Last Friday had not only provided me a bleak cloudy afternoon but also the significant silence. I couldnt ignore my own breath, the moaning airconds. A slow monotonous day...but i was doing okay, everything's good at work until it reached around five o'clock in that dry cold office.
The news came from my colleague who has packed up his stuffs and waited for the ride home, 'Snookie's dead. **** was driving the car and..'
'His head was hit first,' the security man voluntarily described the accident while tidying the water hose after finishing the bloodshed at the driveway.
I walked closer to the white dusty driveway...the strong piercing smell of the blood shot my nose. I felt sick to my stomach...it was nauseating. I ignored the visiting guests who have been talking with such delightful tones, I walked passed them and dragged my feet to the security post, I sat on the tips of the floor, rested both of my hands on my knees. Two kids from the neighborhood watched over my pale face, then cast their eyes back to the pale white-skinned couple ahead.
'Where's Snookie?'I asked them, 'Where's the dead dog? Has someone buried him?' They threw their heads to the direction of the small ungrassy part of the garden on the right end across the asphalt road.
I stood up and walked closer, stepped tip toed avoided the muddy parts from the hose. Holding the coconut tree with my right hand, I tried to look at Snookie's soaked wet body...full of bruises between the legs and a crooked head, hidden.
He was an undemanding sweetheart black stranded dog from the neighborhood, came to the studio when he was tiny, walked weakly with his skinny legs and fearful eyes when we were on a production of a Belgium film. He ran cheerfully from one spot to another, barking his way which was ignored by the carpenters. The Balinese have grown accustomed to stray dogs. The moment I reached out my hand to him and pat him for the first time and let him eat the leftover food from my hand...he decided he belong to us. He played and slept and basically, called the office as his new home.
He has not only grown up fast, but also has shared the sense of home to me everytime he flapped his tail welcoming me in the morning, bit my jeans around my calves and cling, begged for a playtime. He did that most of the time, looked at me from outside the glass window and ran around with another bigger Blondie dog, his one and only playmate.
He has been so good to me. My Snookie.