I wanted December to be soft. Christmas lights, not this.
Instead I’m standing by the mango tree, naming the ground.

The beginning (Putih, Google, and seven tiny storms)

• Putih showed up first: skinny, stubborn, collar on, shower-hating, loved by the lane. One day he wandered and never came home.

• We adopted a pregnant stray we called Coklat (my cousin, chaotic neutral, renamed her Google).

• She had seven puppies: six boys, one girl. Rehoming local pups was hard, but kind adopters found four. We kept Moka (mocha fur), Jiro (don’t ask why: family lore), and Kinpoy (kinpatsu hair, anime brain).

I left for Japan two weeks. I came back; Google was gone. Soon after, Kinpoy died in an accident. The person apologized properly. I still hated reality. Grief and logic rarely shake hands.

Two brothers who fought over food (and everything else)

Moka and Jiro stayed. They argued like siblings, loved like siblings.
Moka had a bad accident once. We ran to the vet with swollen eyes and no pride. It cost a lot. It was worth it. He lived, limping and determined.

We trained them not to roam. Jiro preferred the garage, Moka still flirted with freedom like Putih did. Our street sits too close to the main road. People see; not everyone understands.

The two goodbyes

In November, I found Moka lying by our door the same way he had during the first accident. Except this time, there was no breath to call back. We buried him by the mango tree.

Yesterday, I bathed Jiro, combed his fleas, hugged him a ridiculous number of times. He smelled like soap and second chances. Today I came home with treats and found him sleeping near my car, the kind of quiet you can’t wake.

Now they’re together. I’m trying to be okay with sentences that end there.

Things I wish people knew (about “just local dogs”)

• Collars and vaccines matter. Mine had both. They weren’t “strays.”

• Local doesn’t mean less. It means ours.

• Culling is common here. Fear of rabies becomes fear of any dog. 

• Please notice the collar before you raise a hand. 

• Please notice the person who loves them.

I’m not here to blame a stranger and carry that weight forever. I’m here to say I loved them, and losing them this way hurts worse than age or illness. It feels preventable, even when I can’t point to a single villain.

What I can do next (and maybe you can, too)

• Keep pets inside/secured near busy roads. Freedom with fences.

• Tag collars with name + phone. Make it obvious: someone’s family.

• Talk to neighbors/security about vaccinated community pets.

• Support local rescues; share adoption posts for local dogs (they’re the last picked and the first lost).

• Teach kids to read dog body language. Fear shrinks when knowledge grows.

For Moka & Jiro (and Putih, and Kinpoy)

You waited by the garage for the sound of our keys. You ate like the world would steal your bowl. You learned “no,” “stay,” and my footsteps. I didn’t protect you perfectly. I wish I had. I hope puppyland has mango shade and zero traffic.

I’m still deciding about adopting again. Love is brave; I’m tired. 

For now, I’ll water the mango tree and say your names until they sound like thank you.

ikkel