I often tell myself that I am too old and jaded to believe in Prince Charming. The idea of Prince Charming, in my mind, is only for the naïve, for those who have yet to experience love and its accompanying pain. As old women are fold of saying, a young woman has a set of standards for her ideal husband, against which she matches the traits of her suitors. But as time passes and as each day that comes which sees her as yet unmarried, she crosses off certain standards from her ideal in an effort to fight her biological clock. In the end, she compromises and settles for the first person who meets the very basic of her ideals.
But I am digressing. Anyway, though I feel myself too old and jaded to believe in Prince Charming, my body still cheats me sometimes into actually dreaming of him. Last night, I was so tired that I did not bother to climb the stairs to my room and instead sprawled on the living room couch and promptly fell asleep. During my sleep, I dreamt that someone was kissing me; however, my body told my mind that the kiss was too wet to be a dream. I opened my eyes and there he was, his long pink tongue lolling out of his fanged mouth. My Prince Charming, Sniffy, just licked my face.
Sniffy is our family’s little baby. He is a half-breed pit bull, and he is turning six months old today. He was given to us by one of our cousins, who is into dog breeding.
Sniffy’s entry into our household was met with mixed feelings. We didn’t exactly want a dog in our house, primarily because dogs like Sniffy need far too much attention and care. A dog like Sniffy cannot be fed with just any kind of food. He must be fed dog food. His grooming is also a matter of utmost concern.
Another reason why we are reluctant to take Sniffy in is that we are not certain that we are emotionally ready to care for a dog. The last dog that came to us died.
But Sniffy turned out to be a charming and intelligent puppy. Not long after he was brought to us, he captured our hearts completely. His funny antics and his innate inquisitiveness often brought smile to our faces. Soon enough, Sniffy became a member of the family and taking care of him a part of our household routine.
Just how much Sniffy means to us was tested two weeks ago. A few hours after he was fed dinner, my mother noticed how sad and listless Sniffy seemed, a strange thing because all afternoon long, all he did was run and gambol about the yard. We all dismissed this as his being tired after all his playing. On the following day, however, he seemed to look worse; he would not eat, he would not drink. If he was forced to eat, he would just vomit it all out. He just lay there in his corner and would not even lift a paw. Only his eyes moved.
This alarmed my mother. The first thing she did on the next day was to take Sniffy to the vet. The vet told her that she came just in time: Sniffy was infected with the Farbo virus, a virus that is fatal to puppies if left untreated. But even if it was treated, there was still a fifty-fifty chance that the infected puppy would still die. Sniffy was left at the clinic for treatment.
The week that followed must have been the longest week of our lives. My mother rarely cries, but the very mention of Sniffy being in the vet brought her to tears. Every morning of that week, she and my father would visit Sniffy at the vet. My brothers and I would take turns calling the clinic every six hours or so just to check on our pet.
It was painful. Before our eyes, our rolly-polly baby shrank to mere skin and bones. The Farbo virus attacks the dog’s digestive system, so Sniffy could not eat. He puked a lot and passed blood as feces. Dextrose and antibiotics, and mayhap our family’s vigil and prayers, kept him going.
On the fourth day of his stay at the vet’s, Sniffy showed signs that he will survive. His puking lessened and he stopped passing blood. On the following days, there were more signs; the lifting of the head, a slightly faster wagging of the tail, an attempt at a howl that turned instead into a moan.
On the ninth day, he was brought back home.
Sniffy is still recovering from his bout from the Farbo virus. But he definitely seems on the way to recovery. Though stick-thin, he has begun to run around and gambol about as he used to, and seems to go out of his way to annoy my mother and myself with his antics, done with that tricksy doggy smile of his. And he has taken to licking the face of unwary sleepers sprawled on the living room couch.
I don’t really mind being licked awake by Sniffy. Not anymore. After all, he is my baby, my Prince Charming.
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