In Continuum.

The Old German

We crossed through farmlands,via narrow one way roads lined with concretes posts,with electrical cables dangling lazily in between.The farmlands stretched for miles and miles all around,with buildings and warehouses dotting the horizon like minute Lego cubes.It was a hazy day,i remember,and my uncle was at the wheel of his old Ford,missing the edge of the narrow road by mere inches,threatening to plunge the rest of the passengers off into the deep canal that ran along the edge of the farms.There i was in the front seat,eager with anticipation.A part of me was doubtful,for my uncle is a tricksy person,despite being halfway through his 50s.But he was serious that morning,when he told me about the Old German,still living somewhere in one of those mini-Lego bricks.I was anticipating,still anticipating the sight of the Old German,the one i truly loved.

'Here we are',my uncle declared as the Ford slowed down to a stop.The front passenger mirror slid downwards into the door,the cold winter air rushed into the car.But amidst the familiar smell of winter Taiwan,was the smell of oil and distant trash,mingled with those,a tad bit of the smell of grass and haze.We were before a large old warehouse,and sounds of industrial works came out from there,though i clearly remember it was a Saturday afternoon.The sound of metal hitting against one another,and then the wind blowing through the window of the car was distracting,as i looked desperately for the old german.

Then,he appeared.From the corner of the warehouse,wearily and slowly,he emerged from behind a pile of broken parapets.He looked the same,though as tired as ever,and his brown eyes still looked proud,though tired and old.Still,i was doubtful of him being the old german,still staring at it doubtfully from the safety of the car.I called out his name,and it responded as usual,as if the last time i did so was only yesterday.He came to the car,and stopped right under my window.It looked up and sniffed the familiar scent,and there i was with my fingers on the edge of the door,wanting to grab the old german and take him back forever.


The sight of the four wild puppies in my camp reminded me of that old memory of mine.For some reason,the dogs in my camp decided to be horny one fine night,and delivered to the boys four puppies of different shapes and shades.There's Blacky,the one which looked like it had soy sauce spilled all over.There's Snort,whose nose is constantly black,and the other is Muddy,the plain brown dog i called "New Recruit" a couple of entries back.There is another one,though i have yet to name him,but i'm sure that will come soon,no worries.

Blacky and Muddy were tumbling around on the grassy field this week,as i crossed the sandy tracks towards my company line.It was drizzling just a bit,and i was busying myself with the moving of my legs,and the dodging of the raindrops.But i stopped in my tracks,admiring the way Blacky and Muddy wrestled each other playfully on the field,biting at each other and pawing the faces of one another.I was reminded of how much i loved dogs,but never had the chance to have one,since i live in a condominium,and it's not exactly the best place to have dogs.

I lived in a house on a hill in Taiwan when i was young.It had a big field of grass right before the front door,and i dont even know when it was,when my uncle brought home a small German Sheperd.He said that it was the champion of some dog model compeition,and because of that the price tag for him was rather pricey.But because we needed a guard dog and the German Sheperd looked threatening enough,my uncle bought it,despite it being a puppy when he did so.

We grew up together,the german sheperd and I.We called it DuDu,and i still have a picture of young DuDu sniffing my ass.I desired to ride horses so much,that my uncle actually attempted to fulfill my wish my riding me on DuDu once when i was about four or five.But DuDu was smart enough to dash off from under my butt,leaving me an aching ass and a pair of torn shorts.My family still laugh at me over the incident,but it is this kind of memories that stay with you,isnt it?

DuDu was a wild and happy dog,despite all the bad habits and troubles it brought to the family.My aunt hates mess,and because DuDu ran around in the open field,it had fleas crawling all over the house at one point.My aunt had to kill them with her slippers,staining to bottom of it with dried blood sucked from the dog.With that same bloody slippers,she slapped the dog on the mouth a million times as a warning,and i think to DuDu,my aunt is the only human in his life,which he was going to run away from with his tail between his legs,and not feel ashamed of it.She was the enemy of all dogs,even the dog she has now,and the same weapon of choice: Slippers.

Anyway,DuDu had some atrocious habits.Despite the old dog house my uncle built for it at the side of the warehouse behind our house,he ran everywhere and slept anywhere BUT the house.Of course,not even it's private businesses.The front pavement would be so badly littered with his droppings that any car driving into the driveway would have the manueuver around those little hills of repugnent matter.My mother called them "Gold",or "Bombs",and heard my aunt's slapping of the dog's mouth at the back of the house.

I remember those innocent days,as i sat on the shelves,looking through the dust stained window of my house,at the dog in the field,making mud tracks after running repeatedly over them too many times.Other than my aunt,his greatest enemy was his own tail,and he would chase after it hours on end,always an inch or two too far away from the tail.It was hilarious then,and i remember flipping through an encyclopedia,looking up the breed of DuDu.

It was a German Sheperd,with the picture of it looking proud and stern in the book.But it was nothing like DuDu,dumping crap all over the place,and attacking us poor humans trying to bath it with bubbles and soap water.It was the worst-mannered dog in my entire life,but the sight of it chasing its tail remained in my mind.I've always had a mental image of Germans afterwards,relating them to DuDu's dumb tail-chasing adventure every afternoon.Especially after my mother first educated me on WW2,and what the Germans did to the Jews,i especially hated them,and regarded them as a breed of humans who would crap on their driveways and chase their tails in the frontyard,aimless and dumb.

Years past,and there i was with my fingers at the edge of the door.DuDu,the old german,looked up at me with its almost teary eyes.It looked old,and it felt old.He wasnt the same old dog,chasing its own tail anymore,with such life and such vitality.It now sleeps behind a pile of broken parapets,alone next to a warehouse my uncle sold it to as a guard dog.To think that,because of our selfish decision to leave Taiwan for Singapore so many years ago,caused DuDu to be abandoned and left to the owners of a warehouse,exposed to the harsh environments of human life without a grassy field for him to chase his tail,pained me,as the window came back up and my fingers still clinging desperately to the top,unwilling to let go.

I watched,as DuDu's shadow disappeared into the rearview mirror.It remained on the road for a while,and turn around back into the pile of broken parapets.I wonder if it remembered me,if my calling of his name made any dog sense.They say that dogs remember their owners by their smell,and i wonder if i smelt any different back then,or the sound of me calling him from the car was deeper from the voice of the boy from behind the window,laughing at its old stupidity.I wonder,if it still remembered me,because i remember him so well even till this day.

He is probably dead now,the old german.It mustve died behind the factory,or somewhere in the middle of a farm.Or ran over by a truck,who knows the fate of my favourite german?But one thing is for sure,that the old german is going to live in my heart,till the day i join him somewhere,behind a fixed pile of parapet,and on a grassy field where he can chase his tail forever,and i under a tree,admiring,smiling.