Bella

The funny thing is that I was a cat person growing up.

Really. When I was seven, we had a black and white cat named Casper who roamed around our little apartment and the New Hampshire forest nearby. Then here in Sabah, a mother cat chose our house to smuggle her kittens into barely a week or two after our arrival. The dynasty was born. We must have had twenty cats over the years, an entire swarm of kittens at one point that would stampede when called. I liked cats, and still do. I only tolerated dogs.

All this to say that out of the many, many events of 2020, I did not expect to fall in love with a puppy.

This was Bella when we first got her. We had no idea what her breed was. Some strain of terrier? Collie? Obviously mixed, anyway. From the day my aunty brought her home in May, a tiny white bundle of fur, she grew on me.

We tried leaving her by herself at night, but she barked and whined the house down. So I took her up to my bedroom where she’d have some company. Maybe so that I would too. She’d flop on the wooden floor under the fan and go to sleep, safe and content.

She was horribly messy, as puppies always are. Poop and puddles everywhere. Eventually, we trained her to use mats near the bathroom. So much energy, this dog. Always running around the house. She was wary of the staircase at first, but soon learned to bound up and down with ease. When I left for work she’d jump up to the window to watch me leave; when I got back she’d hear the car and hop onto the couch to see me come in, her fluffy tail wagging like crazy. She loved to play and bit as many things as a teething puppy could. The house was livelier.

And then my mom passed away, and we just didn’t have time for a puppy. A wonderful family friend took Bella in for the next two months. We grieved and adjusted. Life went on.

Last month we bought Bella a shiny new cage and went to pick her up. She’d gotten longer, stockier. She’d made new doggy friends where she was staying. But her tail still wagged like crazy seeing us.

Now that she was bigger, I took her on long walks in the evenings. We visited my mom’s grave. She would stop and sniff the grass along the way, and happily roll around in the dirt. She was a little too popular with all the neighbouring dogs, most of them larger. I’d gather her up in my arms until we were somewhere safer. She was ever willing to be carried, and always happy to run off again when set down.

Until one day last week when she stopped eating. The next morning, she was vomiting and lying forlornly at the back of her cage. We brought her to the vet and learned about an illness called parvo, dubbed the puppy killer.

Highly contagious, it spreads from other dogs or their faeces and can be fatal for dogs under one year old. There is no cure. Treatment is limited to managing symptoms so that the dog can pull through on their own. Prevention is the best policy; the virus is covered in the normal vaccine cocktail that puppies are supposed to receive. Bella was only ten months old, and with my mom’s cancer growing worse, her passing, and the aftermath, we forgot all about vaccination.

Last week, Bella tested positive for the parvovirus. Suddenly she was fighting for her life.

Life is so fragile, isn’t it? Someone or something comes into our lives that we never expected and come to care for very much. But you never know when they’ll be taken from you. In this year of loss and grim prospects amid the pandemic, it seems more important than ever to remember that there’s a last time for everything. The last appointment my mom and me went for at the Oncology department before she was referred to Palliative. The last time she was able to walk down the stairs. The last birthday of hers we celebrated, a few days early, the night before she died.

Sometimes all the signs are there. You can see it coming. And other times death comes out of nowhere, reminding us of how fleeting our existence is.

Death doesn’t always come to take life away, though. My mom pulled through her emergency operation back in 2017, even with the complications that put her in the ICU. She did very well with the chemo that followed. We had another three years together after the cancer diagnosis. I’ll always be grateful for that.

Sometimes death only brushes our loved ones, reminding us not to take them for granted.

Thankfully, Bella’s illness was one of those times.

It took a few nights’ stay at the veterinary clinic, where she was put on a drip and antibiotics and liquid food. She grew noticeably thinner. But after a few days, she got her appetite back. We were able to take her home. With the virus defeated, all her boisterous energy returned. We'll get her vaccinated soon. She’s back to barking the house down and running around and wagging her fluffy white tail like crazy when I get back from work.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love a Little Further Down the Line

 Where do I begin?

It’s been a while since I did this. A few years have passed. I’m older now, and wiser too, I hope. But maybe I’m just more experienced, which isn’t always the same thing.

Today I’m talking about relationships.

Right, so. The last time I delved into this subject it was, by and large, from the perspective of a newbie. Now that I’ve known the person that I’m with for quite a while – five years and counting! – the vibe feels different.

Disney classics, romance novels, rom-coms. They all tend to focus on the same story: the early days. The passion, the tension, the highs and lows of a budding relationship. The emotions, baby. It’s something I was less aware of before, being caught up in them myself. But now it stands out like a sore thumb. In many ways, my relationship isn’t like that anymore. We’ve passed that stage. Now we’ve entered the phase of the familiar.

By which I mean: sometimes we really get on each other’s nerves.

There’s an innate novelty and joy in discovering another person. Learning about their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams, issues and anxieties. And after a while, you become used to each other. The passion fades. The bickering grows. You start wondering whether love can last.

It can, obviously. The catch is that love changes. We tend to associate love with the heady days of the honeymoon phase. But I’m starting to see that real love, the kind that lasts, is intentional.

Because sometimes you’re going to ask yourself: is this what love is supposed to feel like? Frustration with all the little quirks you once found endearing? Wondering why something that’s so easy for you is so hard for them, and vice versa? Saying stupid things in the heat of an argument and regretting them afterwards? Are you supposed to keep holding on to something that hurts?

In short, yes. Sometimes love is going to hurt.

And how you deal with that will make or break the relationship. Are you going to work on understanding each other’s differences? Admit that you were wrong and resolve to do better? Accept that there’s bound to be friction sometimes and a little conflict is healthy? Are you going to stick around when the going gets tough?

Or are you going to walk away?

Because that’s a valid option too.

Well, it is. My parents got divorced when I was six. Some of my earliest memories are of the two of them fighting. I’d be lying if I said that hasn’t influenced my outlook on life. If all your fights devolve into screaming matches; if talking to them feels like running into a brick wall; if your partner is gaslighting you, controlling you, being physically or emotionally abusive. These are all reasons to get the hell out.

But it could also be that you’ve outgrown each other. All relationships begin at a certain point in our lives and progress from there. If you’re lucky, the person you fall in love with will be someone you can build a future with. But if not – If the two of you are heading in different directions mentally, spiritually, or you know, geographically – it could be that holding on is worse than letting go.

Whichever path you take, there are consequences. This is what love comes down to, in the end: a choice.

We can’t have it all. Every decision means not doing something else. Or someone else. That’s what commitment is. You are choosing this person, the love of your life, your partner in crime, the future parent of your children, above all others. All I can say is to make sure you’re making the choice that’s right for you. Not anyone else. Not even your partner. If you genuinely want to be with this person, that’s great! If not, go do them a favour and leave.

Because life is really, really short. Next year I’ll be the same age my mom was when she got married. That’s crazy to me. If I live as long as she did, that means that nearly half my life is over. If I live until ninety, I’ve got another two-thirds. Or who knows, I could be hit by a bus next Tuesday.

However long we have on this earth, we have to make our own choices. Will the rest of our lives be worth living if we don’t?

So I guess this is a call to commitment. To your significant other, and to your future self, the person you’ll be a little further down the line. Invest in what you want to last. Put in the work to sustain the relationship. Love your partner by being a better partner.

As they say, actions speak louder than words. It’s not enough to say you love them. You’ve got to show them, too.