Constance Ong and Valerie Gam

Constance Ong: 

She’s coming! She’s coming! We are getting a puppy. Uncle Stephen’s dog had given birth to a litter and we are getting one! This was one of my earliest and fondest memory.

Enid was a lively little puppy with the sweetest mischievous brown eyes. She did everything wrong! Chewed my shoes, ate the rubbish, chased the neighbour’s cat and barked when excited. Mommy was not pleased but I found her antics so funny. Poor Enid was constantly being punished but I was always there for her.

On my first day of kindergarten, Enid could not be left alone at home and Mom had to bring her with us. Enid could not walk in a straight line. She pulled left or right checking out this whole new world. This was her new world just like kindergarten was for me.

It became our routine. Enid walked with us to and from school. Soon Enid learnt all of Mommy’s rules. She also learnt to tell when I was happy, anxious or sad. She was always there for me.

After graduating from kindergarten, it was again another whole new world in Primary school. But Enid was the constant as we continued to walk to and from school. Enid would listen to my daily happenings, hopes and fears during our commute. And look at me with her kind understanding brown eyes and wag of tail. I became known as “Girl with Dog”. She made me feel special.

Valerie Gam:

“She will have to be put down,” My heart dropped. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. However, she is in a lot of pain and there is nothing we can do to help her.” My heart was pounding in my ears. My mother reached over to hold my hand and my father rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. It was our sixth visit to the vet. I was already 16, and Enid 11. As she grew older, she had developed more and more health complications, and lived in more and more pain.

I thought back on the past six months, where Enid’s condition had started to worsen considerably. With each passing day, she had grown more and more tired, ate less and less food, and became more and more lifeless. She couldn’t even spare a glance at the squeaky orange ball she used to hanker endlessly after as a puppy. I shifted my gaze from the floor to Enid’s fragile figure. As much as I was afraid to, to have to live the rest of my life without Enid, without her comforting and encouraging presence by my side, I knew I had to let her go.

I gave Enid one final scratch behind her ear, took a deep breath, and spoke with no quiver in my voice, “Okay. For Enid" I said the last part more so to console myself than to convince anyone else. That day I went home dogless, my soul shrouded in sorrow and my heart full of emptiness. The silence that greeted me in place of Enid's excitement when I got home was deafening. I washed up and went to bed, hoping sleep would grant me a temporary shelter from my grief, but she appeared even in my dreams. 

The next day, everyone treated me like a fragile vase that was about to shatter at any moment. My family and friends talked in wide circles around Enid, cooked me my favourite food, and shared their snacks with me. However, I knew that it would be impossible to fill up the Enid-shaped hole she had left in my heart. We held a funeral for her a few days later, where I felt her fur between my fingers for the final time. She looked peaceful and happy, as if she was just having a good dream in her sleep. It assured me that I had made the right decision. 

A month had passed. For all the firsts I had with Enid, I was about to have my first of firsts without her. My first day of junior college. Although almost everything reminded me of her, I was slowly learning to live without her by my side, but with her in my heart instead. Enid left me with a great many lessons, with her final and most important one being: Sometimes, the greatest gift is letting go.

Then along came Muffin…