Tisoy

My Guy

This piece has been written in a spirit lightly akin to that of John Grogan's Marley and Me. 
Tisoy means mestizo. Kangkong, or water spinach, is a leafy vegetable rich in vitamins and minerals that is usually found in Asian cuisine.

I gave my guy my word of honor to be faithful, and I'm gonna,
You best be believing I won't be deceiving my guy.

I fling a hopeless glance at a pair of blue eyes quizzically peering at me. Are those stilts? I cannot stifle a laugh as I see long, slender paws jutting out of a sausage-shaped body. He looks like a hairless albino. He wiggles and yelps with sunny exuberance as I reach out for him. He seems empty-headed and loopy. You have such sharp teeth for a puppy, I remark, my voice shrill, as he gnaws on my fingers. He carefully inspects my ankles with his nose. 

You're going to be My Guy, I tell him quietly with a fluttering motion of my hand. I'll call you Tisoy. I twitch the corners of my mouth as I officially baptize him with a mock sprinkling of holy water. He seems unimpressed. He yawns and crawls back beneath the table.

I clear my throat and sometimes call him Soyti, the syllables of his name backwards. He responds by opening his eyes in delightful recognition, stretching, and rolling on his back, paws in the air. Not a numbskull, after all.

He's really goofy when it comes to sounds like those from the thundering Marikina bus that plies Fountain Street. I'm sorry, it's just like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, isn't it? I console him with controlled poise as he races around and jumps.

But loony takes on a heightened depth during a thunderstorm over which he has the deepest neurosis. It's not the end of the world, Tisoy, I tell him in a voice as neutral as I can manage without being critical. He continues to run around in circles indicating that he hasn't understood me. It's a Day of Tribulation! he seems to say, his lips tightened in a hard line. With urgency, he goes on to shred into the tiniest pieces any biteable fragment that stands in the way while he awaits the final judgment of the wicked. 

His favorite spot is the narrow canal between the back garden and Aling Cora's house where he goes wild frantically splashing in its murky water. Ay, naku! Look how muddy you are, I exclaim indignantly while washing the caked dirt off his back. He just looks at me with heart-melting eyes that invoke the look of eternal puppyhood.

Tisoy lives to eat. He is the archetype of someone who can push aside the most desolate circumstance by the redeeming smell of food. At mealtime, his face brightens upon seeing his ration of adobo bits mixed with boiled rice and kangkong being doled out.

But maybe feeling that he's not being fed enough, Tisoy snatches every opportunity to snag any edible item dangling from Youngest Brother's hand. He wolfs it down, then pants with a dopey grin, looking dumb as algae. I cross my arms. Maybe, I should have called you Bandido. Bandit! I try to scold him, sounding genuinely horrified. He responds with an anemic nod, then nonchalantly proceeds to lop lustily at the water, sloshing little tidal waves over the side of his sardine bowl, then wipes his mouth on my clothes. I shake my head, Such an unremorseful thief!

After a repast, we pad quietly out of the room, supremely satisfied, and go out into the bright sun. We look at the sky which is like a stage where clouds have formed characters, morphed into different shapes drifting toward each other. I tell him softly, It feels like a faultless day. 

As I scratch his tummy in fondness, I see a brainless, happy smile lifting the corners of his mouth as if he had just lain down on a warm beach after a long winter.

You best be believing that I will be faithful to this guy.

Ruff!