Doggy revolution
March 13, 2004 | 12:00am
Thirteen portraits of 13 quirky Malabon residents (or, according to my friend Abby, "Malaboners"):
1) A guy declared a total war policy on cockroaches. He once poured insecticide into an eyedropper in order to administer droplets of doom to those insects he so hated, which lived on the many nooks and crannies of his house. One time, he woke up with sore eyes, reached for the eyedropper and then…
2) Another guy loves to walk around in violet briefs inside his house. His daughter’s classmates call him "Batman."
3) A teenage boy dreams each night of being pursued by gigantic flying noses.
4) The boy’s brother has an impossibly gigantic nose. Which must be the source of the recurring dream.
5) A psychopathic woman calls everyone "Pedro Lacsaman."
6) A psychopathic man who is Pedro Lacsamana.
7) A neighbor listens to Bulaklak by the Viva Hot Babes for 45 straight times – must have a loop of that blasted song. Going on nine straight Sunday mornings already – must be gunning for a record of sorts. Ang saya-saya…
8) Men who work in a neighboring bakery play Michael Learns To Rock, Masculados and Renz Verano cassette tapes at 4 in the goddamn morning, everyday. All activities, plus the hum of the baking machines, mysteriously stop when Remember Me wafts from the tinny radio. It’s like the National Anthem of heartbroken bakers.
9) A former classmate once walked Avenida Rizal, looking for a public toilet. He found one beside a condemned cinema – the worst toilet in the Philippines. The nasal Armageddon was unbearable. The stench was like the Royal Rumble of shit. He walked out of there with horror in his eyes. He lived to tell the tale, though.
10) An alley cat has a piece of intestine hanging from its belly. Officially, it’s on its 14th life.
11) A classmate’s neighbor wore the same pair of baggy, blue pants for three months straight, after watching Body Rock.
12) An idiot once dipped his cell phone into a cup of steaming coffee (accidentally, of course; and, oh, it was me). The repair shop technicians were puzzled by the mysterious liquid inside the phone’s motherboard – was it floodwater, tidewater, toilet water, canal water or what? It’s instant coffee, of course. The mystery remains (until now, that is).
13) A Schnauzer named Lenin brings light into an otherwise bleak (or boring, at best) household in an absurd city with a strange fish smell inhabited by good-natured weirdoes.
I got Lenin just after Christmas last year from Lifestyle sub-editor Kathy Moran. I was in the office typing away at the computer when she came in with the cutest dog in the world. Lenin had a wiry, salt-and-pepper fur. He was small, hairy and adorable – and he stank to high heavens. (Sorry, Kathy, but Lenin did exude a funky scent that night).
To get home I hailed a cab and told the driver I’m going to pay him extra since I’ll be carrying a dog. The cabbie gave me a plastic bag to put Lenin in because he might make a mess inside the vehicle. "Manong," I told him, "aso ho ‘to, hindi tilapia."
Anyway, I wrapped an extra shirt around Lenin, petting him so he won’t get stressed out by the potholes/road cracks filled with stagnant water that is the hallmark of our breathtaking (literally ha) city – and all the way inhaled his smell (a combination of dried saliva, bad breath, spicy armpits and dog hair). I got home and Lenin got hugs from my sister Josie Gregorio and her daughter Jennifer, despite the stink.
Why the name Lenin, you may ask. Well, I was supposed to name my dog Nietzsche, after the German philosopher my pedantic classmates in college loved to misinterpret. Schnauzers have those arched eyebrows and peculiar, bristly mustache – not unlike Friedrich Nietzsche’s. And it would be quite appropriate since Schnauzers have Germanic origins. (Schnauzer means "muzzle" or "nose" in German). But I went for Lenin instead because (admit it) the moniker sounds more loveable and cuddly (even if that name evoked revolution, anarchy, despotism, the pulling down of capitalist idols, depending on whom you ask).
And yes, Lenin is an improvement on the spate of stupid names we gave our dogs in the past: John, Jack, Koji, Lucky, Brownie, Whitey and, the worst, Doggy. We both named two dogs – one male and the other female – Princess. It’s a good thing we haven’t resorted to naming a dog "Bantay."
Our family needed a strong sturdy dog to scare away the oligarchy of cockroaches in the apartment. Lenin has developed a way of exterminating those pesky insects: He puts a heavy paw down on the unlucky booger and squishes it. Rats are a different matter, even if Schnauzers are touted to be excellent mouse-catchers. Can’t put a dog-foot down on rodents as big as Free Willy.
They say Schnauzers are loyal, loving and devoted to their owners. Hey, I gave him water and bits of food at the office while I slaved away over a bunch of music articles (which my former drug pusher neighbor, who has now accepted Jesus as his personal savior, reads religiously). I carried that mutt in my arms from Port Area to our apartment. I gave him his name. And he has shown loyalty, love and devotion not to me but to my sister. Not that I’m complaining. It’s probably because of the principle "The hand that picks the poop up is the hand that rules the world."
When my sister goes to the comfort room, Lenin follows and waits by the door. When she leaves for the market, that dog gets into a dark funk and whines. While she sleeps, Lenin stays in her room. My sister is the person Lenin goes to with his saucer in his mouth whenever he’s thirsty.
What does Lenin like about me? My socks. Which he loves to bite and chew. So I go around town wearing mangled socks, the perfect match for a mangled spirit.
That dog is mischievous as Puck or Loki. He bites, snatches the slippers of my sister and niece while they’re having dinner, and runs like hell. He ate mussels from the garbage pail and his face got swollen. He squirms and tries to squeeze away from my sister’s arms while they’re aboard a tricycle – must be attracted to tidewater. Or death. He hates rags and doesn’t like his piss to be wiped away. Lenin once peed on my brother Chris’ brand new pair of slacks. There was a time that dog urinated over an extension socket. It short-circuited and fire nearly broke out. My mother said my other niece rushed to the sparkling socket with a pail of water, very alarmed. Meanwhile, that rogue Lenin hid in the bathroom – must be quite amused with the mayhem he unleashed. I could picture him muttering like ecstatic Beavis, "Fire! Fire! Fire!"
But we love him, no matter how much he stinks or messes up the whole apartment. Lenin’s vet (a gangly fellow who scares the living daylights out of him) found out that the funky smell stemmed from an ear infection the dog was suffering.
The dog, I’m glad to report, stinks no more. But he is as naughty as ever. Lately, he is into humping. He humps my leg and my niece’s leg (hey, no one likes to be part of hot doggy love), as well as non-living things like chairs, sofas and a hamper (good thing the hamper doesn’t hump back).
We love that humping dog, though. That Schnauzer is one cute and cuddly resident of a shitty, retarded city. He has brought joy to our dark and ratty apartment, as well as thrill to our staid and stagnant lives.
Lenin, like his namesake, started a revolution.
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