Rambo, first dog

Take a look at this photo and never again wonder why dogs are considered our best friends-especially when we’ve had so-called human "friends" who acted like animals.

This picture shows how Rambo (yes, that’s the dog's name given by the guy inside the coffin) was to our family. He was given to us as a pup more than 15 years ago by relatives when his mom-the bitch-gave birth to her first litter. The bitch originally came from us. Rambo was a mongrel, although we suspect he was mestizo Labrador. He was bigger than the usual askal and had big feet and "otter" tail.

For more than ten years, Rambo was the most punctual living thing that entered the gates of Auitan Elementary School. I just didn’t know with this dog-he loved going to school and sleep in my mother’s classroom all day. Even when my mom was absent, he would still go to school and inspect every classroom until he was sure his human wasn’t there. He was the only tolerated dog in the school-being well-behaved, good-smelling and all. (When I was in Grade 6 my teacher also had such a dog except that son-of-a-bitch stunk!) The entire faculty would talk to him like a pupil. Being spayed, he was also chubby and so was very popular with the kids.

After school, Rambo would shift his dogged attention to my father playing chess (and drinking) at the corner store. They would later walk home together.

He was the most visible and most popular dog in town. If Rambo ran for "dog mayor" of San Pablo, he would have won hands down.

At home, he loved to be by our feet, not minding that we like to use him as a furry ottoman. When he was young, he had a deep booming bark, enough to scare the beejesus out of anyone. If left by his lonesome at our home in Isabela, the entire neighborhood took care of him. He might have been the first dog in San Pablo to have been dressed with shirts when it was cold, long before Michael de Mesa and Paris Hilton began selling their ugly yet expensive doggy dresses.

Rambo also liked to be driven around. He would know when we were about to leave and he always tried to beat everyone to the car. He did not mind long drives from Manila to Isabela or vice-versa. Our only problem was, he farted a lot and no car freshener could neutralize his bad wind! While navigating Dalton Pass one time, he took a crap at the back seat. When Pom turned around to see where the stink was coming from, Rambo’s pile was there right in the middle of the back seat-as fresh and warm as they come.

One time, when my father’s bus conked out somewhere in the wilderness of Diadi, Nueva Vizcaya in the dead of the night, Rambo might have thought we’ve arrived already. He rushed out the doors and started running in the dark. I have to run after him, shouting my lungs out or I get chopped to pieces by Mama for losing her dog. (Nueva Vizcaya is Ilocano country and they sooooo love dogs there, especially fat ones like him.) I found him lying on a clearing many long minutes later after perhaps realizing he’s nowhere home. Later that day, he got electrocuted at the garage when he stepped on an exposed wire while the mechanic was welding something. (There was also one time when he got electrocuted in my aunt’s house when someone threw a switch on while he was tethered to an iron swing where bare wires were looped.)

But Rambo is remembered most when he never left my father’s coffin during his long wake-except to eat and do his thing. Several times, I caught him looking up where my father was lying. Despite his arthritic bones, failing eyesight and old age, he walked all the way to the cemetery to see my father off for the final time, his tounge almost touching ground.

We tried our best to make Rambo’s final days comfortable. I even asked my mom to allow the town vet to euthenize him, but she refused. Yesterday morning, Rambo died and was promptly buried where he used to dig his dirt holes. I wish I was there to bury him myself-the least I could do for a most loyal albeit farty friend.