This is my 401st post and it's going to be about a puppy.
Side note: I've been trying to blog for over two months. But every time I am faced with the blank compose screen, my mind goes blank as well. I've attempted to do so more than a hundred times looking over my photos hoping I could be inspired to write, but still to no avail. So I revamped my template and here we are.
Last weekend, Nards and I went out of town to visit my in-laws. I always find the farm a refreshing break from the city. Nothing but the sound of the dogs, the cow (which is about to give birth), the farm hands bustling about, and the lazy conversations at the front porch. It's way cooler there too, and I love breathing in the sweet unpolluted air. I love how everybody's in bed by 7PM, and Nards and I can actually catch up on sleep.
Except it wasn't as peaceful as I was expected it to be. There was a gecko (tuko) that managed to crawl in the space beneath the stairs, and another one in the eaves of the garage. And another one on the tree just outside our window. (We sleep on a tatami room like space quite near the staircase. And it is separated by a wall from the garage roof.) So as soon as it darkens, those darn things would start their chilling song. And once one of them starts, the rest of the gecko's nearby would respond, and the air is filled with their frightening sounds making me feel like I'm surrounded. LOUD sounds which I translate to NEAR. I tell you, I did not sleep a wink. I was in constant fear that they'd find their way to our bedrolls and one of them would latch on to my appendages. I envy Nards for sleeping right through the ruckus. (Including the ones I made, I gasped and shrieked on a pillow every time I heard their horrid song.) I tried to nap during the day, when they were all quiet. (Probably reserving their energy for their encore performance at night.)
From what Nards and the rest of the household say, you'd think the tuko looks like this:
But I digress. This entry is about a puppy.
Before we went back to Manila, my Mother-in-Law packed the trunk with plants for my Mom, produce from the farm enough to feed several families, and a small white puppy. She and Tita Lilian prepared a big box lined with newspapers that she placed on a sheet of plastic and another mat on the floor of the car behind my seat. Except Nards put the puppy on his lap, and it remained there until we got to my parents'.
I warned him not to get attached, but he did anyway. He had a hard time handing the little one over to my sister.
As it turns out, my Mom's Spitz named Sprite is slightly terrified of the tiny puppy. It's always scooting off whenever the puppy tried to approach him to engage him in some sort of play. One time, Sprite got so scared by the puppy's attempt to nuzzle him, he recoiled violently at the touch of its tiny paw, sprung off the floor, twirled for some absurd reason and landed on his head. Nards and I heard the alarming thud when his head hit the concrete. I rushed over to him and cuddled him and gently rubbed his head. Sprite is such a lovable weirdo.
But this morning, I think they've finally learned to live with each other.