Duque was our first and only dog; he was a cross between Boxer and something else we never knew. At the time the tradition said boxers, as well as some other breeds had to have their tail and ears cut. Duque had his tail cut, but somehow his ears were not touched and were longish and had a soft feeling like suede.
When Duque arrived to our house he was a newly born or as close to that as nature allowed him to be severed from his mom. He was so small that my father could hold him in the palm of his hand. It was a little mischievous little kid, grating everything and to my mother dismay, peeing also everywhere. It took few days to potty train him. At the time we lived in a rather big house that had a nice garden all around, so Duque was free to run around in and outside the house. Every Sunday, as usual my father and sometimes the rest of the family went out to the countryside for a long day hike. My mom would prepare a delicious lunch, and there we went. At first the hikes were too long for Duque, so after a while my father had to carry him inside his jacket, just his little head out or sometimes not even, as Duque enjoyed the warm place and took a siesta. He very timely woke up when lunch was ready and loved to run along. Taking the dogs out in a leash was the rule in the city or inhabited areas, but where father went for his hikes most of the time was open wilderness and although Duque had his collar, the leash was not used so his freedom was total. He quickly learned to run after butterflies, tried to run after small animals but mostly he ran from other animals, all were friendly but not too much!
Very quickly Duque and father became an item. They were inseparable 24/7 and when during the week father had to go out, Duque would wait for him close to the door and would be excited when father returned. On Sundays he knew without any doubt that it was Sunday and that after father’s return from mass they would have breakfast and pack their lunch, water and off they went. He learned to co-pilot from the back seat of the car and to my memory never was carsick.
Duque grew very fast and with so much exercise also grew very strong, when it was necessary to take him to the vet or other urban outing; it was mostly he taking you for a walk. Since he did not go out in the city very often, when that happened he would pull you all over to smell and leave his mark everywhere. I believe he also wanted to play with all the kids of the neighbourhood but being so big and impressive, it was practically impossible to let him free.
In the living room he chose a corner of the main sofa as HIS place and nobody dared to ask him to move, except sometimes visitors did not know about his place or did not care and decided to sit exactly there. Duque did not like that a bit and very softly and full of smiles, managed to move the invader from his place and sat there, as long and as firmly as he could and the visitors had to move. Few times the visitors complained that we allowed many privileges to a “simple dog” and then the whole family hurried to inform them that Duque was not a simple dog, he was part of the family and with all the privileges that this implied. If they liked it, fine if not tough luck for the guests.
When Duque was already a teenager or dog-equivalent, somebody gave my sister a tiny cat named Pearl. She was a nice little thing but with sharpened nails and her teeth were also ready to bite and play. She and Duque never really became the best and inseparable of friends and Pearl died few months after her arrival, I do not remember the cause, but I can say Duque was not too sad for that.
The Sunday outings were for both my father and Duque time in paradise. My father had been hiking since a very young age and Duque too, as my father would take him out since he was a very young puppy. I believe we all went through the “it is Sunday, let us go for a long walk in the countryside”. I was also taken out since I was few months old, until the age of 17, when I declared my independence and went out sometimes, but not all Sundays. Duque on the other hand seemed to live for the Sunday outings.
Duque was as mentioned before one with my father and my father loved to sing, had taught me to sing since I was a kid, on the way to school we would always go singing old Mexican songs and of course on Sundays we all sang them. My father had a recorder to accompany his songs and soon discovered that Duque either enjoyed it very much and sang along or hated the notes and howled to complain. The fact was that when we had a break during the hike and my father was in the mood, he would pull out the recorder and start playing it, Duque accompanied him and it really looked like both were singing. For both of them Sundays were the days to live for.
As time went by, my father grew old, don’t we all? He started having some serious health problems. First he had a heart attack that limited his movements and was not supposed to go out alone, just in case the attacks repeated. A year later he had a thrombosis that left him paralyzed on the left side and had to wear glasses in order to read, one of his passions. He did not like the idea of glasses and I only remember him wearing them for a picture, later on they were left in a drawer as souvenir. He was no longer allowed to drive and then became very dependent for every outing, especially the Sunday outings for which a friend of the family was kind enough to pick them (father and Duque) for their Sunday day outside. Another year passed and unfortunately my father started developing gangrene on both legs, there was not much to do about it and as he could not move, of course the problem worsened and Duque knew father was ill, but did not understand that he was not allowed to get on the bed with my father. We had a hospital bed because being higher that his regular one, it was easier for all the medical care that father required but that for Duque was a problem. The dog did not get younger either, and jumping on the higher bed was hard, he would be crying to be let up and although any movement must have been very painful for father, he always asked us to help the dog so they could siesta together.
One day around lunch time finally my father passed away and it was of course very painful for all of us, but for Duque it was a pain he could not express except hauling and haul he did and it got even worse when he was locked up while the funerary arrangements were on. After Duque lost his friend, his father and his companion he became rather more subdued and continued to get older and to show it to the point that finally he had to be put to sleep. His loss was very painful for me and during a long time every time I saw a dog, regardless of the race, memories of Duque returned and the feeling of having lost them, him and father still hurts.
Mementos of my life 