Dillen. Or Lanlannee. Those are the names of my dog. He responds to either name. Come to think of it, he responds to anything you call him, as long as you dangle a chicken bone in front of him.
There are several reasons why I like him:
1. He's always happy to see me. Even at 4am when I'm only going down for a glass of water.
2. He looks more goondoo than me. (Sometimes, I don't know why Melvin laughs at my face. When I catch myself laughing at Lanlan's face, I realise why.)
3. He forgets all the times I whack him, when I'm mean and ugly to him, and just wags his tail. (Maybe hitting him hurts my hand more than it hurts him... but hey, he's still a very forgiving doggie.)
4. He's got an inexplicable phobia of my guitar. (I can totally empathise, but that doesn't stop me from terrorising him with it.)
5. He takes whatever life gives him, be it a super-treat like 5 chicken wing bones or going one day without water or his yecky dog food.
6. His head always pops out when he hears the beep of your card key unlocking the door. He'll look at you walk in until he cannot see you anymore, then start barking like mad. Makes one feel like royalty of some sort.
He's the last in a long line of dogs. Now's the time for a little family history:
First, there was Wiggy boy boy aka Ludwig. My neighbour kept calling him Lupi. He's the most effeminate-if you can use effeminate to describe a dog- because he was castrated. One of his special ablities was this skill called "The Trishaw Ride". That's when he rests on his rump and fore-paws, and drag his ass on the floor to wipe it. Crude, but cool. He's the only dog I've ever known to try to wipe his ass. He was the one I loved the most too. I think my love for my doggies died when he died. He was run over by my mom's car, then thrown into the back of one of those rubbish trucks.
Then, there was Beetho, short for Beethoven. I called him Beetho-baby. He was the most artistic of my doggies. The only one who could appreciate my violin playing, he'd howl along soulfully as I played Humouresque. Being the most artistic of my dogs, he was quite naturally the most open with regards to sexual relationships. He'd hump anything, be it a guest's leg, my school bag, or a rather irate and harrassed Wiggy boy boy. I think the way he left my life was very characteristic of him. He ran away with some other owner. The bitch.
Next, there was Lizzie. I didn't try giving her a spastic name. She'd bite me. The only female in my collection of dogs, she was naturally the fiercest of all my dogs. Don't really know her well. She's kinda more of my uncle's dog, because I couldn't really take care of her, what with Ludwig and Beetho around. We picked her while she was roaming around Serangoon Gardens. I think her owner threw her away because she was getting old. Well, for everything I've done to rescue her from starving on the streets, she still barks at me whenever I pass my uncle's room. What an ingrate.
Then there was Baby. I figured that her original name was horrible enough already, so we didn't bother thinking of another name for her. She was a present from my mom when I was 12. I used to bathe her with Vidal Sassoon Shampoo and dry her fur with the hairdryer. But I got tired of it after a while. Chucked her to my grandmother again, and she was then given away by my grandmother. I think she might be in Mongolia ploughing the fields of a farmer right now.
Well... now we know why they say dogs are a man's best friend. Look at what happens to them at the hands of a female.
