Stories and a bit of memory shows that I had a phantom connection with our first pet, Terry. I always rushed home from school just so I could be with the ferocious beast whose storm calms inexplicably whenever I am around. I can replay the joy in his pointed face whenever he caught a sight of me from a distance, as he strives to break the leash that holds him down. The speed at which he sprints towards me would make any stranger contemplate their safety, I mean who would not consider taking to their heels at the sight of raging beast.
I remember vividly sharing my one-time favourite meal with the dog, with shouts of “Terry lo ma je” (Terry will be the one to eat it) from my heart, just because he was my first idea of friendship and loyalty.
Sadly, the dog wandered away.
Rumours had it that she was killed by a bitter neighbour who saw him as a competition for his dog which was not as active.
Tears, pain and loneliness were the order of the day in the house, for me at least because I was apparently the closest to him. No one to share my meals with, no one runs to me when I get back from school, friendship and loyalty was robbed from me by a bitter neighbour, assumably.
Fortunately, I was too young to linger on the hurt for long and it did not take too long to find companionship in something else.
I will however forever miss my first friend and pet, Terry the dog!
When Roy came, I was much older and less softer, not desperate for friendship or solace in someone’s companion, no thanks to my experience in Mayflower school, another story for another day.
That being said, we struck a connection from the first few days together. Firstly was her name that was coined from the first letters of the people present in the living room that fateful afternoon: Rinde, Olaouluwa and Yomi; ROY. Felt good to be part of her life in a more personal way from the outset to be honest.
She was a very goofy and brilliant pup to us the owners but fearsome and bullish brute to strangers. She was a ‘local dog’ but exhibits the lineament of a Rottweiler and whenever she barks, the street shivers. It soon became a tag by which our house was called in the neighbourhood, “Ile Alaja” translated from Yoruba to be “House that owns a dog”. Thoughts of it now is delightful and just makes me appreciate what life was about with little or no worries.
After some years when we had left the house and my parents were all alone at home, Roy grew wild and maybe a little too wild for my parents who resorted to selling it off to people who will eat it. Like, who eats a dog for heaven’s sake? That is a topic for another day, but I am glad I can relive the memories of my favourite pets once again.
Dear Reader, what memories would you like to relive?
Corporate Financial Accounting Vs Other Disciplines – Numbing the nuances 1