She who walks the dog

Half past eleven.

The heavy electric gate drags itself aside, making an exit for the girl and the dog.

The girl, invariably dressed up.
She usually appears in one-pieced dress, and a pair of flippers which looks totally out of place.
Sometimes she will be spotted in short A-lined skirts, with the blouse or the shirt tucked in, attempting to pull out the quirky look.

The dog, a Shih Tzu.
He is not overweight, but those fluffy hair gives the impression of otherwise.
He has a small bunch of coconut-leaves like hair over his head, thanks to his owner.
Oh by the way, he doesn't look very intelligent.
Well, how smart can he be when he ranks 70th among other breeds when it comes to working/obedience intelligence?

The duo doesn't make much of noise when they walk together.

Sometimes, when the girl feels fat, she would exclaim 'come Carpy!' in a very high pitch, and starts running.
The fluffy creature would then run after her.

Sometimes, when the fluffy creature steps into some prohibited area, say, neighbours' front yard garden,
the girl pulls up an angry look, and says 'Carpy, no.' in an exceptionally low tone.

As if the dog can see her face when he is busy marking his territory.
As if the dog can understand that low tone implies unhappiness when he is busy peeing.

Then, the girl would pull the strings which tied around the dog, without any hard feeling.
The dog would usually reluctantly follow the girl after some useless struggles.

If it stays stoned, the girl would just scoop the dog up.

Advantage of having a small dog.

'Come Carpy!'
'Carpy, no.'
Tinkling keys.
Tapping paws.
Tapping feet.

The midnight cacophony.
Too soft to form noise pollution,
but too loud to be ignored by the curious souls.

Every single night, without fail.

And then.

At the front door, the monochrome image of the girl is framed and placed at the entrance.
A white casket is placed in the middle of the front yard.
The girl is resting in the casket, the face is as peaceful as if she had been treated some rejuvenating yogurt facial treatment.

No wreath, the scene looks plain and dull, but this is what she has requested.
She is lying in her comfortable black tee and jeans, and a pair of pumps, as what she has requested.
Not her usual way dressing, but again, her family wants her requests to be obliged.
Some guests wonder, will she ever regret writing this entry in her blog?

Tee and jeans, it's just so not her.

Guests are attempting their best to be happy, again, as requested.
Some are tearing, yet they force a smile on their face when they look through the glass on the casket.

Eleven o'clock.

Crowd is getting thinner.

Spotted at the front yard,
few of her family members,
some of her close friends, her favourite Hamka gang,
her boyfriend.

Yeap, someone has to do the post party clean up.

Half past eleven.

All of the sudden, the dog rushes to the gate, wagging his tails vigorously.
He hops back and forth.

The whole world freezes. People turn their head towards the dog.
Their eyes set on the dog.

As tears roll down her cheek, her sister presses the remote control of the electric gate with her shaky hand.

The heavy electric gate drags itself aside, making an exit for the dog.

It's happening, as usual.

Nothing ever changes.

The crowd tag after the dog, preparing to witness some unbelievable incident.

The fluffy creature rushes out of the gate, as if he is running after something.

Or someone.

Sometimes, the fluffy creature steps into the prohibited area, and before he completes his business,
he backs off.
Reluctantly.
By some invisible force.


From that day on, everyday at eleven thirty sharp,
the family opens the gate for the dog.


'Come Carpy!'
'Carpy, no.'
Tapping paws.
Tinkling keys.

Midnight cacophony goes on.

Every night, without fail.

Slight difference though.
That section of tapping feet has been removed.
Or, it is not played anymore.


Every now and then, even death cannot break the habits.






P/S:
I had this idea of myself passing away when I was walking Carpy.
Yes, 11.30pm.

I enjoy the midnight breeze.
I like the silent street.
It's safe - if you allow me to trust the security guards at both ends of the street.

I do not purposely doll myself up to walk Carpy.
I am usually backed from somewhere, and have not showered yet.