Just give us $50.

Oh, why is it so hard to let go … my rational mind and those who have not had the experience probably scream for me to snap out of it, to get on with life. Indy was just a dog.

I know in my heart of hearts, he’s more than that. If I had known the joy, the comfort, the love I received from him after we brought him home, I would have been so happy to give his previous parents more than $50 that they asked.

He’s a real pedigree dog – even with a document to trace back his lineage. When I met him the first time along with Yani and some dear friends, the only knowledge I had about handling dogs was from Google. So when his previous mum asked me whether I wanted to walk him around the block, I agreed — because that was in line with what I read from the Internet. He eyed me cautiously but in his quiet aloof demeanour – but without any hostility. Something I learned later that this was his normal self. He loved being with people, but he was an introvert. Like me.

Indy pulled his lead when we walked around the block — and this was the experience I had for years after we adopted him. He would walk joyously, smiling and panting — we walked from Kurralta Park over around Marleston, even as far as Ashford and North Plympton. As an only boy, he was socialised well by the time he joined our household. He generally treated other dogs cautiously in his aloof, non-hostile sort of way. He was attacked once by a dog at the end of our street – the rottweiler jumped out of the gate and bit Indy. The owner apologised and rushed him in – but Indy just looked at me, whimpered a bit, pleading. He had always been a sooky boy.

When he’s at home, however, he became our protector — as well as our companion. He brought warmth to the household — and yet, whenever there was a cockroach or a mouse that dared to venture inside (we had some before we had our house extension), he would chase it and kill it. He would smile widely afterwards – with every job well done. I don’t know how effective he would’ve been against a human intruder though. Maybe he trusted us so much, that he would welcome any visitors to our home when he knew that I trusted them. For some reasons, he never warmed up to the gardener who helped mow our lawn every other month.

When Indy reached 15, I knew that my time with him would be limited. Whenever I found myself watching goodbye clips on Youtube or on Facebook, when fur parents saying farewell to their furkids, I would call him and give him a cuddle. Tearfully, I told him not to go too soon. From all the sources I found on the Internet, the average lifespan of Staffordshire Bull Terrier is about 12 – 14 years. He already outperformed the average. however, the night before he passed on, I knew that perhaps his time was near. He was looking really tired. It broke my heart when I heard him sighing and whining, when he moved his bed around the bedroom. It’s a habit he had in the house, moving his bed to a position or place fit his mood at the time. His random barks at nights that used to drive me bonkers, were reduced to whimpers when he couldn’t muster enough energy, a few nights before he died.

Last spring, when Indy started losing his winter coat, I brushed his back with my fingers and collected his fur. I have a project that will be revealed later. It’s funny that I now wish I had collected all of the loose hair I found on my clothing.