Margarita.

"Daddy, I want a puppy for my birthday, I'm older now, I'll be ten in a week" I announced over dinner one evening, agitated.

My birthday was a few days away and I knew I would be getting presents from mom and dad, I had longed for a puppy for as long as I could remember but Dad always said;

"Wait until you are older, until you would be able to take care of one."

The day he finally brought home a puppy, it felt like Christmas came twice. It was a cute little dog with bright, round eyes full of curiosity and his fur was soft and fluffy. He was small, just a little bit bigger than dad's shoe and he was sleepy most of the time, as he was still very young.

“She’s a handful,” he warned, handing me the tiny creature in a raffia basket. “Don’t come crying when she chews your shoes.”

"I know dogs do all funny things and I would be happy if he chews my shoes." And honestly I didn't care so long as I had one to love.

She was a mutt, mostly brown with white paws and ears that never stood straight. I named her Margarita, after a girl I was crushing on in school. And from the moment she opened her eyes and licked my chin, we became inseparable.

She was three weeks old and oh so adorable.

She slept on my bed, chewed my shoes, schoolbooks, clothes and once ate half of mom's dinner. Nobody could stay mad for long, not with her tail wagging and her eyes so tender and innocent .

“This is a spoiled child you are raising." Mom said, shaking her head.

“She’s not a child mom,” I grinned. “She’s family now.”

"Whatever."

---

We grew up together.

She taught me patience, I taught her tricks.

When I failed my Maths test in Primary Six, dad scolded me but Margarita was the only one who didn’t look disappointed. I remember how she just lay beside me as I cried, resting her head on my chest like she understood my predicament.

My school was not too far from my house and she would wait at the gate every day, wagging his tail whenever I appeared, and then we both would walk home together. Dad tried blocking every space through which Margarita could escape and into the street, but she always found a way.
If I was sad, she’d follow me into the room, pressing her body close.

She was mischievous too, often peeing on my mom's shoes as if she sensed she wasn't really affectionate towards her. It was always mom's shoes, not anyone else's. She growled at strangers like a fierce lion. But to me, she was always soft and obedient, and when I was angry with her and scolded her, she would look so dejected and would retreat into one corner of my room instead of on my bed.

---

Then came the day I didn't see her by my school gate.

At first, I thought maybe dad had succeeded in blocking his exit routes before he left that morning, so I hurried home. I was alarmed when she didn't respond to my call and moreso when I saw the untouched food from that morning.

I saw her curled up in her bed, in one corner of my room.

“Do you think she’s sad?" I asked mom.

"I really don't know much about dogs but maybe you could just get her some snacks."

I did but she only nibbled on them.

And by the third day, she didn’t even look at food.
Her eyes lost their shine. Her tail didn’t wag. She just… lay there. She barely raised her head when I called her. Dad was the only one who could have helped but he was working offshore and could be gone for weeks at a time.

I didn't have the phone number of the vet neither did mom and we could not get access to dad, so I took her to the roadside vet. The man smelled like dry gin and antibiotics and didn't even have hand gloves.

"What is wrong with Margarita?" I asked wearing a very worried look.

He rubbed her belly, frowned, and said, “Just give me a minute." With that he disappeared into the untidy room. When he resurfaced, he had some medicines.

"First deworm her with these and then give her three tablets of these other ones, three times daily, starting from now."

I followed the instructions to the latter. What could possibly go wrong?”

I just wanted my old Margarita back.

That night, she climbed on my bed and lay beside me for the first time in days and this made me so happy. He was getting better, I thought.

His whimpers woke me up in the middle of the night.

"What is it Margarita?" I was now very uncomfortable with the way he was acting. I rushed to wake mom.

"Something is very wrong with Margarita, she's acting so strange." I cried out.

Mom followed me into my room and lifted her from the bed.

She was bleeding. The bed was soaked in his blood.

I panicked but mom tried to calm me down.

"We will take her to a good vet clinic in the morning, I promise." Mom looked so worried.

It was just 2am, morning seemed so far away.

I cried on the floor, rocking her body like a broken doll.
She looked up at me, just once and licked my hand. Weakly, slowly.

And then… she stopped moving.

---

I buried her in a shallow grave beside the guava tree, her favourite spot.

And for the first time in my life, I understood that grief could be silent and loud at the same time. I had lost "family" and I mourned her like one.

I still hear her sometimes in my sleep.
Paws scratching at my door. Tail thudding against the floor and sometimes a gentle whine outside my window.

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