Persia Will You Stay?

Ever since I was a child, I have always asked my parents the same old question.

"When are we going to have a dog?"

They always brushed me off and usually sway me with "later in life, sweetie, when we get our own house," or "until you grow up, you will be old enough with your own space and have all the freedom you need to get one."

I vaguely remember the last time I asked, but I remember standing near the middle of the school courtyard and asking my father.

"Appa, when are we going to have a dog?"

He mattes his expression into a sickly, exhausting grin, almost sneeringly, "Well..." He cracks, "We can always get a dog when we have a house and by that time you will be old enough."

At that moment, I had realized that my dad lied.

"Appa come closer," I gesture, and down he comes, leaning in, curious as to what his little girl had to say.

I slap him, not too harshly, but he scoffs and chuckles it off.

I remember being upset at him at that age, probably around five or seven, when I've accepted that I will never have a pet dog.

But the reason why I wanted to have a dog, didn't click to anyone. And more interestingly the reason didn't hit me until now.

I wanted a dog to overcome my fear of them.

And no. I was never bitten by a dog. Or had a scary experience with them. I can never recall why I had become afraid of dogs.

With that in mind I became determined to eradicate this irrational fear of mines, but sometimes I have moments where I feel safe to guard myself away when someone walks their dog near me or to just be wary of them.

And it never helped that all my friends, relatively had good relationships with dogs. Had dogs as loyal companions and would sell me the good PR packaging of it all.

I had no choice but to be confronted with the ridicule of still being afraid of dogs. Still needing to guard and protect myself, when they have been "everyone's best friend".

It also didn't help that I, stemming from an immigrant family, learned to deal with the cultural clashes and my own personal interests colliding.

That also includes wanting a dog.

I long for that kind of love to happen, maybe for years and I guess after puberty things changed.

My priorities shifted and I find it difficult to care and manage myself.

Staying up all night finishing homework and projects that I've procrastinated on, only to complain in the morning about how early I'd have to get up at school. To hate the boring mundane routine of it all... and even resent myself so much for not being able to do enough each day... to literally be devoid and give up on all that motivated me to stay on track.

So when will I have that time to care for a dog in the middle of it?

That question hasn't been answered until I was twenty-three years old.

She walks into the lives of my brown immigrant household with all the audacity she did.

Who did she think she was stumbling in between the rickety fenced gate, and laying herself down on the rustic tiles riddled with dusty and ash.

That area provided good shade and refuge for her to rest.

Soon a young woman and the mailman noticed her and gave her some food and water.

I woke up late in the morning, groggily walking down the hallway, when I go to answer an older woman at the front door.

"Hi, I just wanted to let you know that there's a dog over there-"

"I'm sorry? A dog?"

"Yes, a dog and I see that people have left her something to eat.. I just wanted to let you know."

I nod before I close the door and head back inside looking for the same man I had slapped previously about a dog, whether a dog was actually at our house.

"Yeah," he disgruntles and hums in amusement, "There's a dog laying there."

"Laying where, Appa?" I remain calm as can be when my mom interrupts.

"Right there," she points behind the window covered by dark gold curtains, "Behind this window you can see."

I hesitate, as I anxiously walk over, and slowly pull the curtains and lean forward to take a peak.

A German Shepherd. It's coat mostly reminiscent of sandy dunes with small pools of black running down her back and into her tail like a body of water. Remarkable moles on the face, a prominent nozzle, pointy sharp ears that can detect any light disturbance, but what struck me the most were her piercing and unrelenting brown eyes, two rings of caramel that swirl a pit.

Those eyes pleaded me to do something unexpected. Something big. To make a choice.

After much deliberation, I stand in front of that same wooden door. Three golden locks on it: two to slip off and a handle to uplift to open it.

My mother furrows her brows as she turns towards me.

"What are you doing?"

Without hesitation, "I'm going out."

"Careful now. We don't know where this dog came from. Maybe you don't need to go outside-"

I ignored her warning and head out anyway to check on this big fur-baby.

I maintain my distance, as I make my way over, steadily, and I keep the distance between us as I keep checking in on her and eventually relenting in the end.

I grab a disposable bowl and place bottle water inside before heading out to set it there.

She didn't take a sip of it, even when I left her on her own to make that decision.

So I tried another approach.

I pour out the now dirty water, and soon pour in new water into the bowl, and push the bowl closer to her.

"Here," I also take a sip of the bottled water I poured right in front of her.

"Drink up."

Soon enough, she did.

In the meantime, I had already posted on Neighbors about a missing German Shepherd and a few people replied.

One woman, from a volunteer organization, wanted to check on the dog, but it will take some time before having someone to send over.

In that time, this fur-baby will be hungry and need food too.

My older brother also became aware of the situation and also brought me in to buy its food and bowls.

I showed the clerk a video of the dog, and she noted, "Definitely an adult. Looks big enough to be an adult."

Even though, I had a gut feeling that this dog that came to our house for refuge, was a puppy.

Yet in the times we wait, my brother was eager to take photos and videos of Persia engulfing her kibble. Licking water. Just about anything really.

I still had anxiety.

Where did this dog come from? Why did they run away? How long were they out there in this scary, big world?

But just as you fear one thing, there are others to follow.

"It left! What do you mean "it" left!" I demanded my father to let me know why she's gone.

"It's gone and good riddance. We can't afford to have a dog right now and it's best that it went on it's own way..."

I still felt frustrated that in the meantime, I went to freshen myself up properly, the poor pup had gone.

I had to let that woman who planned on coming over that the dog had wandered off somewhere in the notorious Los Angeles heat.

'Darn', she messaged back. Darn indeed.

I spent some time walking around my neighborhood to find her, but it was too late. She'd probably found her way home.

That day ended just like that. Even if I just had a dog for one day, it was enough for me.

"Pam. Pam. Pam. Pam.... Pam..." My older brother calls me, rocking me around with one hand, as I slowly cast open my tired eyes, and crawl out of the comforting fetal position I wish to stay in for a bit longer.

"What?"

"Do you know where you kept the dog food?"

"Why?"

"The dog came back."

He said with such nonchalance that I was dumbstruck for a moment.

"It's under the dining table," I replied.

With that being said, my father was certainly not happy about having the dog back and this time, unrelenting to move as it remains sat on our front porch.

"What are we going to do? The mailman can't come through if the dog is there-"

"Move her to the back," my brother interrupts and I remain quiet for a moment.

"If you move her to the back, make sure to move the onions away. Keep them inside-"

"Why?" My brother inquires.

"Because it's toxic for dogs."

We also had her checked out by a professional furbaby mama, wearing sportswear and had her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, "Yeah she's a puppy... around one years old... you need to know that if you decide to keep her, make sure you sign this request to notify local shelters about a missing German Shepherd and if by thirty days no one claims her, you get to keep her."

And thus, it was a golden opportunity for my brother who wanted to keep her, but I still had my doubts and anxiety around keeping her around.

What does that mean for our family? Will we be able to look after her? Having a dog is expensive and will we be able to get by? Will we be able to have enough to provide for her?

Thus, we kept her hostage, since she came back herself. Each day, as I get to learn more about this particular, big fur-baby, her personality can be summed up in one word: menace.

Biting (playfully) anything and especially our hands, pouncing, zooming, and in the rare moments I catch her asleep, paws out and relaxed, belly expanding and contracting like a pulsing heart, ears sensitive and perking at any slight noise; I remind myself that she's just a baby needing love.

She's really the little sister I once cried that I didn't have after my mom revealed that I'm going to have a baby brother.

"I want to call her Kutty (KOO-TEA)", I pet her down as her tail wags happily.

"No, that's a lame name," my older brother remarks.

"Ahhh... fine! You can name her, but have her name start with a 'P' instead."

"A 'P'? Why?" His eyes perk with a glimmer of something puzzling, almost as if he wanted me to confirm an answer to a dilemma of his that I have no clue about.

"Just because, you gave an 'R' name to our little brother, so with her, give her a name that starts with 'P'. Like my name."

"We'll call her Perisa."

"Okay," I glance over to her as I soon pet her head gently. "Persia."