I once had a dog named Spring. She was a black and white Shih Tzu, the cutest little thing you’d ever see. I was young when I received her as a surprise gift from my dad, along with her brother, named Winter. Unfortunately, since we lived in a very small neighborhood and house back then, having a dog was tough, with neighbors constantly complaining.
When my dad got sick, Spring was temporarily adopted by my aunt. I thought I would eventually get her back, but since we didn’t really have the capacity to care for her, I was forced to let her go and stay with my aunt’s family. She was truly loved there, which gave me peace of mind. But losing her was my first heartbreak, one that never really healed. I only found closure when I was able to be there during her final moments and say goodbye.
A New Chapter: Calcifer
Fast forward to college, and we moved into a new home. This time, I felt ready to have a dog again. I’d been pestering my parents for one and dreaming of having a Golden Retriever. But truly, my dad—who loves surprises—came home one day with a puppy. He had traded one of his birds in exchange for him.
At first, we were told he was a beagle, but as he grew, we realized he was a half-breed. Still, he was perfect in every way. I named him Calcifer, or Calci for short, after my favorite movie Howl’s Moving Castle.
From the very beginning, he was special. He jumped and jumped, showing off his strong legs and energy. He was smart, playful, and stubborn, and he knew what he was doing was wrong; he just kept doing it because he was just as stubborn, which kept testing my patience but making me laugh all the same. During his puppy phase, he was a little scaredy-dog—afraid of loud noises and heights. But whenever he was scared, he always ran to me. He would sit next to me, cuddle, and make me feel like I was his safe place.
We hung out so much that he tends to mirror some of my traits, like a slow walker inside the house, sweet but can be feisty when triggered, and gentle.
My Pandemic Baby
Calci grew up during the pandemic, which is why I call him my pandemic baby. He didn’t have much chance to socialize, which made him shy with other people at first, but he was always my light during those dark days.
The stress of online classes, endless assessments, not having a life outside, and the constant fear of the pandemic often weighed me down. But Calci was there. He became my happy pill, the one who saved me from slipping into depression. He could sense when I was sad, and whenever he saw me cry, he would come over, sit with me, and let me hug him.
Calci was smart and learned many tricks—patience, sit, stand, handshake, and even “go.” He was my protector, my playmate, my partner in mischief, and my cuddly bibu (my cute word for “baby”).
Our Bond
He brought joy and laughter into our home. Before Calci, the house was quiet—but with him, it became alive and noisy in the best way.
He was spoiled in his own funny ways. He didn’t like drinking water, so I often spoon-fed him. He refused to eat unless I made his food “special,” usually with chicken liver, his favorite. His toys weren’t expensive—just plastic bottles or laundry he’d sneak away and toss around. I’d often play tug of war with him over stolen clothes, frustrated then, but now it makes me laugh looking back.
I loved celebrating his birthdays, showing him how grateful I was that he was part of my life. He became a great passenger prince, enjoying road trips with us—always claiming the passenger seat to look out the window.
Calci wasn’t just my dog. He was family. He was best friends with Brix (my adopted senior dog), Miggy (my cat), and even the stray cats I had adopted. He never fought with them. He was protective not just of me and my family, but of all my pets.
He was my baby boy, always and forever.
The Heartbreak
Calci once had a UTI; he peed blood with white particles, and it shocked me so much that I cried while walking him home. It was heartbreaking because I love that dog deeply, yet at the time, I didn’t have the financial means to bring him to the vet and get him treated. Thankfully, with my parents’ help, Calci’s UTI was cured. The vet said it was mainly because he didn’t drink enough water, so I often had to spoon-feed him. He was so “pabebe”—funny and frustrating all at once.
I always knew that one day I’d have to face a world without Calci, but I thought it would be years from now. I imagined him staying with me well into my 30s, and when the time finally came, passing peacefully from old age. Never did I imagine he would leave this way.
Just this past September 2025, I had been living alone while my parents were away. I was learning to manage meals, chores, and the weight of independence, but I never truly felt alone, because Calci was there. He was my companion, the one who made the house feel full.
But on October 3, 2025, everything changed.
There was a typhoon that day. While we were busy cutting orchids for my mom to bring on her trip, Calci slipped out. I wasn’t too worried at first; he knew the entire village by heart ever since he was a puppy and always came home every single time. We had no choice but to leave for the airport with my mom. While driving, I kept looking for him, but there was no trace. I didn’t expect it would be the last time I’d see him alive, because whenever we were away and he slipped out, he would always wait at the garage, patiently waiting for us to come home.
That night, when I got home, Calci wasn’t there. Panic filled me. I called the guards, posted on the village page, and prayed for good news. Instead, I was messaged by another homeowner who had seen my posts. She showed me a screenshot of another fb post in the village page on how there had been an accident hours ago. A speeding car going beyond the village’s speed limit had hit a dog, and the driver didn’t even stop to check the dog’s condition. But at that moment, I am still hoping that it was impossible, that dog isn’t Calci.
When I received the call from the homeowner’s office, that there was a dog that fit my description but was now dead, I had already broken down alone, and the house had never felt so empty and sad without Calci consoling me and my parents in another place. I then arrived at the Homeowner’s office, and the lady guard instantly hugged me, and when I felt that hug, I just cried and cried as my heart shattered into pieces, but my heart, which was pounding so hard, wouldn’t calm down until I had seen my baby boy, and that’s when I saw him—my beloved Calci—wrapped in a sack. My heart shattered. My sweet, spoiled boy, who always like being clean didn’t deserve to be wrapped in a sack, and had to leave this world like that. I asked them to show me his face, and when they did, I broke down. It was really him.
All I wanted was to take him home and give him peace.
That night, I couldn’t bury him yet. My neighbors told me to rest, but I didn’t sleep, as I couldn’t stop crying. My heart was filled with sadness and frustration about why no one contacted me when Calci had a collar and a nametag with my number on it, about how long Calci was left for dead until he was picked up by the guards, and not one guard even gave the slightest effort to find Calci’s family, until I had to come and look for him, and on how long was Calci waiting for me to take him home. By morning, with a rusty shovel and injured hands from trying to dig the hardened and dried soil, I tried to dig his grave again. My neighbors eventually helped me, and together, we buried Calci and my kitten Bunso, who had also died that night in a tragic accident.
As if that wasn’t enough, the next day, another kitten of mine, Tabby, passed away too, mentally traumatized and weakened after witnessing Bunso’s death. I grew numb as I witnessed Tabby lose his life in front of my eyes, as I couldn’t do anything; he didn’t want to live anymore. And again, I dug another grave for another beloved pet with shaking hands and a pounding heart.
As I settled Tabby into his grave, I couldn’t help myself remember the times I had been so excited for the kittens to be born, how I made them take medicines every 2x a day, every 12 hours for 7 days just to save them, and make them healthy, how I monitored them as they grew up, and how I would put eye drops into there eyes that was filled with eye rheum. With that, in the span of three days, I lost three beloved pets.
October 6, I saw the CCTV footage, and it was heartbreaking to witness Calci’s last moments. My neighbor was with me when I watched it, and she reminded me to see the good side of things, that I didn’t get to see the exact moment of the accident, which would have only caused me more pain. Unfortunately, the camera didn’t capture the actual moment when Calci was hit, as it was angled downwards. They only fixed it after the incident. It turns out Calci was already on his way home when the accident happened, just 20 minutes after he slipped out. Like a true adventurer, I saw him on the footage happily running with a smile. I just hope no one ever has to experience this kind of pain.
My Farewell
I can’t explain the emptiness and silence that fill the house now. Miggy still cries, missing his dog best friend. I cry endlessly, missing Calci as well. He had just turned 5 this September, and I was already planning his birthday celebration in November.
Why him? Why now? Those questions haunt me. But in the middle of my grief, I remind myself to be thankful. God gave me five years with the sweetest, funniest, most loyal, and best friend.
As Sarah Hoggan, DVM, once said:
“The grief of losing a pet is valid because you didn’t lose a thing—you lost someone who is close to you and someone special. Emotional pain is just as painful as physical pain, and no such rescue exists for emotional pain.”
And that is true. Because Calci wasn’t just a pet. He was my family, my sunshine, my protector, my greatest treasure. He looked at me with love and innocence, and I will never forget that.
With a heavy heart, I say my final goodbye to you, my Calcifer. You will always be my baby boy, my best friend, my bibu. Thank you for giving me your unconditional love.
Rest well, and until we meet again. I love you.
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