Flowers to My Monica

It's been 10 days since my dog Monica died.  I'm still grieving.  

I remember how she used to force herself to sleep again and then again, while waiting for me to wake up late into the middle of the day.  

I remember how she used to amuse herself by running the first few meters of our long hallway, and then continue by sliding till the end of the hall, again and again . . .

I remember how she used to demand her daily drives every morning from my Dad, waiting for her turn to be driven around . . . she seemed to know each time, which car will be used when.

I remember how she used groan and cry-growl at me, trying to beg-demand for her to be scratched and petted . . .

I remember when she used to be so mad at me for leaving her alone in my condo for hours on end, she'd chew each and every phone charger's end I had in the house.

I remember how she got dognapped, in my condo and returned three days after.

I remember how she used to own the leather couch in my first apartment, when she was still a pup, she'd try to scare people who sat on the couch, since she was always on top of it.

I remember how she used to bully our huge Rottweiler Napoleon, despite their size difference.  Napoleon always defers to royalty.

I remember how she used to bully the help around the house . . . and demand for whatever it is she wanted at the moment.

I remember how she used to demand for her bath, every 2 or 3 days, she would wait at her doggy bath tub until someone finally came to give in to her need.

I remember Monica, my dog.  Don Miguel's princess pup.  

She's now peacefully buried by her favorite tree in a corner of our garden.