The Good Boi

Dear good boi Bruno,

Henlo.

It’s your first death anniversary followed by immediate birthday, and frankly I don’t know how I am supposed to feel. Am a little saddo and a bit happio.

But every thought of you always makes me so happy, that I do me a smile.

This one year and especially the initial days after you left, have been the toughest.

I remember joining back to work worried that I might cry any time. But then, with the sudden soothing breeze that flew past me that morning, I instantly knew I was going to be okay.

Waz that you, Boo? 😊

When you first came home as a teeny-tiny floof, you barely barked and for some reason, we thought you were an out-of-order pupper. We barked more to teach you how to bark and climbed staircases to teach you to move those little paws. You were so smoll, you looked right up at the Everest of a step and cried soft-puppy cries. I decided it was easier to pick you up and that’s what I did all your life!

I can still hear papa shouting, ‘Drop him down; let him act like a dog!!’ hahaa, but I never did.

I miss those bright mornings when you were the first thing I saw, all that jumping and tail-wagging! Just celebrating another new day! If I pretended to sleep, you never gave up and borked the harshest bork ever. BORK BORKKK!

Mom dad’s obedient baccha, you shot like an arrow each time they called, but barely moved your neck to see why I was calling, unless of course, you heard a magical plastic wrapper tear open.

I am doing myself a sad because my hide and seek days are over. Each time I hid, you searched heckin’ fine including under the centre-piece. Just to let you know, I was a little too big to crawl there. And while I hid without a sound, you abandoned the chase several times while I kept waiting for you to find me!

When I hugged mom and dad to tease you, ‘they are mine’, I do some evil agony but you won all the love by throwing a heartbroken-pupper tantrum.

And when we circled around you and called out your name all at once, the stupid ‘Bruno-loves-who-the-most’ test, you always choose papa. You despacito doggo, ran to him with all your might.

The days when I did you a scold, you heard me like you understood every word. You prepared for the ‘pull back brown ears and show puppy eyes’ security system. It was so difficult to stay mad at you, I would burst out laughing, doing me a total fail.  

I hate to finish my ice creams, milk, yogurt, chimken and eggs all alone, because you are no more peeking from under the dining table, doing me a disturb. And I can no more cheat on veggies I detest.

I miss showing you every new thing I bought, you sniff sniff through clothes and shopping bags in approval (or maybe in search of food items).

I took your opinion when I wore nice-hooman clothes on date nights and read my writings to you, while you yawned. Solly, I dressed you up soo mush, I was only fulfilling my motherly fantasy!

Do you remember your bath times? Spot the pupper, plan the gib-Bluno-bath operation, pull out that floof tail from under the bed and finally get me more drenched than you. The lion of a fierce doggo into a skinny mouse within seconds. Your eyes screamed ‘Enough-hooman!!’ but you looked so adorable all wrapped up in baby towel, I thanked God for this wonderful life.

When I felt low, you appeared like a penguin on two legs, resting your head in my lap, doing me a console. Then ran away, as I picked you up to cuddle more. *sob*

And then out of nowhere, you found ways to be next to me. (all shmiles)

I don’t ever want to stop talking about you, talking to you.

I see people walk their dogs and glance at your leash, kept safe right where it used to be. I am never giving away some of your stuff, your toys, your little bed, your food plate.

And hope that you are still schneaking around in our lives.

Happy birthday, Boo!

Love,

Your second-favourite hooman 😊