Jackie

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Jackie

Ongoing since last week (May 21-23; May 26-28), Mindanews’s editors and writers have been going back to school, this time, to train for narrative reporting under Janet Steele, an American professor from George Washington University, and Andreas Harsono, an Indonesian journalist working for Pantau, a media training organization operating in Jakarta, Banda Aceh and Ende. (For more on this, see www.mindanews.com and clicked on the 1st Mindanao Summer Institute of Journalism icon). One writing exercise required of us was to use the “I” in a two-page double-spaced story. Below is my ‘attempt’ submitted last May 23:

“Mom, we need to bring Jackie to the doctor today. He looks weak.” My ten-year-old son Xandro cried out, his large brown eyes starting to get misty with tears, as he anxiously paced back and forth in front of me. I looked at him and asked, “Why, what happened?”

“Jackie is seven years old – but aren’t dogs supposed to live for ten years?” he asked, a silent plea in his voice, begging me to please do something, ‘not to let Jackie die’. Jackie is a dachshund and he first came to us seven years ago when Xandro was only three. My son, who is an only child, practically grew up with Jackie, his beloved playmate.

“Xandro, I know how you love Jackie very much. But sometimes, you just have to let go of those you love most. It could be pets, toys, even people you love,” I told him, suddenly not knowing why I am saying these things to him. My son had seen through many partings and it may be my way of telling him about the need for goodbyes, what they mean, and why, for good reason, there are times we have to leave and, in leaving, lose the people we love.

I sensed his pain, how I would have wanted to ease it for my child, and bear the burden myself. I would have wanted to say that “it’s alright, everything’s fine, I’ll take care of it, and as soon as the doctor would treat him, he’ll be running about again.” But deep inside me, I know that there are lessons he needs to learn by himself.

Xandro flicked his shaggy, straight hair to one side which he loves to do every so often – and how he looks so charming doing that especially so when he smiles. But right now, his face looked somber. My son knows what death is – three years ago, in fact, today, he lost his grandfather. I thought so that perhaps Xandro is being reminded of my father’s death and still mourned his loss – could it be that today it is Jackie he fears losing?

I got up and left to find Jackie. I found him lying on the floor near the dining table. He seemed tired and when I called his name, he raised his head and tried to wiggle his tail, but I would have to agree with Xandro, he is frail and life seemed to gradually leave him.

“Jackie, how are you feeling today?” I asked, tenderly stroking his head. I sighed, remembering how he survived, sustaining wounds and broken bones when he was hit by a passing car. Once, he came home bloodied from a deep wound – it was the time when Jackie still had a way of escaping from the house and nobody would ever notice – and I had to bring him to the pet emergency hospital for a surgery. That night, we kept a round-the-clock vigil and spoon-fed him with a dose of antibiotics and a water and sugar concoction. We thought he would die but in the morning, Jackie, ever the fighter, the survivor, bounced back to life.

This time though, I am no longer sure. “Jackie, you have been a good dog and you know that Xandro loves you very much and you served us well. But if you need to rest, it’s okay,” I whispered to him and caressed his head, looking into his eyes as he started to shut them close.

(Postscript: Once again, Jackie survived – and the vet just pronounced him out of danger.)

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