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This is Potchi. She's a stray dog. She was born in an abandoned house in our subdivision, just across my own. Her mom, a stray local breed with pure white coat, just appeared one rainy day and gave birth to Potchi and her sister, the one I called Mochi just for the rhyme of it. Nobody knew where the mom came from. But she stayed there at the abandoned house for good.
At a very young age, Potchi and Mochi were practically wild and untamed. They would check out everything with their noses, but they were afraid of humans. Approach them for about twenty feet and they would scamper away with their tails in between their legs. If you cornered them at a wall and they could not run away, they would cry out like you were torturing them. Their mom, who seemed to be suffering from a canine version of PTSD, behaved just like them, perhaps even worse.
My neighbors and me pitied the three dogs, so we gave them food. We fed them left-overs, and they would eat anything. But from the age of five weeks, out of my own desire to have a pet dog, I bought dog food for the puppies.
Whenever I would feed Potchi and Mochi, their mom would walk away, spooked by my presence. In fact, the puppies only ate in my presence because Potchi was brave (or hungry) enough so as not to mind me. Mochi would always hesitate, look at me for about five to ten seconds, before joining Potchi for the meal.
At the age of six weeks, the puppies were already used to eating in my presence. Deliberately, I started placing their food bowls and water closer and closer to me each feeding time. I also started my attempts to touch them. But for all of these attempts, Mochi would squirm and walk away every time I would try to touch her. It was only Potchi who welcomed my touch. And because of this, she became closer to me than her sister.
At the age of seven weeks, Potchi already behaved like my pet. Though they still lived in the abandoned house, she would run towards me, with tongue out and tail wagging, whenever she would see me. With or without food, she would jump on my knees, lick my toes, and run around excitedly around my legs. And there was this instance when I sat down under the tree near the abandoned house, and Potchi approached me, sat beside me, and licked my hand.
At that point, I already badly wanted to take Potchi home, make her my pet, and shower her with love and affection. But my family didn't like dogs. And if ever they did, I knew, as soon as I took Potchi in, her mom would follow us and would definitely make a lot of noise outside our gate.
In addition, I have read a lot from the wisdom of veteran dog owners (from the internet) that a pet dog would only be loyal to its owner if she would consider him as her alpha. And so I thought, how could I be an alpha to Potchi if her mother was around.
Days passed. The puppies were growing. And there was barely a change in the way Mochi and her mom lived. They were still practically stray dogs. Despite being fed regularly by the neighborhood, they still made a mess out of everything. They messed up trash bags, pooped and pissed everywhere, and ran after bicyclists and cars. They were becoming a menace to us.
But Potchi was different. Instead of messing around, she learned how to enjoy games. I gave her toys—mostly DIY's—and she played with them. Sometimes, I would even play with her, making her chase a ball or a rope toy, doing tug-of-war with her, and having fun playing hide and seek with her.
She was so different from Mochi. Mochi, like her mom, was becoming more feral. She would bark at me from time to time when she couldn't get what she wanted. She would bark as soon as she heard her mom bark. She would fight Potchi to take all of their food, and I had to get Potchi a second food bowl to avoid that. I also had to guard her from Mochi while they were eating.
At the age of nine weeks, Potchi already loved staying by my side. Whenever I would go for a walk to the store, she would happily walk with me, without any leash. There was this instance when a neighbor's pitbull growled at her while she was walking with me. She was afraid. She shivered in fear.
To try to calm her down, I grabbed her up and carried her in my arms like a baby. I also scratched her belly—something she really liked—to distract her from the fear. And she liked it. She was looking at me, staring up at my face, while I was carrying her. She even licked my face several times.
By that time, I knew that she's mine. I was finally her alpha, despite her mom's presence. And I was ready to buy her the things we needed for her to be my pet—a collar, a leash, a harness, a dog bed, and a kennel so I could keep her safely outside my house, within my yard.
But I guess it was not meant to be.
The tragedy that followed broke my heart.
I found Potchi dead one morning, along with Mochi and their mom. From the looks if it, they were poisoned. Someone probably gave them poisoned food and they consumed it. I could only surmise that it was done out of spite, since Mochi and the mom were beginning to be a menace to the neighborhood.
No one among my neighbors admitted to the crime, but they were all relieved that finally, the stray dogs were gone. I was the only one mourning that day, mourning about Potchi's death.
I buried Mochi and the mom in an unmarked dirt grave behind the abandoned house. But being special to me, I buried Potchi behind our house, and I placed flowers at her grave and marked it with a cross. I had no idea if dogs would be allowed in heaven, but I surmised that they would be, considering that they were not subject to the Law. I had hoped that Potchi would be. She was so innocent. She didn't do anyone any harm.
She's just a young puppy, a poor puppy, and all she wanted was a chance to live...
