I like telling people that I have a Labrador Retriever. It's a breed to be proud of. Not everyone has had the good fortune of keeping a big dog. And then again, even lesser percentage of people have kept a good-natured big dog.
Kilo has this amazingly patient temper that would make anyone who met him understand why, among all the dog breeds, Labs are the ideal guide dogs for the blind.
This story may have been repeated 3 thousand times but I'm going to say it again.
Once upon a time, Uncle Jason's friend had a pregnant Labrador. In fact, his friend had 3 Labradors in total (1 of which was pregnant), together with a German Shepherd. We were promised one of the puppies when the bitch (term is not used vulgarly here)... had given birth.
We were excited. Keeping a big dog never crossed our mind ever since Bingo, our Belgium Shepherd, was given away when we moved to a condo, and prematurely put to sleep by his new family. I shall not dwell deeper because it would make this blog post long and boring.
Along with my Uncle, we visited his friend and his very pregnant Labrador at his house in Kovan. I remembered as we walked to the doghouse to take a closer look at the mother, instead of getting all defensive as a pregnant animal would, the light yellow coloured female started wagging her tail.
In contrast, his one German Shepherd was barking at us nonstop, although with his tail wagging as well.
I was almost squealing in delight at the sweet female, who remained seated because she was already too heavy to move about easily.
We were extremely certain that what was in store for us was a cute puppy to love and to hold, to cherish in good times and bad... and.. wait. Sounds wrong to be used here.
Anyway, my parents and I were very excited. Or rather, my Dad and I. Mum never took to liking the animals much, but she's okay with living under the same roof as them... most of the time... as long as they don't pee and poo in her room (everything which Zubby is doing right now).
We complimented the dog's good temperament.
"See you." My dad said to the owner as we left his house that night.
But later on on that very same night, my Dad also received a call informing us that the dog had given birth.
"So fast?" my Dad said, and my ears pricked up as a dog's would if you tell him "Gai gai!"
Many thoughts flashed through my mind, but one of which was, I still had to wait for at least another 3 months before we could bring a new dog into our house! The puppy had to be weaned off his mother's milk... we had to choose one from among the litter of puppies... Should I pick the one that sticks with me the most or the most daring one who doesn't run away when we do the 'scare test' that most people swear by when it comes to choosing puppies...
But the phone conversation did not end there.
"Oh.. Ohhh, I see...." My dad continued responding. His smile dropped a little and I could tell it wasn't good news. Stillborn? I thought.
After waiting for infinity, he finally got off the phone.
To summarise the disappointment, the puppies were all gone. The Alsatian dog, in his excitement to see the puppies, accidentally killed them. Probably treated them like chew toys or something, flinging them all over the place. The puppies were discovered too late and were dead by then.
Dad mentioned something about the dog owner's wife screaming in the background during their phone conversation, threatening to put down the Alsatian.
Our hopes of having another dog were dashed. Chubby remained the sole canine of the household.
But sometimes, you know when you were already promised something and you don't get it, but you still pine away for it? Yes, this was exactly how we felt.
It took almost 1.5months of searching. Dad kept looking out for ads to see which pet shop had advertised stock for Labrador puppies.
We went to countless shops. Most of the time, Dad went alone. I tried to accompany as much as possible, whenever I could wake up early enough. Mum was conveniently left out of the picture because of her lack of enthusiasm and fear of us really getting another dog in the house.
Just when I thought my Dad had plainly developed the addiction of looking at Labrador puppies at petshops and never intending to get one, we found him.
He was, honestly speaking, the ugliest among all the Labrador puppies I had ever come across. I don't know why he struck a chord with my Dad.
He had really weird droopy eyes with the lower eyelids so saggy that I was quite sure you could put matchsticks in them and the eyelid would hold them up by functioning like pockets.
Hip displacement was a very real problem for big dogs and we wanted to make sure that the puppy walked perfectly fine.
And walk he did. So well, in fact, that he commando-ed under this metal rubbish container thing that they dumped stuff in during renovations.
He emerged within a few seconds with this huge dried palm-tree leaf in his mouth which was almost as tall as me. There was this other female Lab puppy that the shopkeeper brought out together for us to view, and you could tell from her face she was amazed at Kilo's find.
Of course, their newfound toy was quickly removed and they walked around again with their noses to the floor, oblivious to a group of 4 humans staring very intently at them.
The price was decided, payment was made. And I was the one who carried him out of the petshop that day.
Yes. Me. Carrying the eventually 35kg Labrador Retriever, Kilo. Even then, he was not light as a feather at 3-months old but he was definitely less than 10kg. I was 14 years old then, and had no problems lifting him up.
I got into the car with him still in my arms, and the journey home was exactly like this because the dog did not dare move an inch as if he was afraid he might fall out of the car if he even twitched.
Got home, brought him straight to the kitchen to show Ah Ma and Ah Gong. As per usual practice, they immediately drew out a few numbers and folded them up. Kilo refused to bite onto any, so they chose the ones that stuck on to his damp nose instead.
It was evident that Kilo is a dog of mine - because just like me, the numbers he picked were far off the mark. Similarly, the numbers I bought for Toto never ever opened. In fact, as I often advised many of you, to better your chances of winning, just ask which are the numbers that I bought for my ticket. Avoid those numbers, and you have a higher percentage of getting it right.
However, Kilo does hold the record of being the only pet in the Lim household to actually help us win anything from Singapore Pools.
He has the wonderful habit of biting onto the car side mirrors. In fact, so dedicated was he that it was not unusual to see him standing on his two hind legs just so that he could reach the car side mirrors better.
But one day, he finally realised that cars also have this thing called a Number Plate which is more easily accessible and require lesser effort to reach.
So off he went, chewing on the carplate of Dad's car.
The next day, Dad drove to work, all the way to Jurong with his number plate dangling halfway because one side had already came off. Dad took off that number plate and walked around the factory. Needless to say, I'm sure he had to repeat himself countless times explaining to everyone who saw him holding his carplate, of how he had a dog who chewed it off and how the sign dangled precariously off the car.
It was a hit, or so I heard - Many who saw the number plate (and the number), went to buy 4D.
Lo and behold, it did appear in the 4D results that evening, but the numbers were in reverse (some had guessed that since the sign was dangling on its side, it would mean they have to buy it in reverse, and they did, and were spot-on). Dad won a whooping amount of S$50, of which part of it went to canned meat to reward Kilo.
I still remembered how happy the dumb dog was when he tucked into that precious can of Pedigree meat which Dad fed to him immediately after reaching home from work and getting out of his car.
Oh yes. Kilo had a superb tail wag that could make anyone grimace in pain if it hits you by accident. I once was at the unfortunate receiving end of one of his tail wags, having been standing abit too close to him when someone was about to give him a biscuit.
"Ow!" I shouted by instinct when his tail hit me like a rotan. I often liked to compare his tail to those huge ropes that they used to tie boats to the dock.
He gave me a cursory glance when he heard my shout, and out of courtesy, shifted himself a mere 5cm further away from me.
Fyi, I was still within the radius of his mega tail wag. Eventually, I still had to move myself.
The first few nights that Kilo was with us, I remembered creeping out in the dark to see him, worried that he might cry because no one was with him.
Who was I kidding. Kilo was a natural-born loner from the start. He slept against our door grill and I remembered counting that he measured up to 4 squares of our grill.
When he reached full-sized, he reached to about 10.
Kilo was also the first and only dog that I took to dog training with. I still don't exactly believed it was a dog obedience class. It was an owner's obedience class too.
It was so real, at the end of the course, there was even an examination we had to sit through. Lessons were held in this big field that was segregated into the different levels. Beginners, intermediate, advanced, and an obstacle course session.
It was fun to see a place where so many dogs gathered together every weekend. And because it was a frequent affair, everyone's dog was friendly enough to be off the leash.
The problem was never about taking your leash off the dog. It's about getting him back. Scenes of dog owners screaming their dog's name while running after them was a very common sight there, especially for those whose dogs were enrolled in the obstacle course portion because they were all unleashed. Sometimes the dog might even decide to take a break and run off to join other classes and the owner had to run after it.
Among them, one of the dog was a very handsome Boxer named Oskie. Almost every week when Kilo and I were there for classes, we could hear Oskie's owner, all decked out in full Nike sports gear, running after her dog. "Oskie! Oskie, come back NOW!"
Sometimes, the dog was so non-responsive that I even began thinking whether Oskie was its real name.
Conducted by the ASD (Action for Singapore Dogs), the courses were held on Sunday late afternoons over a period of a few months. Unlike my skating class, it never rained on Sunday afternoons back then, despite how much I wished it would. The field was a mosquito feeding ground and you perspire so much and get so sticky that pieces of grass and dog fur would stick onto you.
Time flies and soon we came to the end of the course.
We failed the exam. It was embarrassing. And we also had to retake it (yes we passed cos the retaking was more slack).
But it was how we failed that made me vexed to think about it, even now.
It was during the test item where the dog was supposed to sit and wait patiently while the owner walked some distance away, slowly turn around, wait until the handler gives the command for the dog to run towards you.
Sounds simple? Yes it actually is.
However, Kilo, being Kilo, could not remain seated for long.
I was only taking my 5th step away from him when he decide to plop his whole self in the ground while waiting for me to walk the required distance away from him. He slid from a sitting position down to his elbows to his 'Down' position.
Immediately, we were failed on the spot.
I always felt some sort of leeway should be given to us, in view of his heavy weight.
The other Shih Tzus, Malteses, Cocker Spaniels, all had no problem sitting there for 15mins. In fact, some of them were so comfortable sitting that they refused to come when called.
I must share with all though, that in return for good temperament, Labradors are not renowned for being good guard dogs for houses. So if Security is what you are after, get a Rottweiler.
Because when strangers come to visit our house, whether for the first time or the 100th time, the only part of the dog that moves... is his eyeballs.
They do an excellent job when it comes to leg-rest duties, thus are very well suited for the lazier dog owners.
With all that being said, because life will move on without him now, I'd like to sadly share with all of you that Kilo had passed away this morning, on the 9th of June 2011, at 7.20am.
From now onwards, I'd have to get used to saying... "I once had a Labrador Retriever.. and his name was Kilo."
Wherever you are with Chubby now, big guy, please, try not to steal Chubby's food. I'm pretty sure he will still snap and try to rip your nose off your face if you even dare try.
Till we meet again my sweet puppy.
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 11:01 pm
Birthday Celebration PHAIL
Sunday, March 13, 2011
To summarise today's Lessons Learnt About Birthday Celebrations...
1) Although you are probably not gonna have enough time because everyone is usually always late, try not to write the birthday card when the birthday girl has already reached.
2) Particularly if you are sitting beside her
3) Actually, to begin with, try not to ask her whether she has a pen with her so that you can write something
4) And when you ask the above question, try to also ensure that the guiltily empty birthday card is also not in your hand.
5) Lastly, when everyone who is sharing the gift has written their say in it, please remember to pass the card BACK to the birthday girl, and not forget it in your bag and bring it home.
On a last note:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FANG FANG!!~
Oh dear, come to think of it, we forgot to take a group photo just now!!
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 12:56 am
The solution to every problem.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
... is L4D2.
(Most of you will stop reading here.)
I just woke up on this beautiful 4th day of the Lunar New Year and the realisation dawned on me.
1) When you are bored, play L4D2
2) When you are stressed up, play L4D2
3) When you want to scrimp and save instead of going out to spend $, play L4D2
4) When your boyfriend sleeps till 3pm before meeting you at 6pm and you have absolutely nothing to do in the daytime except wait for him, PLAY L4D2! In fact, ever since I had access to the game from home, I very nicely tell Des to "take your time, don't rush okay baby?"
5) When you are your friends are out and you all don't know what to do to slack the time away, go LAN and play L4D2.
6) When Man Utd lose and you feel agitated, play L4D2
7) If you're a Liverpool fan and Torres is being such an arse, play L4D2 and imagine every Hunter is actually him. Pouncing from one club to another.
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 11:30 am
Lazy Weekend Mornings
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I miss Chubby. Badly.
But I would be lying if I said that Zubby did not take my mind off him.
He does. Although I find myself making comparisons. I don't know if it was because they were such varying individuals but Chubby is definitely MUCH smarter than Zu. Maybe it had something to do with their breeds. Or maybe, as Mum says, it could just be that Chubby was an old dog.
I hate using past tense when I mention about Chubby.
When I was 13 and came down with Dengue Fever, Chubby stayed by my bedside and never left.
When I wake up in the mornings, he would laze around with me until whatever time I chose to wake up.
Now Zu and I.. are greatly lacking in this area of camaraderie.
I leave my alarm clock on during the weekends, so that when it sounds, I will just turn it off and continue sleeping (the way Zu always continued sleeping when I woke up and had to prepare to leave for work during the weekdays).
Now sometimes Zu would not be able to continue sleeping after it rang. He would irritate the hell out of me by doing things like pulling the blanket away, or even worse, trying to rip my smelly pillow into shreds and I would have to snatch it from him.
Remember how I told everyone how early I woke up during the weekends to play L4D2? No prizes in guessing who played a great hand in ensuring I woke up early ...
... But over time, the more lazy weekend mornings we spent together, the more he learnt that there were days I didn't have to drag my lazy arse out of the bed and get to work.
He gradually got lazy as well and is slowly tuning into the weekend mode of how he SHOULD still continue sleeping after the alarm goes off at 6+ in the morning.
But I however, adjusted to my early wake-up timings. So there I was, watching a video of how he was so adorably retrieving his Stitch soft toy when I asked him "Where's Stitch, Zu, where's Stitch?"
Basically it was this video:
So there I was on a lazy Sunday morning, watching watching the video while still lying in bed with my head facing the ceiling and the phone upside-down in mid-air.
I was very rudely shocked when apparently, Zu, who heard my recorded voice in the video asking "where's Stitch?", decided to plop the softoy on my face to make me 'shut up'.
He then proceeded to go back to sleep.
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 5:49 pm
I should go and buy 4D
Monday, December 06, 2010
Over the weekends, Des and I had a meal outside, at the type of place where they give you a packet of wet tissue as well (and of course, charge you for it).
I was mildly irritated by the fact that he used up both packets of it at the end of the meal.
"Why did you use mine!" I banged my fist on the table and demanded.
His emotionless reply was "But you always never use what."
It was true, to a certain degree. I keep it in my bag for emergencies, so I retorted with a "I need to keep it! So that when you stand under the tree while smoking and you kana bird sh*t, I can help you clean it off!"
Fast forward to 15mins later, we were out of Orchard Central and was comfortably strolling along Orchard Road while being semi-blinded by the blinging Christmas deco that engulfed all the other Orchard Road pedestrians as well.
If you haven't strolled along Orchard Road for a long time, well, there seem to have been ane explosion in the population of birds along Orchard Road, whose chirps could easily rival that of what you hear along Balestier in the late evenings.
"Wa! So many birds!" Des looked up and said, while smoking.
"Yes! And you see, you used up MY packet of wet tissue that I may need to clean bird sh*t with." I replied him while looking up at the trees as well.
True enough, within 10 seconds after I finished my sentence, something landed on his arm.
Guess who thankfully had a huge Reserve of wet tissues to clean off the poo?
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 9:24 pm
An emo poem for my best friend
Thursday, October 14, 2010
I hate being an emo-tic but I think now's an appropriate time. It's not everyday one loses their best friend of 14 long years, which currently mathematically means I've known Chubby for more than half my life.
And I've always liked to tell people that if Chubby was a younger (human) brother of mine, he would have been a Secondary 2 kid already. Most humans seem to relate to and understand better if I 'humanise' him in this way.
But that's not the point today. I just wanted to share a poem that I came across years ago. It made me sad. It still does today, but worse.
There are a trillion different title for this particupar poem. Some call it Tear Drops, some sites named it Golden Memories. I don't know which is which but it's the content that matters:
They say memories are golden, well, maybe that is true.
I never wanted memories, I only wanted you.
A million times I needed you, A million times I cried.
If love alone could have saved you, you never would have died.
In life I loved you dearly, in death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a place no one could ever fill.
But now I know you want me, to mourn for you no more
And to remember the happy times, Life still has much in store
Since you'd never be forgotten, I pledge to you today,
A hallowed place within my heart is where you'd always stay
If tears could build a stairway and heartache make a lane.
I'd walk the path to Heaven and bring you back again.
Our family chain is broken, and nothing seems the same.
But as God calls us one by one, the chain will link again.
-Author Unknown
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 11:00 pm
A reason enough to blog
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Yea, I thought I'd blog today because there was a good reason, and it can be explained all in 2 words: Chubby died.
(And since Chubby has been a stubborn bada$$ dog while he was alive, allow me to paste an appropriate photo of him. And if you don't like it, you can always kiss his *I shall leave this word up to your imagination*
RIP
Chubby Lim Ah Pwee
Oct 1996 - 13 Oct 2010
I'm not about to publish up one of his cute and cuddly photos because I have plenty of such photos of him, so I'm putting up such a mean and crude one because that is just what he is - Special and one-of-a-kind.
The worst part was when I decided to write this blog post and switched on my computer, my trusty little laptop promptly logged into windows and displayed my ever so cute Windows Background - a photo taken during the better days, of Chubby and a Stitch softoy (as in, Lilo & Stitch). And yes, I burst out crying. Again. *rolls eyes*
I guess I am ok because I had mentally prepared for it for such an awful long time, which also goes to show how long the poor ol' dog suffered while his emo owner was trying to get a hold on herself so that she could award him with the last and final gift to him - of letting go.
I actually got to that stage today. This afternoon, to be exact. I was on half-day leave from work and my parents and I had just returned from the hospital. I told Mum that maybe she could help me drop a call to the people who can perform euthanasia at our house.
I don't want Chubby to be put down to sleep in a veterinary hospital on a cold and scary stainless steel bed. I want him to go at ease in the most comfortable place in the world, a house in Gambir Walk which we had called home for the last 10 years, and also the place where he remembers the layout the most, because when his eyesight began to fail him about 2-3 years back, he remembered the layout of the furniture so well he could roughly navigate his way and avoid obstacles.
But put a chair at where it wasn't placed before and I can assure you Chubby would knock into it, though he would learn, after a few times of knocking his head, that there IS NOW a chair there and he should start avoiding it.
I probably cried at least 5x or more over the long course of his Geriatric illnesses, at each step of the way that he had gotten worse.
At home, Chubby was like my shadow. Yes, he stalked me at every step. Sometimes, so near that I would accidentally step on one of his little paws and he would yelp, and then I would turn around and scold him for following me too close.
So when old age took over, I cried when I realised he couldn't climb the stairs as fast. I cried when the day came that he was not even able to climb the steps at all. And then cried again when I realised he was barely even able to stand on his feet when he had to relief himself. Each step was abit closer to today.
I cried again as he growled impatiently through the night to tell me something was wrong, for I did not know how to help, nor understand what was making it so difficult for him to just go to bed and sleep like he used to.
Yes, I am a crybaby when it comes to Chubby, such that if tears made me rich, I am rather close to being a millionaire. The simplest of things that go wrong with him could make me weep buckets (I've actually even cried in the office before).
In fact, I know that Dad felt really guilty about the whole thing because he told me that he bought Chubby for me with the intention of making me happy, and that if he knew I was going to cry so much over the dog, he would not have bought it. And yes, in case you were wondering, that made me cry even more.
I was glad that earlier just now in the evening at about 7+pm, before he passed away naturally, I managed to speak to him. Okay, not exactly audibly because I was busy, guess what! Crying! Haha, yea. I was a wreck and I'd bet the dog himself must have probably felt it too.
You see, my entire family always believed that animals do understand or are at least able to sense whatever you say to them, and so I believed in the same. Earlier in the day I had asked my mum a huge favour of doing the necessary so that Chubby can be humanely euthanised at home.
So I thought that it was only expected of me to explain it to Chubby as well, though he might not know what hit him but at least I sorta explained the, um.. clinical journey.. to him. It has got to be the lousiest one in the world, but it went along the lines of "Chubby darling, you must believe that whatever I decide and choose for you is for your own good."
I'm pretty sure he heard it, because he passed away a little over an hour later.
PS:
I would also like to extend thanks to the following:
- My parents and our helper, Marie, who were secretly trying to 'dispose of the evidence' by hiding his body from me, and was caught redhanded. By me.
- Shufang who keeps trying to offer to cheong down to my place like RIGHT NOW to accompany me and I have to .. um.. keep rejecting her advances *wriggle eyebrows*
- Val, who, already knowing I probably can't talk at the rate of my tear-flow, but still bothered to drop me a call from Down Under
- Shakila, who, well, better thank you in advance because I'm sure you'd have to help me in handling a few phone calls tomorrow.
...as well as all the rest of you (you all know who you are!)
And to end this post with a fitting closing, as per Junwei's words: Don't mourn for his passing but rejoice on the life that he had lived.
Good night forever, my dearest friend.
Until the day we meet again :)
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 10:53 pm
Don Don has died
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I have alot of pets. Naturally, this results in alot of death reports as well when their time has come.
Today, the one that has met with an untimely death is Don Don.
This photo was taken more than a year ago. The only photo of Don Don that I could find at such short notice.
The cause of death?... Rats.
Yes. Today, I super freaking hate Rats, though I am still logical enough to blame it only on Rats. I cannot deny my love for pet mice.
My dad sms-ed the news to me that Don was seriously injured. He didn't recognise which was Don and which was Shreky, but he said it was one of the Putehs.
I swept an entire plate of Chicken Rice into my mouth and went home as fast as I could. It was really difficult to explain how I felt. There was this powerful need to KNOW who was it that was injured. Wishing it was not Shreky and then slapping myself for being so biase and indirectly cursing Don. But admit it, even in the eyes of parents, there IS always a favourite child.
I could never physically tell the difference between Shrek and Don (shortform of Donkey... Shrek & Donkey. Get it?).
They both looked so alike. Only Des could tell the difference.
"Shreky is the fatter one! And Don Don is the better-looking one." he would say. We lovingly gave Shrek a Hokkien nickname called 'Yao Kwee', which translates to 'Hungry Ghost'.
I knew which was Shreky because, as per his given nickname, he was the one who would fly towards your direction to take a closer look at your hands to see if you had any food for it. Don was not as tame, probably because he was so much older than Shrek when he came to me.
It was a very deep puncture, though I hoped against hope that Don would survive as I helplessly applied cornstarch to stop the bleed. I think 'puncture' was an understatement.
The poor bugger almost had his entire left leg severed and was obviously in intense pain. A bird that I had kept for 2 years died within 2 hours. It's not a good feeling, I assure you.
I. Freaking. Hate. Rats. Today.
By the way, this weekend, I am so going to the temple to pray. I had supposedly already appeased the Grand Duke of Jupiter this year by visiting the temple within the first 15 days of the Chinese New Year but apparently I may need to visit again. Yes, those born in the year of the Tiger clashes with him head-on (which virtually covers all of you, my dear ex-school and class mates).
It seems to be the year of many deaths for me. My Grandaunt, Cherry, and now Don Don. That is enough deaths to last me for the next 50 years, thank you very much.
If you would allow me to add in a VERY random remark: I just want to state that I would rather pierce my nose twice than have to go through one H1N1 swab test again. (I suddenly recalled the sickeningly painful feeling of the cotton bud stuck up my nose cos I happened to re-read the post again about it).
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 11:18 pm
It's not about the performance, it's the sentimental value
Monday, June 28, 2010
I think I got the right to be a LITTLE emo right now, as much as I hate to be. Haha!
I always have a soft spot for Chubby. No, no wait. Let me correct myself. I have a softER spot for Chubby than any other of my pets.
Need I remind you that I already almost cried my eyes out when my fighting fish passed away. Yes, I can sense all your eyes rolling right now.
Fighting fish? What the hell! Some of you may think.
I get more upset when Chubby is sick, compared to any other pets. Which brings me back to the fact that Chubby has never been sick. NEVER. Not until he has reached his advanced age today.
In fact, other than these recent old years of his, his only other near-death experience was when he choked on the dry food that I was feeding to the cat. Yes. He sneaked and stole from Mr. Meow and because he knew it was illegal to do so, he swallowed a little too fast and almost choked to death.
You know what they say about people who never fall sick. When they do, they fall VERY sick. It makes it more difficult for me to see him suffering.
I can honestly tell you that when the day comes that the vet actually tells me straight in the face that I have to seriously consider putting him down, I may not have the courage to be there in the same room with him when they do so.
This is, honestly, rather screwed up, because he has been with me for all 14 years that he is alive. And a dog that has loved you with all his little heart and worshipped the ground that you walk on more than deserves to have you around in their final moments.
Probably, only dog lovers and owners understand how I feel. And it's occasionally people like me who remind them about their dogs that make them go home and give their dog a few more pats on their head that their dogs more than deserve.
I thought it was pretty funny today when I cried at the Vet's. I'm so sure I'm going to be somebody they remember for the next few days.
I'm upset, yes, but I seriously thought it was funny now that I look back. You should see how the vet didn't know what to do (because no one was able to tell him the problem with Chubby), and then Des doesn't exactly know what to say either because I haven't told him much. I just walked into the room, plopped the dog down on the steel table in front of the Vet, and started crying. What a great way to communicate to your vet about the problem with your dog! I'd bet he understood me completely!
Just so I can assure all of you how fine I really am, I shall revert to my true sadistic self:
I used to look at other people and their old dogs. I pitied them because I knew that for them, the end was near for their old and aged dogs. But then I also had this arrogant thought in my head: Lucky that's not me. Chubby is still young.
I was sure the other dog owners at the Clinic tonight all felt the same when they saw me. Yea, look all you want man. It's going to happen to you sooner or later.
CiiN Sniffed Her Pillow At 10:38 pm
The blur between games and reality....
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Everyone knows my current addiction to L4D2 right now.
As much as it sounds like the name of some kind of abused substance, L4D2 actually stands for Left 4 Dead 2.
It's a FPS shooting game where it's you and your teamates against a whole load of zombies.
Nothing I like more than teamwork. But even Diablo2x allows up to 8 players per game.
L4D2 is rather pathetic as it limits to 4 humans per game (everyone else who wants to join has to be 1 of the super-power zombies, which is no fun to me because sometimes I am promptly shot and killed before I can even blink my eyes).
I was returning from a toilet break after having played the game for a good and solid 2 hours when as I stepped back into the LAN shop, I heard someone shouting to their friends: "Oei! Jockey! Behind! Behind!"
Okay, in short, the game consists of MANY zombies (duh?!). There are thousands of 'idiot' ones. Like.. common peasant zombies that are all over the place.
Weak when alone, but there is strength in numbers (I told you this was a teamwork game).
On top of these peasant zombies we have the superpower ones, that, in short consist of the following:
- The Witch - On the surface, she looks like a classic damsel in distress. A lady crying at a corner. Of course, noobs are only tricked once. Some noobs keep a good distance away from her after their friends warned them about this particular character.
Usually you'd be attracted to her presence by the sound of a girl crying. It's not a pitiful kind. It's the creepy kind that gives you goosebumps. That's where you know you've got to walk carefully and turn off all your torchlights.
She has super long nails that can compete with the Empress Dowager herself from ancient China dynasties, which is used to tear you apart, and not for some manicure competition.
Worse thing is, once you 'startle' her, though I still feel the stupid witch is just over-reacting... She'd set her sights on you and come straight at you no matter how you run (and she usually catches up because she is THAT fast).
This, of course, will not happen if you have a self-sacrificing teammate (which usually is an idiot like me) who runs smack into her path and ends up being attacked by her instead. At which point, it is only courtesy that you stop running away.. come back.. AND SAVE ME!
- The Boomer - my personal favourite to kill. He's so big, you won't miss him and you can easily 'settle' him from afar, though if he gets near enough and pukes on you.. you'd better be surrounded by your teamates. Aptly named because upon death, he self-destructs, spurting his green goo all over you, temporarily blinding your sight. Need I mention that this bile liquid would also cause all zombies in the vicinity to run towards you because they are attracted to it?
- The Smoker - This zombie has nothing to do with cigarettes, believe me. Basically, he has a super long tongue that ties around you and drags you towards him. Kinda like the way a frog eats a fly. Unfortunately whenever I'm the zombie Smoker, I always break my tongue while trying to hook 1 of the human. Damn I hate being zombies :(
Upon death, Smoker.. well.. unsurprisingly emits Smoke that will partially impair your vision and disable your microphine feature that connects you to your teammates.
Luckily, we were all sitting beside each other in the LAN shop, so all we had to do is turn our heads and scream at each other.
- The Spitter - A permanently puking fella. He must be feeling very unwell. Upon death it melts into a green puddle of acidic liquid that will decrease your health stats as long as you stand in it. Irritating when you kill him in a small enclosed room and you need to get out. Fast.
- The Charger - Poor guy always is the butt of all jokes in countless Youtube paraodies of the game. He has one huge arm (similar to The Thing from Fantastic Four), yet his other arm is.. well.. filmsy.
- The Tank - One hell of a bad a$$. Tanks are capable of scaling walls and getting to you no matter where you are. As his name states, it's probably the hardest to kill, other than the Witch. I so... hate.... both of them.
- last but not least, we have the Jockey. Jockeys are superbly irritating, just by the sound alone. You would have thought they were related to Monkeys (though so are we). Jockeys have the ability to sit on your shoulders and steer you away from your teammates which, as we all learnt the hard way, is NOT a good thing.
They'd usually jockey until you reach the midst of a huge horde of Zombies.
The solution? Your teammates have to rescue you, and they have to do it fast!
PS: I want to just officially declare that I, along with CK, SZ and Gary.. had the good fortune of playing The Passing just now.
Major spoiler alert: Bill was the one who died :( I, however, still wished that it could have been Francis. The creepy part was how the Part 1 survivors didn't even look sad. Jeez!
