PAWS AND REMEMBRANCE: SAYING GOODBYE TO PETS TODAY

It was a shock, in the way that losing someone with an oversized personality and an even bigger heart always is. But time, as they say, is a bitch. And unlike dogs, time doesn't care much for loyalty or walkies. Hammie, on the other hand, did.

- RICARDO T. PAMINTUAN

He left us on a quiet day, at home, among his people. He had been in and out of hospital for months and had spent his last week in a cage before being discharged. At home—his home for the past nine years—he went peacefully to that great kennel in the sky.

Hammie wasn't just a pet; he was my apo, my granddog, brought into our lives by my daughter nine years ago from a breeder in Quezon City.

From his first awkward attempts at walking with a leash to his final snooze in our living room—which he refused to soil from day one—he taught us many things: Never trust a cute but silent corgi (they're cantankerous and won't hesitate to take a bite at you); any food left unattended for 0.3 seconds is fair game; and love, in its purest form, often comes on four short legs and a butt that wiggles like it has its own personality.

I remember not too long ago, that when a beloved pet passed, it almost automatically meant a simple backyard burial: towel wrapped, interred in a shoebox or improvised wooden crate, and committed to a patch of earth behind the mango tree. Now, we could see how much that world has changed.

A small but steadily growing industry stands ready to help families who want to say goodbye with the same quiet dignity we give human kin: cremation, urns and keepsakes, little viewing rooms with piped-in music, and even a designated person to say a prayer or a blessing.