I don't have much experience with dogs, meaning that I'm not all that experienced when it comes to owning different breeds. I own a Jack Russel, who's willful, serious and a little grouchy in her old age. Now that responsibility has passed on to the dubious hands of my brother. Currently, the pup of my life is Lady, an English Cocker Spaniel.

No, she isn't dead. She's asleep. I don't think this is dog-specific, but I am beginning to realize that Lady's silly, goofy and spunky nature is part of her breed's temperament. Maybe it's the ears that block their eyes, making them so prone to occasionally running flat on into walls or somersaulting backwards because they'd rather that than let go od a toy. She is a lovable and funny dog, though, who's silly and spunky - like owner? - and her pretty face has won the hearts of my parents.

She also does this, which is hilarious:

She snores like my Uncle Tony and makes weird teeth noises like my mom when she sleeps. Mommy Tony? 

Maybe the stars weren't in alignment today, or maybe I'm being paid my Lenten dues, but tonight has been a night of bizarrely random events that synergize to make a night worse than the sum of its parts.

It all begins with a lecture, which wasn't so bad. I am late, ravenous and don't care. I buy fried stuff on a stick and eat it in the lecture hall because I can. I end up asking TF out for some supper, though I know he's sick. I realize I owe him one no matter what he says, because I hadn't any money to pay for the meal or even chip in. As we sit there eating chicken rice, it begins to drizzle. Then it begins to pour. We linger over our food hoping the rain will stop, but after forty-five minutes, we realize that we had no such luck.

We rush into a cab with me holding a file over his head because he's sick. I shiver all the way home eventhough he's keeping me warm. When I get home, I step on something wet. Odd, I think. Did someone spill water?

Then my father points out that my tank, my precious successful saltwater tank, has sprung a leak. To my horror, I realize that there's no saving the tank. I wonder where to transfer the fish to. My fresh water tank has been cleared out for transformation into saltwater. Maybe I could do it tonight. Yes I'm tired, but what's a couple hours work?

It was then I realize that a couple of hours translated into a week of waiting for the salt water to settle the tank, for me to catch all the fish still in the fresh water tank, for me to buy the equiptment I need - which would cost me money I don't have.

In desperation, I transfer the salt water fish into the hugest bucket I have. Unsurprisingly, the clown fish gets stuck in my net. That's the reason why he's called Assclown. I'm tired and depressed that my precious tank has been torn apart. I'm thoroughly demotivated about the hobby that brought me so much joy in the past year. Assclown, Bluetard, Yellertang, Allen, Canary, Them and The Shrimps have been with me for almost six months now, the longest surviving fish I have. Sadly, I realize that with my degree program, I don't have time to maintain my tanks. As it is, Lady is taking all my attention.

Regretfully, I bid farewell to my salt-water tank. At least I take comfort in the knowledge that should I want to restart the hobby in the future, I know exactly how to go about it. The fish will be going to TF, who's worried they'll die in his tank, but I don't think they will since I'm quite sure it's finished cycling. I just hope they continue to live long happy lives with him and I can go visit. If they pass away, I'll know I did all I could to keep them alive, but my own life now just does not have the space for this hobby.

I wonder what I mourn the loss of more, the pets I have to leave behind or the fact that I'm now way too busy to find joy in them.

Lady is my darling, though sometimes I bemoan her youth. I rush back from school, starving and getting sustainance from nothing but Milo for the last 12 hours, I end up seriously pissed. I kind of take it out on my Dad, who whined about Bonnie crapping in the bathroom and therefore wouldn't bring Lady down to the hawker center. This meant that I had to spend another 10 minutes racing home to grab the dog and clean up shit, and thus couldn't have any dinner till nearly ten in the evening. That meant twelve hours since my last meal. Is it any wonder why I'm so pissed?

I throw crap about, angry and upset that my life has descended to the point where I can't even stop to eat a decent meal because of my schedule, and that others in my family, with lighter schedules, don't even want to help. I feel frustrated and alone and so, so tired. I can't help but just want to swear and bleep my way through a day until I feel better. After dragging myself out of the house despite the stomach churning neusea, I head out with Lady in tow.

She chooses this day to be so elated to see me that she justs wants to play. Good GOD. I am this close to beating her in the head for play nipping me as we practiced heel (with agony in my feet, because in my rush, I wore the wrong slippers). The trainer, though, was nice enough to stop me without filing an animal abuse complaint. He taught me how to stop her nipping and told me not to get angry with her, she's just a dog. That sort of made me stop and step back. Lady was just a dog. She didn't deserve this, she's the one damn thing in the world happy to see me despite my sheer utter bitch-mode. Give the dog a break. However, that aside, she needed to learn how to heel, and so corrections had to be metted out.

I'm glad TF got her for me. He feels bad that there's so much 'trouble' I have to go through because of Lady, but it's normal trouble. It's the trouble of training a pet who will be a good companion. Despite all the trouble, I think the joy Lady brings me outweighs the inconveniences. Besides, Lady was extra good on the way home. At least, unlike Bonnie, I have a dog that knows how to heel.

I read up alot about crate training and decided to get Lady into it today. I read that I was supposed to entice her in with a toy. No go.

I read that I could use treats. She went halfway in, took a treat and left. No go.

I read that I could use praise and repeated commands to reinforce behavious. She went in, but leapt out first chance she got, eventually hurting herself against the gate. No go.

What is with all these Western methods of praise and rewards?

I decided to go Asian in my dog training as illustrated by this simple process:

1) Shove dog in.

2) Command sternly.

3) Lock door.

Should the dog shoot out without your permission when the door is open, proceed to:

4) Spank rump.

5) Repeat process.

And now, I worried that my dog would not associate her crate with a place of rest and safety, etc. I decided to leave the crate with her in the bathroom, hopefully she would learn obedience at least. However, a while later:

Success!! She's sleeping in it of her own free will! If that's not a place of rest and safety, I don't know what is. I was telling Brightside that I ought to write a book on Training Dogs the Asian Way. People sometimes spank or punish their dogs wrongly, hitting the dog's head, ribs or guts. There's nothing wrong with a little spank, but only on the rump and only enough to get the dog's attention and to show that you're serious. It's rather the same reason why most Asians are alright with hitting their kids, though for some kids, you just need to hit harder.

And it has been done. I have submitted my first assignment for university. I feel understandably proud of myself, though my next assignment looms before me now. I put in a lot of effort, so much so that I am tired. I wonder if I'll be able to keep this up till the end.

This year has been unbelievably hectic for me. I can't believe how much I have to do in school. I can't believe how tiring classes can make me. I can't believe I'm doing all this on top of a new puppy in the house. Something has to go. I've chosen my fresh water fish tank. Sayonara. It's swarming with malaysian trumpet snails anyway, which disgust me to no end because not only are they horrifically unsquashable, they also swarm around like roaches. And just as amphbians are to Brightside, I despise the sight of roaches and all roach-like organisms. Fucking disgusting creatures.

Therefore, I'll move my marine tank, which is prettier and melts MTS, to my freshwater tank, which is bigger. Bye bye MTS. I'll cook up toxic sludge for you to die in - just for you. It'll make Captain Planet cry, but what the hell.

With one less tank in the house, I'll have more time on my hands. I'll also be able to dedicate more time to Lady, who's so retardedly cute, and Bonnie, who's just retarded (no, I jest. I love my old bitch Bonnie, even if she hates my new sweet young thing). I'll also be able to study and work on all the crap I have to finish for school.

I've told my mother about my intention to trash my freshwater tank, and understandably, I think she will be pleased with more room for HER (despite the fact that I do all the work and bought the fish) marine fish to swim in. While on the phone with her in Malaysia, I pondered telling her about Lady, whom she still has no idea about yet. My heart raced just at the thought of it and I decided not to.

In the first place, I chickened out.

In the second place, I knew she'd just get mad in Malaysia, not enjoy the rest of her holiday, insist the dog be gotten rid of, refuse to listen to me when I tell her the dog's poo doesn't smell and just be forever stubbornly biased against my poor Lady - whose only crime was to be cute and poo and pee and sometimes step in it because she's excited to see me.

Therefore, I've decided to go 'Surprise!!!1' when she gets home. Lady's cute retardedness, gangly, uncoordinated walk and soulful eyes won my dad over in a day. I'm hoping that same magic will work on mom, and I can employ the Homer-Style cop-out of: "You laughed! I'm off the hook!"

In other news!!

A nine-year-old Malaysian boy in Singapore has written a painting application for the Apple iPhone.

Lim Ding Wen created the finger painting program, known as Doodle Kids, for his two younger sisters aged three and five.

"Doodle Kids is an extremely simple program that can be done by anybody. Everybody can program - if Ding Wen can, so can you," he wrote.

Surly Cur says (1:34 AM):
WAAAHHH
he's the sort who'll mysteriously disappear one day
and work for the MOD
in a bunker
churning out hacks to govt computers in china and shit

Brightside says (1:35 AM):
yeah. totally.

Surly Cur says (1:35 AM):
if Ding Wen can, so can you
fuck you!

Brightside says (1:35 AM):
LOL
Go on my son
hahahahahahahahahaha

Surly Cur says (1:35 AM):
just crap on my diploma right now
crap on it

Brightside says (1:35 AM):
what a heading

Surly Cur says (1:36 AM):
and all the hours it too me to learn fucking JAVA

Lady is at home alone with Bonnie. Bonnie, who doesn't like her much, has more or less free roam of the house. Lady, on the other hand, is locked in the bathroom with newspapers so she can learn where to poo. It breaks my heart to hear her whining when I leave her alone. When she sees me, it's as if she's seeing me after being away for years, and is so happy and excited. Then I carry her and let her run, only to find poo on the ground. Ah well, sometimes she is Ladee-dee-dee (see Carlos Mencia). I leave her there, however, knowing full well that if I give in to her whines for attention, she'll grow up to be a bitch worth killing. 

So it all begins with a little foray into the bowels of Pasir Ris Farmway 2 with TFManiac. I'd been awoken fairly early (at 11am) and when I finally met up with him, it was twelve thirty. That wasn't as bad as taking the train all the way there, a memory of my days in Temasek Polytechnic where I'd taken that same train ride every damn day. Ironically, TFManiac was at Temasek Poly the same time as me and we were pretending to be poly kids in an alternate universe, because we are nerds.

Eventually, we made our way to Pasir Ris Farmway 2. The cab turned into the entrance of the road and the minute we stepped out, we were met with the distant, yet amazingly prominent sound of dogs barking. All around us, from the sheds of the kennels to the distant trees down the road, the sound of barking rose like a miasma. If all dogs went to heaven, then this was certainly Doggy Purgatory.

We realized that these kennels were usually plots rented out to companies to house their stock there. In one kennel, we saw a white jack russell with a striped black and orange patch on its body. We called it Shere Khan, the Tamil Tiger. TF loved that dog and I have to admit, I was goading him on. After all, he had the intention to buy a dog on February 20th, some magical date the reason of which he has never quite explained to me. The dog was affordable. "Buy it," I poisoned him. "It's affordable, it's Bonnie-esque, and it's the most Indian dog in existance."

Browsing around first, we moved on to other kennels. TF learned the first rule of multiple, nervous puppies gathered in one spot: they smell.

Eventually, we moved on down the road and I was quite loosing heart. I wanted to persuade him to buy his dog today, because I knew it would make him happy. I could even chip in and settle his Birthday/Valentines present in my typically unromantic but practical way. At the last stop, Petmovers, I was encouraged by the range of dogs there. He eventually asked to see a JRT puppy with beautiful colours, but we learned that this boy had only three paws. One was malformed from birth. It really broke my heart, but I knew I couldn't bring him home because of that. He needed a home where he could be properly cared for and I couldn't give it to him. (Besides, only the insane want two JRTs in the same house.)

Soon, however, he picked out a dog, a sweet and presently docile JRT puppy who waddled along on her short legs and chewed at bars. It was like watching him winning the lottery. Prudence dictated that he give his brother a call, since he was 'surprising' his mother with a dog, after she kept asking that I bring Bonnie over. His brother chickened out. "Call Ama first." I looked at TF and knew: "Confirm, no."

Unsurprisingly, TF's face withered and his mother flat out refused, insisting she'd like to retire first, which is one of those mysteriously puzzling unreasonable reasons mothers often give. As if dogs were a kind of retirement plan. TF knew his hopes were dashed, but he still wanted to buy a puppy.

That is how I ended up with Lady, an English Cocker Spaniel who's three months old and has silken fur. She's named after my very first dog Lady, whom we sadly failed as owners. Hopefully I get a chance to do things right this time. She's an angelic little pooch with silken fur, floppy ears and big gangly feet she can't coordinate properly yet. She also has a bladder and bowels that seem bottomless, in a certain manner of speaking. The coipous amounts of poo and pee she produces baffles even me. I mean, where the hell does it all come from? How does a few tablespoons of puppy kibble equate to that much Grade A Runny Dog Muck?

Lady is being toilet trained now, despite her whines and pooping in the right areas. Therefore, she is confined. My father seems to have taken to her despite his black face when I brought her home, which made TF so terrified his balls shrank. Thankfully my mom is in KL and won't be back fro a week. I hope at least I'll have my dog trained up enough then so that Mom doesn't kill me. I have a feeling that for all she may rant and rave, she will warm up to Lady really quickly, just like my dad, who's telling Bonnie he's going to gas her because she's old and wrinkly and he's got a sweet young thing now.

All in all, TF's gifts for my birthday, Valentines, Christmas, Hannukah, Patron Saint's Day, Grandmother's Birthday and International Friendship Day compounded have been settled. While initially, I couldn't believe I had a dog, expecting myself to wake up from this dream, a night spent with Lady in my room, pooping as regularly as a baby, has dispelled me of that notion. I have a new dog now, and I'll do her proud.