Salameander.com

Friday, March 25th 2005. Good Friday.

Han and I returned from dinner as usual, and the car’s headlamps caught Marco resting in the far corner of the porch. Han went over to make sure he was alright and to fuss over him for a while. He brought him blankets, even made him a small pillow to rest his now bony head on—trying to make him lie as comfortably as possible.

Then it happened.

Marco struggled to his feet, wobbled closer to the front door of the porch and collapsed, his breathing laboured. A short while later, he slipped away before our eyes.

It was almost as if he had waited for his beloved master to come home, to see him one last time before he could finally let go and rest peacefully.

Han was shattered. But we all know that he no longer suffers.

As I watched all this transpire I could only imagine the sense of loss the family felt over his death, most especially my husband’s. Han was the one who comforted Marco as a pup on the night he was first brought back to the Ngeow residence. He sat out on the verandah that night with Marco on his lap, feeding mosquitoes in the process, quietening his cries with his company and affection. The bond was forged at that point and over the 8 to 9 years of his life it was strengthened with love.

The memories may hurt now, but I’m sure he’ll be fondly remembered for a long time to come.