milou.

If you think I must have heard that question for thousands of times in my life, you might be right. Ask me to confirm the number of times.

Hi. I’m Tintin.
Oh, really? Where’s Snowy?
(laughs, as though it’s the smartest question on earth ever to be asked by a human being.)

So here, all of you precise surveyors of the Hergé heritage: I’ve found my Snowy.

snowy4.jpg

Her Ruangrupa dads call her Mentos, but that’s only because they didn’t think of me when they found her.

snowy2.jpg snowy3.jpg
(How could they forget me!)

Snowy continuously scratched, and Ameng continuously tried to convince me and Sari that it’s just her attitude as a dog having grown up without an adult dog role model.

The dog has only been playing with cats. And human perhaps. In fact, she even also tried to imitate me speaking her name. Men, pause – for clarity – tos, and so on. She would lick her lips for the first syllable, pause for clarity, and lick her lips again for the second syllable.

By the time I thought she would finally made it to say her name, she would scratch again.

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One night, I and Sari couldn’t hold it any longer. I thought that if Snowy kept scratching herself, she would start to develop eczema or something like that. Whether this was reverse logic or not, I don’t really care. It was 2AM, and after failing to find a hair-dryer and a decent towel, we decided that we would bathe her anyway.

We did. Ameng visited us in the bathroom.

We toweled her as much as we could, and encouraged her to run around to let her fur dry. Inside the gallery only, though, not outside where she usually likes to play.

Sari said that she smells good. Sure. She had a lot of dirt on her fur before.

A few minutes later she paused from her running, sat down in front of us,

and,

started scratching again.

snowy1.jpg

See, Ameng said. It’s just her dog-ish attitude.