The Bitches of Bukid-non*

Walter's strange bed fellows: Princess, Tucchi and Greta

I was on Skype with Marilyn - a very dear friend and neighbor in Vienna - who later dropped me a line to say that I look haggard and thought it could only be my house in Bukid-non. She was quite familiar, too familiar in fact, with the never-ending-story of the house construction since Day One when architect/carpenter wannabes dug a hole in my bukid (farm) which would be the foundation of my dream-house. The dream became a nightmare! I was having trouble sleeping thereafter.

This time it was my dogs! Two dogs, chained on the concrete wall that surrounds my property. They sleep in a makeshift teeny-weeny, sides-open doghouse, with a likewise teeny-weeny-roof. Joseph - my nephew, and another farm help made the chain short apparently to prevent the dogs from attacking the chickens that would sometimes venture bravely, and too close, as if in a dare, to the doghouse in search of feeds. Apparently the dogs also have a penchant for destroying banana trees that provide shades to their territory. The problem was that (still is) the dog collar was so tight the poor animals have problems breathing. When it rains - and it has been raining incessantly since arriving in town from Vienna for my annual-6-month stay at home - they get wet and cold, no doubt they get crazy and wail all the time.

Walter and his bitches

 It was pouring rain the first night Walter** - my Viennese friend - and I slept in the new house - alone! Well, almost alone. I should not forget to mention that Walter owns three dwarf dogs who share the bed with him. The chained dogs were just behind our respective bedrooms and one must be deaf and blind not to see or hear how they suffer. And when Walter's strange bed fellows see the chained canines through the French glass bedroom windows, they get excited and bark like mad. Shortly before midnight I let the dogs free from agony, but knowing how wild they could get I stayed till late to watch over them. Free again, the dogs were celebrating. Intoxicated with regained freedom that may have tasted like sweet wine to them, the dogs were running all over the garden, stopping briefly to take a quick sniff of unfamiliar grounds, toppling potted plants and everything in their way! I was worried they would trample the ground orchids my nephew planted the previous summer. They were now in full bloom but with just one giant dog-sprint, I was dead sure they would look lonelier than the proverbial party wall-flower. And then of course, there were these free-range chickens in the backyard to worry about. My dogs love chicken meat, any way served!

Millie: the backyard dog with pneumonia unleashed

So I let the dogs stay in the house but the dog with pneumonia was more than I could take! From my bedroom I could hear the bitch clearing its throat like it was suffocating.Walter believed it caught pneumonia. Talk of overnight vets! Earlier, before going to bed, I asked him to make a choice: free the dogs or let the chickens die! Let the chickens die, his prompt reply!  He was the one who wanted to grow chickens because he said he would need at least 20 eggs a day for his baking! I told him it would be best if I send the dogs away, like donate them the next day to the dog-eaters, and in my village they come by the dozens they need to get a number! He thought I was serious with my threat he was quiet the whole night! Case closed or so I thought!

I was dead tired having had too little sleep the previous nights but sleep was elusive. I was also worried that when I was not looking, the mad dogs could ruin my treasures from the flea markets of Vienna. My treasures were safe! Walter's scattered all over the floor: his cigarettes which he left on a chair chewed beyond smoking possibility, try as he might; reading glasses; shiny splinters of shattered glass ashtray dotted the living room floor. Looking closer I found my latest copy of a magazine on interior designs shredded into pieces you could use them as confetti for the New Year. I almost tripped stepping on a heap of something sticky. And before the roosters could crow announcing the break of dawn, I was already washing and mopping the floor, mouthing expletives I could dethrone Leona Helmsley - the Queen of Mean!

The haggard look? Yes, Virginia, err...Marylin! The bitches! Can anyone get me an appointment with the Belos or the Cayanans***, please?

* Bukid-non: refers to my house on a former bukid (Tagalog for farm) in my hometown in the Philippines. A friend coined the word after a town in Southern Philippines called Bukidnon.
** Walter: hibernates in the Philippines during winter time in Europe
*** Belos and Cayanans: two famous Philippine rival cosmetologists