As Clifford was only a month old, and regulations state that dogs can only be imported into Singapore when they are about two months old, his arrival was not scheduled until a month later. All this time, I waited with bated breath. It was one of the few times in my life that I looked forward to something. Excitement occupied my mind, yet there was also apprehension, as I was afraid of dogs.
Caring for a puppy is akin to caring for a baby. Like all corgis, Clifford was a hyperactive being, running around the house with reckless abandon. He was curious about everything: from the legs of a chair to water puddles. He had — still has — a predilection for cheese and curry. But come night-time, he wouldn’t stop whining and whimpering. He urinated everywhere and made a mess of things. He kept us up at night. I became very grumpy because I couldn’t get any sleep. This went on for almost four months. I even began to have a bit of buyer’s remorse. For the most part, it was my parents and girlfriend who took care of him — I largely avoided his company as I was afraid of getting bitten.
We brought him to the vet when we noticed that he wasn’t walking properly. The latter said that because his legs didn’t develop properly, he would have a disability — most likely hip dysplasia — later in life. Hearing the word ‘disability’ hurt me a lot. That was the same harsh word my ex-manager used to get others to ostracise me. It was like I was cursed: even my dog ended up having a fate like mine. I fell back into the pattern of not eating.
Very soon, Clifford began aping my behaviour. He began showing little interest in the things he once liked. From a hyperactive corgi, he became dull. It wasn’t the Clifford that we knew. The vet said that he didn’t observe anything wrong, and guessed that perhaps he was still adapting to his environment. But instinctively we knew something was up. Desperate, we sought the help of an animal communicator in India. The whole thing felt dubious. All we had to do was write his name, date of birth, and send over photos of Clifford to her. We asked a few questions, such as how he was feeling, and if he liked his new home, but left out the mention of his odd behaviours. The animal communicator’s reply, which came a few days later, stumped me. She wrote that Clifford had stopped eating because there was a person in the house who was not eating. He didn’t want the person to feel alone, so that’s why he took it upon himself to do so. I was incredulous. That a dog, who had only known me for four months, and whose welfare I had hitherto neglected, would make such a selfless sacrifice and choose to be sad just so I wouldn’t feel lonely, astounded me. Not even my own parents showed that level of empathy to me. That became the turning point in our relationship. I decided I was going to live for him, and be there for him the way he had been for me.
Of course, unless you have experienced it for yourself, pet psychics may sound like hocus-pocus. Once, Clifford sensed the onset of my panic attack. The first time it happened, he was only about six months old. I was alone in my room, door shut, when I began experiencing a panic attack. Perhaps my gasps stirred the vibrations in the air, perhaps he’s telepathic, I don’t know, but Clifford, who was idling in the living room, suddenly began scratching at my door and wanted me to let him in. He just knew I was in need of support. He sat by me and waited patiently till my panic attack passed. He was not a trained service dog, nor did we condition him to do this. This wasn’t a fluke: it happened numerous times, and till this day, whenever I am about to have a panic attack, he comes springing into action like a hero. He reaches out his paws, mounts my legs and hugs me to let me know he is here for me. Other than a few basic commands such as ‘sit’ and ‘high five’, I’ve never bothered teaching him other tricks: he already has a superpower.
27/02/2022
