I am happy and sad today.
Whitey, a stray dog that I've been feeding for the past couple of months has been "rescued" this evening.
I first noticed the little straggler on my way to the car one afternoon sometime in December 2013. A mid-sized dog was staggering by the side of the road. I watched in horror as he took a few slow steps, proceeded to retch and throw up a bit of foamy bile and keel over. I was on my way to a friend's house for dinner so I thought that would be the last I saw of the dog.
I was wrong. This dog was a survivor.
Maybe a month or so later, I saw him wandering about slowly near the parked cars along the busy road of the condo where I live. He seemed generally wary of the world, but mobile, so I called out to him - "You're alive!" He only looked at me with a look that seemed to say "I know, right???"
The next time I encountered the White dog, he was sleeping on the landing of the fire escape where I usually hang out. He wakes up, takes a quick look at me and skulks off downstairs. Obviously, used to being shooed off by humans who don't like having him around, I suppose?
In the days that followed, I would see him walking up and down the road while these cars and trucks whizz by. It was a heart stopping and precarious sight to watch. He always manages to avoid being hit by the vehicles and ambles off like he was taking a leisurely walk in the park.
One day, I noticed he had plastic string tied around his neck, a makeshift collar? Not sure if that was a good or bad thing. Another week or so passes that I don't see him around.
The next time I see the dog, he has a wound on his neck from where the plastic rope cut into it. He still seemed fairly calm and meek and I called out to him. He stops in his tracks and looks straight at me. My heart melted.
The following evening on my way out to take Logan for a walk, I put out a small tin of dogfood for the White dog.
I stood there as he slowly came by to check out my offering, which he decided was acceptable. I watched as he took a few bites then took the tin in his mouth and walks a few steps away from me with the food.
This practice goes on for a few more weeks.
By the end of the 2nd week, the White dog would wag his tail happily as he sees me walking up the road towards him. He is usually around in the evening, and has taken to meeting me by the car when we arrive. He also seems to recognize my dad, mom and sister - but he always has his tail wag greeting waiting for me as I walk by.
On days when I don't leave the condo, I head downstairs after dinner to look for the White dog. The guards here, used to me walking out for my rendezvous keep a watchful eye on me as I feed my canine customer. Sometimes when I can't see the dog, one of the younger guards starts looking behind the parked cars with a flashlight to help me locate him.
More often than not tho, the dog is waiting patiently by the side of the building and will walk towards me as I slowly make my way to him with his daily ration. Always the tail wag as a greeting. I watch him eat for a while and walk back upstairs for the night.
Apparently, the old man in the canteen downstairs also leaves food for the White dog which he places along the curb on the other side of the road from the canteen. But always, always, I have him waiting for me or walking towards me each night.
My mom starts calling the dog, "Whitey". Because he is so dirty, a more appropriate name would have been Grey.
I had asked a friend about what I could do to help Whitey - seeing that the wound around his neck was looking worrisome. I was told that I could get him treated but would have to bring him to the shelter in Quezon City which is at the border of Marikina. Not sure how I would pull that off, I had to make do with just feeding him each night and hope that his wound miraculously heals.
One night, as I was on my way out, I notice an empty cage by the side of the parked cars downstairs. Whitey was standing uncertainly nearby, but he waited patiently for me to put out his food for him. There were two volunteers nearby who were apparently planning to rescue him so he could get his wound treated by a veterinarian. They were from Philippine Animal Lovers Society. I place Whitey's tin of food inside the waiting cage and had to head off to dinner.
When I get back a few hours later, the security guard hands me a small slip of paper with a mobile phone number on it. Apparently, Whitey refused to be rescued. The next evening, I pick out a harness and leash for Whitey. I sit beside him as he ate his dinner and afterwards attempted to put the harness on him. He meekly let me put his paws into the harness. he doesn't start to freak out until the leash is put on the harness. Then he starts complaining with a pained yowl. The leash had to be let go and he scurries off and away - harness, leash and all. I spent a sleepless night hoping the leash didn't snag on anything or that no one would detain and hurt him further.
The next evening, Whitey is at his usual spot, waiting for me to show up with his dinner. The harness and leash were gone. The two volunteers from PALS were also there that night. They had a spare harness and leash and I tried to get Whitey to stand still long enough to put on the harness again.
Stray dogs are a special kind of smart. Their survival instinct is so keen that they learn real quick what is good and what is not. Whitey was his usual meek self, but would refuse to stand still long enough for me to properly put the harness on him again. Each time one of the volunteers would come near to help me, Whitey would start to walk away. Rescue attempt - FAIL.
We decide to give Whitey a few days to 'get over'the attempt to save him. We all agreed that I'd keep feeding him and try to attach the harness and leash again after a few days.
Tonight, 5 days after the initial rescue attempt, I hear from the guard downstairs that Whitey has finally been caught.
I went downstairs and stood by the cage where Whitey was. He looks at me pleadingly and paws at the bars of the cage. My heart starts to break. I try to explain to him that he needs to see a doctor to get his wound fixed and that he will soon be going to a loving home where he will never have to worry about his next meal or fear that he might be roadkill or dinner for drunkards. He continues to paw at the bars and starts whimpering.
I've been told that someone has already agreed to take Whitey in after his wounds have been treated. There is a forever home wajiting for him - in Quezon City.
My favorite novel happens to be The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry.
Whitey is my Fox. We've gotten so used to seeing each other that I don't know what it would be like to not have him waiting for me each night for his dinner. I keep reminding myself that he will be much better in his future forever home, and that finally - finally - he will get his wound treated. Time to be the better human and let Whitey have his happy ending.
Still it doesn't get easier for me to imagine evenings without the dirty White dog that I've grown to love.
I'm happy that he will get treated, but sad that I won't see him anymore. Selfish, bipolar Babs. I need my meds.
I love you Whitey, thanks for being the brave and sweet dog that you are.
I will miss you.
Be good, you'll be all right. I'll say a prayer for you and keep you in my heart.
