This time last year, I held Cookie in my hands, closed her eyes and kissed her goodbye. I took my last whiff of her soft light brown hair as I did that. I could not control my tears. That would be the last time I would be seeing Cookie.
This time last year, Cookie died.
Cookie was our family's pet poodle for 12 years. We got her when she was barely 3 months old. She was gift from my mum's colleague who was breeding dogs. She thought Cookie was special cos of her "apricot-coloured" fur. She was right.
I watched Cookie as she grew. I remember her as a little puppy, getting up almost every hour in the night crying for attention. I would go to her little basket and pat her to sleep. I remember her when she was weaning. I lent her my hand to chew on, but she never bit hard enough to hurt me. I remember her playing ball. She would jump so high just so she could catch it. I remember Cookie being punished (by Dad) cos she chewed on our furniture.
A flood of fond memories fill my head when I think of Cookie. How could I ever forget how she locked herself in the house? Or that her favourite Chinese New Year kueh is kueh bankit? Or that she hated red bean soup but loved ice cream? And loved to play in the sea? Or that she hated bathing but loved drying her fur with the hair-dryer? She brought much joy and amusement to us, but most of all, she touched each one of us in her own little way.
She was my source of comfort when I was feeling sad. I would hug her and talk to her as if she understood every word I said. She'd sit and listen attentively until I was done. What's best? She didn't judge, and I could trust her to keep everything I said in strict confidentiality.
She was a companion to mum in her darkest hours. She'd sleep by her side and be there day and night.
She feared my brother cos he didn't pamper her as much as we did. But still she was a faithful dog. She'd greet him when he got back from school, and plonk herself beside him when he was watching TV. It was as if she was saying -"I'm here."
She'd play with Grace and Wendy when they came over, and lick Max's hand. She'd slather licks of love when my uncle came, and jump high when family friends visited. If she was really happy, she'd sprint round the house like a mad dog until she was tired. Even my muslim neighbours loved her!
But last year, Cookie's health took a turn for the worse. She suddenly refused to eat. She'd crouch in pain. She got thinner by the day. There were complications - diabetes and liver failure. The vet asked us to expect the worse. She was too old to operate on, and even if we did, there was no guarantee she'd live. And so we made the choice to take her back home from the hospital and let her live her last days with her loved ones.
The last few days of Cookie's life saw her in the most serene state. Even in her weakness, she'd get up to greet whoever that came. One by one, those whose lives she had touched with her unconditional love came to visit her. They stifled their tears as they saw Cookie lie in silent pain.
Day by day, my mum would tell Cookie "It's OK, dear. Just let go and go back to God." But she held on - til this date last year.
After Cookie died, the house felt empty. Silence. No more barks. No more sounds made by tiny paws. Just quiet.
But 60 days after Cookie she left us, I saw paw prints on my living room floor - leading from the main door to the kitchen. I told my mum and brother about it. They saw it too. We're all puzzled, but never said a thing. I guess deep in our hearts, we know that her spirit lives in our home - the spirit of warmth and unconditional love.
This time last year, Cookie died. But the memory of her, and all that she has taught us remain in us forever.
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