My first dog was Brownie. He was two years older than me. He was born sometime in December of 2005, so our family took the decision of celebrating his birthday on Christmas to celebrate the birth of two holy beings in our lives, Jesus Christ and his gift to us, Brownie. Brownie was one of the most beautifully built dogs that ever lived. He had dark brown eyes with citrus orange hued rings around them, so when you gaze into his eyes it's like a galaxy of memories I cherished with him, and more that I was to cherish in the future. He had long manes below his neck, enhancing his look and making him even more handsome. Brownie was a dog who was loyal to his family, and made us members of his pack. And when I was born as the newest member of the pack, nothing gave me greater joy than irritating him. I'd pet him weirdly, pull his ears and tail, and ride him like a cowboy on a horse. But that was simply just me playing my role as his little brother. As the years went on, he grew to be stronger, smarter, more protective, and more affectionate. He was always nimble and tough, capable of running at high speeds till his last days. By around June 2021, he started to have seizures and his bones grew weak. He peacefully passed away on the June 20, 2021. He will not just remain as someone I hold close to my heart, but as my heart itself, and our family will never forget him.
My second dog was Simba. I was six-and-a-half when she was born. She was one amongst a litter of around six puppies. Three others were adopted, two died, and the sixth one, Simba, was adopted by us after she accidentally got hit by a car. My mother took her in, we fixed up some water and rice with chicken for her, and we slowly witnessed as she gradually recovered. Here, Brownie was the older brother, I was the middle child, and Simba was our little sister. When Simba was introduced to Brownie, it was challenging for him to adapt to having another dog in the house, but they got along like peas on a pod as the weeks went by. She would annoy him, he would do absolutely nothing about it, and they grew to love each other. I of course, was a part of all the fun. I'd run with them, wrestle with them, feed them, play with them, and I was in the best alliance I could ever be a part of. Simba brought this energetic and hyper aura to our house which we didn't know we needed for our happiness as well. But with her, as the years went by, she would grow weaker and less energetic. She went on to have diabetes when she was approximately 9 years of age, from which she mournfully ascended to heaven shortly after her tenth birthday on August 1, 2024, and my life has not been the same ever since.
Our third dog was Mogu, named after the popular fruit flavoured drink, Mogu Mogu which our family was addicted to at the time, which was mid-late 2021. She had initially belonged to a friend of my father's, but since that person's family could not take care of her, we took the honour of adopting her as our own, since our family felt empty after Brownie had passed away. She had white fur, light brown patches that matched the colour of her eyes so that there would be a flawlessly leveled synonymity and harmony between these colours for when she would appear in pictures and, I must say, she looked even more elegant in impromptu pictures. She ran the fastest of all our dogs and possessed the stamina of an Olympian track runner on a high dose of caffeine. My most fond memories of her were when I was in the eighth grade, and me, my father and her would try to catch her in our building. All attempts to catch her were unsuccessful, but the process of her slowly being a part of our family, and a part of our hearts was surely successful. Mogu and I were the two siblings that never got along, but had a deep love for one another. We would always playfully bully and irritate each other whenever we got bored, and make up for it when she would sit between my legs as I spent most saturday evenings watching T.V, with a glass mug of ice-cold coffee. Life was pleasant. Almost a year later by May 2022, my father and I went on a trip to the United States for the third time and our grandparents took care of Mogu and Simba. Two weeks into our trip, my aunt had received a horribly distressing and disheartening phone call. Mogu was accidentally hit by a car. Hearing these six dreaded words, processing and interpreting them felt like my heart was hit by the same car going twice as fast. It broke me, and I was struggling to move on, but then I accepted the fact that she lived a good life, a life giving love, and being loved, and her being loved is something I will satisfy till my time comes as well.
Our fourth dog is Boggi. Boggi is one of the smartest, clingiest, most mischievous and caring dogs I am privileged to have in my life. Boggi is my rock, my conduit, and my breath. He is the only dog I have left in my life now, and I am conditioned to love him above all else, along with my other dogs looking down on me from up above. He is wonderfully quirky, incredibly hyperactive throughout the day, and loves spending time with us, but not as much as we loved simply being in his presence. It feels holy being around him. He is a little brother sent from God himself to bring me the best friend anyone can ask for. He never judges me, he never cares about what I do wrong, he always showers me with admiration regardless of everything else that goes awry in my life, and I feel like I did nothing to deserve someone as big a blessing as him. Simply his presence is a remedy to my life's challenges and hardships, an anchor through which I can sustain my faith in living. One look in his adorable, silly big eyes and I know he will never leave my side. I promise to treat him with nothing but respect and adoration till the end of time, and I make it my life mission to do so.
This is what my dogs, and all dogs out there as the heartbeat of the world sent from the word above, mean to me. As much as it agonizes me to lose them to fate, I will always keep them in my heart, and will look forward to the day I join them in heaven.
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