The Pak Chronicles [5 pages]
“Not eating for eleven days, means death.”
That was what the Veterinary Assistant told us when we consulted with him about our dog Pak.
“After that time,” he continued, “Not even the Vet can help him.”
When we heard what he said, we became extremely worried, because it was the 7th of April, and Pak had not eaten for seven days.
In October 2011, we got a male puppy; he was a mongrel, with Labrador Retriever blood in him. We all liked him, and my brother called him Pak.
As he grew, we knew him to be a chewer . . . chewing almost everything, including the splash guards on the cars. He loved to bury his food, his bones, his toys.
Pak did not run into the kennel when it rained, he “toughed it out” through each downpour – crying, whimpering, moaning. He grew to be a tall dog, and seemed to love life, love fun, love people. His bark was loud and deep, and he was cross. Pak made it his duty to escort us to and from our walk around our yard, rain or shine; and when he walked with us, he sniffed at everything . . . our bags, our shoes, our bottoms.