On March 14, 2010, a 10-year-old girl’s dream came true when a little brown Cairn Terrier leapt out of a box – and straight into my heart. I named him Delgado, after the courageous German Shepherd from “Beverly Hills Chihuahua”.
Delgado was special not because he disliked other dogs but because he so often seemed more human than canine. At just a year old, he claimed a pillow from the sofa for himself after watching us sleep on ours.
He refused to step on wet grass, dirt, or even a damp bathroom floor. He would demand food from the dining table before touching his own.
He developed habits eerily like ours: peeing in the house when he was angry, joining us for Friday night prayers, insisting on going to bed at 10pm (sharp), and drinking water only from my bottle.
He had better sleep hygiene and hydration habits than I did.
Car rides thrilled him more than walks, and he steadfastly refused to give his paw for a handshake, no matter how much we tried. Delgado was stubborn, yes, but always in a way that made us laugh.
Still, he never let us forget he was a dog. He had his zoomies after doing his business, scratched the door when nature called, and charged to my side if he thought I was being attacked – even if it was just my parents tickling me.
He stayed beside me through late-night study sessions, Netflix marathons, and the darker days of my teenage years.
Although we all loved him, Delgado chose me. My parents and my brother met him first when we adopted him from Sungai Petani, Kedah – yet he always returned to me.
He followed me from room to room and slept beside me every night for a decade. Lying next to him, feeling his small chest rise and fall, was my greatest comfort.
Even when my father warned I might develop asthma from sleeping so close to him, I couldn’t give it up. It felt right.
When I went abroad to study, Delgado would sulk and give me the silent treatment for three whole days when I returned. It took endless affection and treats to win him back. He was tough to please, but always worth it.
He also had his favourites: my mum’s chicken curry, and my dad, to whom he always turned when he felt unwell. Somehow, only my father could nurse him back to health.
He feared nothing – not thunder, lightning, or even the sight of a giant monitor lizard. But I always knew his greatest fear: losing his family.
Delgado didn’t have the smoothest journey. He endured three major bladder surgeries for recurrent renal stones, yet came through stronger every time, fighting for another day with us.
Last month, at the golden age of 14, his body finally gave in to worn joints and failing teeth.
He passed on Aug 17, surrounded by his favourite people – my parents and me. I prayed to Lord Bhairavaa for time with him, and my prayers were answered.
His last hours were a fight, but also a gift: a final chance to hold him close, to say goodbye, and to watch him slip peacefully into rest.
Cairn Terriers, once celebrated as hardy working dogs from the Scottish Highlands, are now dwindling in numbers worldwide. They are considered a vulnerable breed, quietly inching towards extinction.
To have shared 14 years with one of the last of his kind makes me feel even more privileged – because Delgado was not only unique in spirit, he was part of a disappearing lineage. His smile, his quirks, his stubbornness: they were the echo of a breed that may not be here forever.
Until his last breath, he didn’t ever give a handshake. Not only was he stubborn, he was stubborn to the end – and that made him absolutely human.
This article was written by Abhilashini Gunaseelan. Read more pet stories here.
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