“All the world is queer save me and thee; and sometimes I think thee is a little queer.” - Anon
First things first. In case you are wondering what is a Pong, well Pong is a dog. And he is my dog. Chona has Chewee and I have Pong. Pong is a black and white crossbreed between a terrier and a I have no idea. And Pong looks like that. He has the "I have no idea" physique. He is not small, not medium-sized nor big. He is somewhere between small and medium. He has big eyes that someone described as “banlag.” I never noticed that until that person pointed it out. He is “banlag” and he is my dog. His origins are as mysterious as night but I do not care, he is my dog.
Pong and I have a love-hate relationship. Whenever we come home I peer inside the house through the screen door and I see him waiting for me. He knows I am there because he gives a little wiggle and even smaller wag and if you are not alert you will miss it. He just stares at me. I call his name and there is absolutely no expression. No change either in his demeanor.
Chewee on the other hand leaps and wiggles with much aplomb.
My zen-like dog just stares. He is oblivious to everything except for one thing. Food. And this dog loves to eat and he will eat practically anything. He especially likes chicharon. But he will eat anything. A favourite of his is camote.
Chewee and Pong are my meal partners. Pong is on the right and Chewee on the left. Whenever I eat, they are there. It does not matter if it is breakfast, lunch, dinner, merienda and a midnight snack, they are there, most especially Pong. He has the nose for food. And he has this expression of perennial hunger that he has perfected. Only a person with an absolute cold heart can turn away from that expression.
The one thing that can wake him up is food. The crackle of junk food wrappers is like a siren to him. And that is strange because there are times when the dogs outside are howling and baying but Pong remains asleep with not a care in the world. And yet even the slightest crinkle of a wrapper will wake him up. Strange dog, Pong is. But he is my dog.
He does not like talcum powder. I have this habit that after I bathe I dust my bed with baby powder. I find it refreshing and soothing. But not Pong. When I do the fluffing with Chewee, she welcomes it. But when I look for Pong he runs away. But I chase him and he has no choice. I want him to smell good because he is the only dog who has the bragging right. Pong sleeps in my own bed.
We have a funny ritual really. When I spread my comforter on my bed he looks at it. But he does not jump in right away. He has his own small comforter and pillow. He likes his own comforter. But when he is over that, he transfers to the elongated pillow. Yes he also has a pillow. He stays there for awhile and then he goes to my bed.
He sleeps and then when it is time for me to sleep, he stands and goes either to the comforter or the pillow. I call out to him to get back at the bed. He never does because he needs to hear that I am calling him.
You see Pong wants to hear the words. So before I turn off the lamp I sidle to him and say, tara na Pong tulog na. He just stares at me as if to say, what are you doing here? Can’t you see I am sleeping here. Stop pestering me. I ask him again but same response. He does not move an inch. I grumble. And I grumble every night. But before I drift to sleep I feel a movement at my feet and Pong has come to bed. I feel his body with my feet and I sometimes smile. There is something very reassuring about Pong in my bed.
Pong does not like to be touched so much but when he does he has this annoying habit of rolling over with his belly exposed. He loves to be scratched there. He just stares at me with those "banlag" eyes when I scratch him.
The morning ritual is a totally different thing. And we will need a Part two for that. In the meantime, meet Pong, my ever loyal dog.