Goddess, I Am.

For as long as I can remember, my family has always kept dogs. Throughout my 27 years, we’ve probably owned about 20 dogs of varying pedigrees. We loved dachshunds best, but we’ve also had German Shepherds, Dobermans, a Sharpei, and, of course, the requisite mongrel. They came, they were loved and taken care of, they went, and they were eventually replaced.

Except for her. And she was mine.

She was a birthday present from my stepfather. I named her Champagne, a pretty name that wasn’t entirely appropriate. When he brought her home, she was fully grown and riddled with some sort of skin disease that left her scabby and hairless. I was about 19 years old and completely wrapped up in my own life. I didn’t have time for a pet (and a scabby one at that), so I spent half the time ignoring her.

Maybe it was kismet, or maybe it’s because she followed me around so relentlessly that it became impossible to ignore the intelligence in her eyes, but we started to spend more and more time together until we were almost inseparable.

Pretty soon, she was sleeping on my bed, scabs and all. It was not very hygienic, I know, but she refused to sleep elsewhere, plus I just couldn’t bear the thought of banishing her back to the flimsy rug beneath the piano bench. One simply doesn’t treat one’s best friend that way, and that was exactly what she was to me, my best friend.

Naturally, I’ve taken her to the vet countless of times to get the skin problem sorted out. We tried pet supplements aplenty, but nothing ever worked. Some drugs succeeded in sorting out the scabs, but she only lost what little hair was left on her, too. Others only succeeded to aggravate the condition further. There was even one shot that turned her skin a bright pink! She ended up looking more like a cute pig, rather than a dachshund-mini pinscher cross.

I was resigned to the fact that she’ll probably be scabby and hairless forever, and so were the family, who had gotten as attached to her as I had. She eventually had two puppies, Brandy and Martini, and we adored them to pieces. Unfortunately, they somehow ended up with the same skin disease, which was really quite heartbreaking.

That summer, my sister and I went on our yearly trip to Manila. By the time we came home, Champagne and her babies were unrecognizable! The scabs were gone, and they had fur – beautiful and dappled black and gray fur. This was all thanks to my grandfather (my mum’s dad). Apparently, he came to visit one day, took one look at them, and knew exactly what drug to get and where. It took only three shots to do what countless visits to the vet couldn’t do. We were so happy. We couldn’t think of a better way to say our thanks than to give him Martini, and they were inseparable, too.

A lot of things happened to our family back then, major things that saw us giving up our home and our other dogs (we had about 5 around this time), but Champagne and Brandy went with us as we moved from home to home. My mum and sister were as attached to Brandy as I was to Champagne, and we simply couldn’t bear to part with them, wherever we went.

The next few years saw me in relationships that were unhealthy, if not downright toxic. I was officially manic depressive and even dabbled in suicide. Champagne saw me through it all. Every time I had my heart broken or whenever I had an episode, she would sit by me as I cried, lick my tears away, and sometimes whined along with me. Then we’d go for a walk, just she and I, and maybe chase a cat or two. She always knew when I needed her, and somehow, she always knew what to do. She was smart like that. There are a thousand stories I can tell that show exactly how intelligent she was, and maybe one day I will tell them all.

Brandy died near the end of August, 2005. She was only 3 years old. One night, we just found her lying under our outdoor bench, laboring for breath. We drove all night, looking for a vet who would help us. By the time we found one, she was already too far gone. She had a seizure right there on the vet’s table, and she was gone.

It broke all of our hearts – mum’s and Champagne’s, especially. Champ started to eat less and less after that until I had to force-feed her, just so she’ll eat. Paralysis set in and she could no longer use her back legs. I had her confined at the vet’s, hoping that they could somehow make her better, but her condition only deteriorated further. When she went blind, I took her home.

Everyone kept telling me that there’s nothing else that could be done and that I should let her go to end her suffering, but stubbornly and maybe just a little selfishly, I held on. I wasn’t ready to let her go. I wasn’t ready to let my best friend go.

It was my turn to be there for her. She took care of me when I needed her most, and I did the same for her. But she was suffering, and when the paralysis spread even further, I knew it was time to let her go.

I took her back to the vet’s wrapped in her favorite blanket. She couldn’t see me, but I spoke to her almost non-stop because she could hear me. Just one shot and she was asleep. I stayed with her, hugged her, kissed her, comforted her until she just stopped breathing. She died sleeping peacefully in September of 2005.

It’s been 4 years since she left me. We’ve had other dogs since, but none ever inspired the same devotion as she did – at least, not from me.

Why am I revisiting this still-painful memory now? Because I found these when I was going through my old photos, my only pictures of my darling Champagne:

and Brandy:

Sometimes I dream of her and Brandy and Martini, who died this year, after 8 years with my grandfather. I like to think they’re all happy out there in doggie heaven, chasing cats and squirrels and butterflies to their hearts’ content.

Whenever I’m unhappy, I think about her and I never fail to feel better. Maybe she’s still watching over me. I like to think so.