized in a painting, I’d be elated to be depicted as a poodle in a tutu. Not saying this because of my obvious devotion to dogs but because I’m aghast at the reactions of people who are socially crucifying a painter who had portrayed two anthropomorphized dogs donning Igorot native attires and dancing to the beat of the symbolic gangsa.

People were quick to hurl furious comments not just at the piece but the artist behind the work. I find it quite appalling that such scorn can be easily given without giving second thoughts to the probable reason or reasons behind the creation of the piece. Following the train of thought that it is demoralizing to be likened to dogs because of their nature to be rabid and ferocious (also an outright misconception), it is the humans who are now behaving as such with their overzealous, cringe-worthy comments and reactions. The irony.

I too am an Igorot, proud and true, but in no way did I feel debased and insulted when I saw this artwork being scornfully construed online. In fact, to be rendered as one of these four-legged animal should be very humbling because we don’t even come close to the poignant admirable characteristics a dog innately has. Attributes that humanity evidently needs.

On a daily basis, we see hundreds of animals given manlike facets since the advent of media and the internet and no one bats an eye. Then an artist puts some ethnic clothes on two dogs and all hell breaks loose. Reason presumably being it is culturally insensitive and demeaning. I won’t even try to justify these vehement reactions just to be impartial to the onion-skinned.

I am in no way knowledgeable about art and do not pretend to have an inkling about artistic expressions and interpretations, but it does not take a pundit to glean from a subject if it is meant to degrade or not. Just like a lot of people are passionately conveying their indignation towards the painting and the man behind it, this piece was simply an expression without the least bit intention of causing malice to anyone. Imaginably, it is an optimistic foresight for the Year of the Dog taken into context when it was done. Or better yet, have the artist himself relay the thoughts behind its conception. Moreover, the painter himself is an Igorot. To say this is a slur on our ethnicity seems far-fetched. How can this be a case of ethnic prejudice?

Each to his or her own opinion and by all means, express. But sometimes, maybe all we need is a chill pill. Or a dozen in this case.

***For a very enlightening reading, I beseech you to please read:

Posted by Cheryl L. Daytec-Yañgot on Thursday, October 4, 2018

Barefoot Chronicles: Third Time’s a Charm

Without hesitation, I claim that the mountains of BC are love at first sight and experience for me. Simply because I am reminded of home with the painfully familiar coniferous bounty that British Columbia’s forests boast of.

I lived below the century-old pine trees of Tangeb back in Sagada so I got to smell the pungent sweetness of sap and pine needles that waft through the breeze all day long. I yearn for that most times hence every chance I get, I indulge in getting lost amongst the pines, oaks and redwoods of this province’s bounteous forests.

Like a runner’s high, I experience that euphoria once I succumb to getting lost in a mossy paradise. I feel most tranquil as I slowly start to lose my grip of time, gawking at the overgrowth of life around me while swatting away mosquitoes or wasps.

Elk Mountain has entranced me the first time Dalifer and I climbed it back in 2015. Almost fifteen hundred meters (1,432 m) high and a medium-difficulty hike I believe for non-hard core hikers like me, it is a haven frequented by paragliders and occasional hikers who’d do the connection trail from Elk to Thurston to Cheam. I love it for the fact that not a lot of people come here. Unlike other highly-advertised trails in BC where most times you have to pace yourself with the person before or after you, you only get to meet a lone climber every 30 minutes or so. In a way, you own the trail.

Which is why we’ve made our Elk Mountain trek a yearly must. And each time, I would keep on thinking how a lot more awesome it would be if I was hitting this trail with a dog.

This year would be our third trip to Elk’s peak. It is very special since my wishful thinking of having a dog to egg me on towards the top came to fruition. Not only do I have a scout, I also have a sweeper. And so like a little pack, we trudged onwards on a drizzly weekday.

We make an interesting team. We have this dude who kept on complaining about his Vibrams that were apparently killing his feet and who was panting more than my double-coated boy. Tireless Kaidu who whines with impatience everytime we do a water break. And Kokujin, staunch and indefatigable Kojin who personifies will and determination even with his short, stubby legs.

Back when it was just a duo between Dalifer and me, hiking in bear territory was not such a big deal as the unspoken truce was that we push each other as the token quarry if a black bear comes traipsing through. This time though, besides doubling the water bottles and carrying a dozen poop bags, we seriously considered getting a fog horn as we considered the wiener dog an effortless prey for a hungry carnivore. But of course that’s overdoing it. We settled for a whistle.

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To the untrained eye, the topography and flora may appear repetitive. But if you love forests as much as I do, you’d see how interestingly diverse the forest life is although it would seem to be just thick, lush green all over.

I can keep coming back to this place as its magic will never dull. A couple of years ago, I wished for dogs to hike with. It happened. Is it pushing it when I’ll endeavor for little tots to run ahead of me in these same trails in the next year or so? I whispered to the forest gods and demi-gods. 😉

Photo Credits: DBG

‘Woofy Birthday, Woman!’

So my hooman turned a year older today. She’s convinced herself she’s still 21 so I’m letting her indulge in this fantasy. Just for today.

I know that for some reason, she was dreading the advent of this day. Who does that? I love birthdays! Most people love birthdays! But I guess she’s not most people.

I delight in birthdays because it means a cake, presents, and I’m treated like a boss. They give me a pass for chewing the couch or they hand me an extra rasher. For my mom though, she claims birthdays somehow make her wistful. These remind her of what ifs, of missed opportunities, of sky dives that never happened, and the worst decisions she’s made. Boy, it must be tough being a grown-up.

The pact she made with herself to Angelina Jolie herself a brown-eyed, freckly baby that doesn’t drool or gurgle when she turns 28 never came to fruition. She’s seen that age come and go but she ended up having me instead and this cheeky little bugger I call my younger brother. (We fart and barf, that’s a better deal methinks.) I know too that aside from us, she has devoted herself to other fur babies. Humans are strange. They don’t know what they want.

Kojin and I wanted to do something special for her today but the best we could manage was to refrain from having diarrhea and not give her another scar mark from excessive nipping and biting. We give her ‘ruff’ love.

Today she went about her daily grind. Three-hour commute back and forth to work. (She doesn’t drive. Too many fenders bent.) Nine-hour shift. Ten pages leafed through a 360-paged textbook. One lottery ticket and another scratch card that was not at all lucky. A conspicuous gray hair plucked from her black mane. One or two candles snuffed out.

She seemed chipper but she cried a little. She pondered why bliss for her age seems to be perpetually pursued. She says it’s a constant effort; that it needs to be chased. I don’t get her. I hound dragonflies and smelly butts, and these make me euphoric. It’s not that complicated. Maybe I ought to take her butt-a-chasin’ next time. Humans are weird. Especially women. Especially women her age.

She says she’ll start doing more favors for herself. Eat healthier, drink lesser. More adventures, less passiveness. More spontaneity, less routine. Be happier, and be impervious to people who make her feel otherwise.

So far she’s managed to turn herself into a flexitarian. Whatever that means. (I call it a cheating vegetarian.) She started running again and does these ridiculous squats that scrunch her face ugly. She can now sleep without having to watch those murder documentaries that she says lull her to oblivion. And she’s withdrawn from drinking soda (but she started drinking beer). She still enjoys her favorite pastime which is to have duets with herself. Cringe-worthy. I guess she’s getting there.

My brothers and I wish her the best today and all the days thereafter. I wish to see her cry lesser. It can get weird seeing her sob when she watches dogs or cats being rescued, or when she sees reruns of the Gladiator. She does say we raise her oxytocin levels when we let ourselves be cuddled. I should not begrudge her those hugs then. I hope she knows that despite constantly chastising herself for her inadequacies and falling short of expectations she’s set for herself, she’s our world. She makes us happy. Happy 21st woman!

Kaidu Steals Mommy’s Blog!

Hi, my name is Kaidu. My parents call me tons of different names that often sound gibberish like Kai, Kaiditu, Jigglybums, Kaiduchan, Kaidupootpoot and so on. But my personal favorites are Big Boy and the Boss. I just turned nine months sometime ago which is like nine years old in hooman years for my breed according to Pedigree’s dog age conversion thingy. I got to know my hoomans when I was just 10 weeks old and that was when life and my awesomeness started!

I’m still very young but I have big dreams because I am ambitious like that. One of them is to be famous like Zayn Malik or that dog-writer, Ziggy, on Barkpost. I know I can be for a lot of reasons. For one, I have the pipes. Music is a huge thing in my household and every time my dad pulls out his guitar, I know that’s a cue for me to howl out the tunes that I composed myself. Mommy joins in every now and then but I always try to make my singing louder because she kinda sucks. I mean, I love my mom to death because there’s a lot to love about her. Like she always sneaks in slices of bacon under the table when daddy’s not looking, she spoon feeds me without complaints when I suddenly decide to be lazy, she giggles uncontrollably at my farts, but her singing is just awful! And when she decides to dance while she is singing, it’s just cringe-worthy. I go inside my crate, bum towards her.

Well I decided to start writing because I get bored sometimes and I want an outlet for my pent up energy. I want to keep on running and frolic nonstop on that white thing people call snow. I want to dig stuff and chew on wood. But I understand why these cannot be an everyday thing. My pawrents need to go to this place where dogs like me are not allowed. They work there so they could bring home treats, raw hides, and those countless fluffy stuff that don’t last very long under my teeth. I understand that so it’s okay if they say goodbye because I know they always come back when it gets dark. That’s the best part of my days–when they come home and I jump at them like I haven’t seen them in ages. In the meantime, I will write. My mom thinks she’s so smart that only she can access this blog but I figured out her password so that makes me smarter.

The past few days were not the best. I am wearing this cone again because I can’t stop chewing off my hair. I had to go revisit the big man who squeezed something in my butt before. It was awful and downright shameful to have someone poke my behind but Daddy said it was for my own good. Now the big guy did it again and I overheard him say that one reason why I seem to find my hair so palatable is that I have an allergy of some sort. Now that means they’re putting a stop on my little hooman food treats which are always so tasty. It also means only food that are hypo-allergenic (new food always gives me diarrhea, ugh), new shampoo, no this, no that. I don’t like visiting the big guy. Uh-uh. Not unless ladies are there to visit too. Like this Lady Bulldog, Penny, she was beautiful. We sniffed each other. And I think I am crushing on this receptionist, Lora. I think she likes me too.

I like getting into these rides with Mom and Dad but not all outings are fun. I remember before when Dad and my Uncle took me to this clinic that I used to visit a lot when I was younger. I thought it was the usual little prick they always did on my back but this time they did something much more! They took away my two thingamajigs that I used to lick till they glistened! I thought I could never forgive my people for that but I realized nothing they do will make me ever hate them.

This is my daddy. He’s awesome.

This is my mommy. She’s awesomerrr! (Yes, the word exists in dog speak.)

So anyway, now I am on a strict diet with this tasteless food and no sirree!!! I am keeping my jaws shut till they give me the good stuff. Let’s see who gives in. In the meantime, I see my mom prancing around like it’s the end of the world. She’s trying to come up with all these ludicrous ideas on how to shove these antibiotics down my gullet to stop my infatuation with my fur. Like I said, she thinks she’s smart but I am smarter.

-Kaidu, the Awesome

How Our Dog Taught Us to Save

This is Kaidu. He’s a six-month old, snarky bi-eyed Siberian Husky who has unwittingly taught us how to save—or not.

We got him when he was just 10 weeks old. He cost an arm and both legs so I believe to start with, he put a huge dent on my credit that would in turn restrict me from doing shopping of any sort for myself for a decade or so. Moreover, as doting, hungry new ‘pawrents’, we mindlessly shopped for dog paraphernalia–dog beds, bowls and bottles, leashes, collars, shampoos and sprays, carpet cleaners, deodorizers, puppy-proofs, how-to-books, a basketful of toys, kibbles and treats, multi-flavored dog food, more toys. Not to mention vaccines, neutering and microchips. That means another 10 years on top of that other no-shopping restriction for a decade.

It may be difficult for some to fathom how people can splurge on a non-hooman. But like deciding to have a baby, getting a dog to be a part of our little family was a decision that was mulled over for the longest time. (Who am I kidding? I did it in a split second once I saw those naughty bandit eyes!) Thing is, if other women find shopping or the spa therapeutic, I find my crazy bliss in a furry friend.

This fiery little fellow has been a constant destressor. True, he’s more than a handful. If he decides to be a raving maniac, that switch button of his can stay turned on for a long time. For the most part though, he has not failed in being the bouncing hairy bundle of joy that I’ve been missing since I left my other shaggy non-hoomans back home.

To say that Kaidu has been chomping on a huge part of my budget would be snarl-worthy. This little menace has in fact fortuitously versed us to cut on our spending. We ungrudgingly gave up the impractical pleasures that we used to often indulge in before he became a part of the household. A ruffian such as him made us readily sacrifice the cheap thrills of extravagance.

I can’t remember the last time I visited the mall to gratify myself with an unnecessary purchase. We’ve totally ruled out the guilty treats of eating out. Whatever meal we’re missing from a favorite joint has been recreated, albeit painstakingly, in our own kitchen. We can barely remember the last time we watched a movie in the cinema. We’ve learned to make do with new releases from Netflix. And since his teething and mouthing does not allow us to have nice stuff for the house, bargain goods are our best bets. No he has not made us cheapskates, he has taught us to be practical.

Since he came, the priority was to be home the soonest. Days off work were automatically programmed to be Kaidu days as well. His arrival has evoked more financial thoughtfulness on our end. To be enticed to spend on something we wish but don’t necessarily need has become out of the question. So yes, in a way he is indeed teaching us to be more economical. And to end this little salutation for our dog, I’m going to give him a treat, or two. 🙂