Niko Burrito

Right after a friend gave me a puppy for my birthday, my brother handed me a calling card of a psychiatrist.  His forte: helping patients cope with the loss of a beloved pet. My brother advised me rather sternly to keep the card because I might need it someday. However, I was too excited on having this puppy to be bothered by some grim prospect, but I kept the card anyway for good measure.

Another good friend, paid for the puppy's obedience training. However, two months into it, I had it stopped. He was becoming a little too disciplined; acting like a grown-up dog. Also, he seemed terrified by his trainer whom we suspected in jest of harboring Gestapo-like sentiments. After about a week of not seeing Hans the trainer, he seemed to enjoy his puppyhood once again.

Named Niko Burrito on his American Kennel papers, I took him along with me to work and shopping trips during the first three years of his life. Surpisingly, as he became more socially adept with people and other dogs, we got invited to silly dog birthdays and other bizarre Manhattan private events for dogs. In the end, Niko seemed happiest when it was just the two of us strolling at Central Park.

One summer afternoon, while sitting on a bench at the corner of Central Park West and 72nd Street, enjoying some ice cream -- one for me and another for him -- this little old lady walked over and started berating me for feeding Niko a coneful of ice cream.  Well, that was the end of his ice cream treats.

He had his medical and periodontal check-ups on a regular basis. His veterinarian was rather grumpy and abrupt with people, but simply amazing with animals! At some point, when he recommended that Niko got neutered, it took me some months to agree to it.  I mean, how many guys would readily agree to such thing.

For his grooming needs, a gay couple who operated a pet salon in Chelsea took care of that. And if I were too busy to take Niko myself, for a fee, they would send a dog taxi to pick him up. My doorman would fetch Niko from my apartment and hand him over to the driver. I would then pick him up from the salon right after work. If the weather was good, we would walk home from Chelsea.

As for his apparel needs, he had ample supply of sweaters, raincoats, trendy collars, and rubber boots to protect his paws from the salt used to melt the snow. Almost all of these items were gifts; I would be too embarrassed to walk into one of New York’s specialty pet boutiques to rummage through doggy clothing and accessories. Except for the sweaters, he hated the rest, especially the frivolous costumes he had to wear to doggy theme parties. It was a struggle to put that stuff on him. Eventually, we managed to avoid attending those parties by hiding out at my brothers’ house in New Jersey during the weekends.

In return for all of this, Niko showered me with unconditional love. He was the only one I ever lived with who easily forgave me for my shortcomings. Living with Niko also gave me the wisdom to never ask any single Manhattan female to choose between me and her pet dog.

Niko, at 17, died of heart ailment a month after 9/11. What a year that was.  But what I find strange is that after all those years, to this day, he still appears in my dreams every now and then.  Once I was asked if dogs have a soul, I merely replied, “Why not get one to find out for yourself?”

Cocker spaniels usually have a lifespan of only 14 or 15 years, but thanks to his highly skillful but grouchy veterinarian he lived a longer, healthy life.  Besides, I fed him mostly Eukanuba and a bowl of boiled rice with eggs and adobo sauce every Saturday.  Eukanuba even sent him a sack of of their specially-blended dog food for seniors after they received a picture of him at age 12, that I had sent them.

I never felt any need to call the psychiatrist on the card my brother gave me. Actually, it was my brother who was so grief-stricken.  He cried as he wrapped Niko (with his much-beloved Armani jacket) when he brought him to the animal clinic for funeral arrangements. The kids in the apartment building also shed tears when told Niko had died.  My mother told me all this because I was vacationing in Manila at that time.

I was not emotionally devastated by Niko’s passing, for I knew it was his time, and I was consoled with the fact that I took very good care of him.  I even appreciated that Niko opted to die while I was away on vacation.  You see, a couple of months before, Niko suddenly made an alarming howl of what seemed to be of deep pain.  When I ran over to his bed, his body was frozen, but his eyes were wide open -- reflecting intense fear.  I rushed him to his doctor who confirmed that Niko's heart had started to weaken, and coupled with his advanced age, he may not have that much time ahead of him.  That was when I cried as I hugged Niko tightly against my chest.

Niko and I had lots of fun times together.  In fact, I was accused by some of treating Niko as a child more so than as a dog. Be that as it may, I ignored them because only true dog lovers would understand such relationship.

When the time is right, I’ll probably get a new puppy.

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