Remembering the yellow dogs

Yesterday, the same bus (well, not *the* same bus but you know what I mean -- you take the same bus to work every day) took me past the same field and I looked for Yellow Dog as I passed. Not surprisingly, there was no sign of it. Like it had never been there. But I don't think I could forget it. Like I couldn't forget the other dignified dog in the Kembangan field and I had to look back in my journal to see how long ago that was -- six years.

I am under no illusions about the life of a stray. Kembangan Dog, despite all its quiet dignity, may not have lasted six weeks, let alone six months. And I remember all the animals that have crossed my path. Not just those who came to stay, but also those who took a meal and drink, and went on their way. Some came back regularly enough to get names which they never recognised nor acknowledged. A handful wanted to stay but vociferous objections from current residents whose views had to be respected meant that they had exciting rides to the SPCA. And those whom I watched from a distance and who never knew they had left an impression. And I wonder, do they remember me too? Do they even know that somehow, they have become entwined in my memory, and hence, my life.