He was always very special. Not just because he grew up in our care, but also because Maximo Oliveros was a sweet and happy dog, always in a great disposition and friendly even to strangers.
When he joined the family, everyone was instantly in love with the doe-eyed furry creature that he was.
He grew up roaming freely around the house and within the gates of the apartment.
Maxi was hyperactive and would always play chase with me and my brothers and sister.
I would even let him sleep sometimes on the bed with me.
Early this year, my younger brother and sister moved in to the new house in Bulacan. Maxi moved in with them. He had the whole lawn to himself and could move about freely, but often, they had to keep him leashed to keep him out of the house.
And then last week, the accident happened. My sister, Mikee, was tying him to his leash when he tried to break free and bit her on the hand. She managed to break free but was left with a couple of small gashes on her fingers. The next day, Maxi died for still unknown reasons.
Out of fear, we had his cadaver checked. Thank God the results came out negative for rabies. We will never know how Maxi died. But he will always be remembered.
Maxi was the family dog.
He was my dog. And he will be missed.
The Chronicler's Creed
Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.
LA POESÍA
Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.
And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda
.jpg)
.jpg)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment