10 Promises to My Dog

10 Promises to My Dog is a Japanese movie made a few years back. I want to see it but I don't to at the same time because I know I will cry my eyes out. I have also decided not to watch it at the cinema because I don't want to annoy other moviegoers by my bawling. After finally mustering enough courage I set out to rent the dvd. By the time the ending credits roll, my floor is littered with tissue.

I have the trailer of the movie in my youtube play list and when I get real pissed with the kids, I will replay it. It never fails to move me to tears and I will pick Porky up and hug him tight. The promises give me a perspective otherwise forgotten in the minutiae of everyday life.

I walk in on a real moving scene yesterday at my vet's. I am there to get stuff for Ashley and Camille. I expect the clinic will be full as usual but all I see is the nurse crumpled on the floor next to a golden retriever in an otherwise empty clinic. There is a surgical wound near the dog's tail and naively I think the dog is recovering from the haze of anaesthesia. When the nurse turns towards me to ask me what I need, she is crying. She is choking when she tells me the dog has undergone a surgery to remove a malignant tumor a few days ago, but the cancer has spread to his innards and the situation is gloomy.

Through the consultation room wafted the wailing and sobbing of two female voices, that of a mom and a teenage daughter. Just a look at the beautiful dog lying motionless on the floor with eyes half opened is heartbreaking. The daughter is a complete wreck, sobbing uncontrollably as she comes out to look at her beloved dog. She is going to bring him to the U.K. to be with her through university. She keeps saying the dog is only nine years old and she wants to bring him to the U.K. to spend more time with him.

After getting what I want from the teary nurse, I think it's only proper to give the family their privacy and moment of silence. The vet nods in my direction and gives me a bitter smile. There is only so much medicine can do.

I grab Porky and hold him next to me in bed last night. Just feeling the warmth of his body, the steady heart beat and his snoring make me realize how transitory life is. Losing Kobe is the worst thing that has happened to me in recent years. I cannot imagine losing Porky. I hope the golden retriever will not be in too much pain and the daughter can say a proper goodbye.