I held him in my arms when he was merely a few weeks old. I fed him, played with him, slept next to him. I scolded him when he was naughty, I cried with pain when he had diarrhoea. I was with him every minute of the day, though I was having my finals. I gave up precious sleep, just so I could be with him.
These can only be memories. Now that he’s gone to be another family.
I was never a dog person. I thought they were time-consuming and boisterous and I’m not that committed. Until I met Puppy. I mean they are still time-consuming and boisterous, except that I had fallen in love with Puppy. Just look at him, how can anyone not love him? Even my animal-avoiding Mum thought he was cute. He’s not mine though. My cousin took him home but to avoid his mum, I became the Guardian. We gave him a name, Cookie. But I got so used to calling him Puppy and since he responded to that, it stuck. I used to wince when I hear parents calling their child baby, eventhough the kid is like, 10 years old. But I understand now. So Puppy came over to my place in the morning, and my cousin sneaked him home late at night. This went on for a few weeks until this secret affair came out in the open.
My cousin’s schooling, working, partying… it’s no wonder he has no time and money for poor Puppy. He had no choice, but to sell him off to another family. Nothing can express the amount of anger and disappointment I feel for my cousin. I hope this other person is able to treat him better than I had with Puppy.
Then all these tears would be justified. But then, I guess nothing ever will. He was my Puppy, who was never really mine.