I had 30 or so cousins. We were quite a gang. We were fearless – we rode on the back of a truck together at top speed without any form of protection, and would even howl in enjoyment when the tires would meet a speed bump, wind on our faces and on our countenances, pure joy. We would go cavorting to the fair together and overwhelm the ferris wheel operator with our sheer number, or go swimming, or see a procession, candles dripping, and heckle whomever we wanted to. We went to vacations riding a jeepney that had a wooden plank in the middle so all of us will fit because it is unthinkable for us to be apart. We told stories as we ate, any and all stories, and slept side by side on makeshift beds.

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They say that you can never truly own a Maltese. It owns you. That cannot be truer than Yoyow. I bid her come and she looks at me, lying down, wagging her tail slightly, with her come-hither-yeah-NO-YOU-COME-TO-ME-look and I can only shake my head and walk to her, the brat.

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