Tequila!

On this night ten years ago, I was having dinner at Bangsar Shopping Complex with two friends from work. It was Malathi's birthday, so Debbie and I took her out for dinner to celebrate. We were nearing the end of the meal when my handphone rang. It was Mummy, calling to let me know that Whisky was pregnant, after all (I had suspected she might be, but it was so difficult to tell with her), and had just had a puppy in the kitchen! I had to rush home at once, of course - thank goodness I was just a few minutes away! When I got back, there he was, this big-pawed, frowny-face puppy in the kitchen with his proud, happy mama. Whisky had always been a lovey-dovey, mother-like dog, and I think she was thrilled to have her very own baby. All those nights she spent tenderly licking his ears while he grew droopy-eyed ... I'm sure he misses that. Burgundy wasn't quite sure what the little ball of fur was when Tequila was born, but he ended up being a good papa and seemed quite proud of his big son. I love the photos we have of them as a family. They were the only intact family of dogs we've had, which makes them and the memories of Whisky and Burgie even more special.

Tequila was the only pup in the litter, and I've often wondered if it was that, or his grandfather's Rottweiler genes, that made him so big. As Mummy loves saying, Tequila fooled us because he had such a squashed nose and frown-filled face when he was born that we thought he'd look like his father. (I think Burgie was the most squashed-face Boxer we've had.) But Tequila, and his snout, grew and grew ... He's still an exceedingly handsome dog, even though he does not look completely like a Boxer. I really do believe he thinks he is a member of the family, not a dog.

I had him house-trained at two weeks, which still amazes me, and he's never had an accident in the house. I think he'd be horrified if he did! He's such a funny mixture of fun and dignity (though Scotty still takes the prize for elegance). Some of his other training, like walking instead of pulling when on the leash, has apparently been forgotten from lack of practice. I guess that's my fault for leaving him when he was just three. He used to be quite good before that, when we went for walks, but these days, when he sees the leash, it seems to tell him he gets to attack the vet. And I know that it was Whisky who made him paranoid about having any sort of medication put on him, because she used to run off like a wild horse if she ever needed ointment put on her. He watched and learned from his parents ... all the wrong lessons. Except for pulling clothes off the clothesline - that was one trick his father kept trying to teach him, but Tequila refused to succumb to that sort of temptation. He is such a good dog - the only non-destructive Boxer we've had, I think. Must be because he's not a full Boxer.

I miss him terribly (but he would be insanely jealous of Beau, so it's just as well he's not here) and hope his mixed heritage means he'll live longer than any of the other dogs we've had. Buster set the bar high here at 17, and it would be good if Tequila could at least match that.

Happy birthday, sweet puppy. I'm sending you lots of hugs and kisses.