There was never a year in my life that I can remember that our family didn't have a dog with us. As far as my memory can take me, all the members of our family are dog lovers. When I was in kindergarten, we had a white furry dog. At an early age, our parents taught us taking up responsibility little by little starting with cleaning the dog's poop, or helping in giving him a bath and/or preparing his food.
When we moved to a different region, me and my siblings were told that we couldn't bring that white dog with us. At that time, I was not yet attached to him. So it did not matter whether or not he was going to move with us. At that same year, I remember my mother feeding a random stray dog in our village. From then on, we sort of considered that dog somewhat ours for he stays a few hours in a day and then leaves whenever he pleases. I guess he was just there for the free food. Every year for five consecutive years were moving to a different address for reasons I didn't understand as a child that time. All of our dogs that time were given to us by family and friends. We never bought a dog. All of them were 'Aspins' which is a short term for Asong Pinoy (mixed breeds of dog in the Philippines). Some of them died the natural way: either too old or got sick. Some just got hit by vehicles when they wander. And every time a dog of ours dies, my siblings and I cry.
About eight years ago, one of my brothers came home with a black puppy. A few months before that, our half-Pitbull momma dog, Tchai, died due to pyometra (uterine infection). We thought of a simple name suitable for a black dog he found in the streets. We decided to name the dog 'Duhat' (a black berry species). Almost a year after that, my younger brother brought home a white furry pup. He said his girlfriend (at that time) gave him the puppy as a gift. We called him 'Bulak' that means 'cotton' in English. This dog is the most cuddly, softest and hyper one we've ever had. And he never stinks even though he has a rather thick fur. Few months forward, my brother was carrying another small pup that looks like a hotdog. This time, a female dog. He said our neighbor asked him to look out for her because their other dog was not keen on sharing attention. In the end, Lucy became ours.
One insignificant day, a dog with scabs and skin disease was wandering outside of our gate. He was almost emaciated but his bone structure was obviously not of a small dog. Of course, my brother feeds him and adopted him, officially named him Grot. He is now a fat-bellied but muscular dog. Confusing, huh? Grot has many names and he responds to them all. Grotboi. Fat doggo. Happy doggo (because he grins). Macho dog, etc.
The most recent rescue dog that we have is a brown Aspin, a not so furry one. We used to call him GrampaDog because he looked old although he is very active and gentle at the same time. He is a stray dog who lives in the subdivision where we bought our house. As usual, my older brother just started feeding him since we moved there. From then on, he started to stay at the shed of our house and he finally asked for belly rubs and the works. One day, my brother noticed he was limping and saw one of his paws was swelling and had a wound. At that time, we were not sure of the possibility of him biting us when we try to tend to his wound. My brother decided to call for a veterinarian's home service and paid for everything. When the dog's finally well, we tried to give him a bath and succeeded. Lo and behold! He looked younger! Maybe less than two human years.
It's more of an adventure adopting a dog than to shop for one. I feel that adopted dogs are more grateful and loving than the usual dogs that I grew up with. It's not easy caring for a lot of furry friends. The cost of dog food and vet fees don't go down even a bit. But what the heck! They're considered as family.