Things.

2016 – 2026

The Best Boy. Forever.

I got Lochius back in 2016, about a month after I got my first dog, Elise. I wasn't looking for another dog at first — but there was a time when we had to go out of town earlier that day and Elise was left at home inside her pen, alone with only a helper to come check on her every two to three hours for feeding and her business. I had taken her out before leaving and assured her we would be back quick, but when we came back later that day, part of the fence had already been pushed down, and she looked so confused. Like she had been looking for people and didn't understand why no one was there. That stayed with me. After that, I knew she needed a companion.

I looked into different breeds and had originally avoided Labradors — they're messy by nature, high-energy when young, and need a lot of attention. At the time, I was working night shifts and commuting four to five hours a day between the province and Manila. One dog was already difficult enough. But with a twist of fate, I found a kennel near our place with a good pedigree. It turns out they breed Labradors. I took a chance, scheduled a viewing, and went.

When I arrived, I was told that there was a recent litter of seven and only three remained. I still remember seeing him there. He was this big black fluff among the bunch, with two of his brown siblings playing with each other. The two other puppies rushed toward me the moment they saw me. But he was different. He seemed unsure, almost hesitant. I was certain he was afraid of heights because the cage was slightly elevated by a few inches and he was afraid to go down. He wasn't as active as the others. Normally, you'd pick the playful, energetic one. But for some reason, I felt drawn to him, and I thought that he was perfect for my lifestyle — laid-back, slow and cautious, and quiet. I kept thinking about him after I left. Eventually, I decided to go back, and as fate would have it, he was the only one left. So I agreed to take him.

— ✦ —

I still remember that day so clearly. I picked him up at the subdivision gate. He was so small. It felt like a little bowl of happiness had just been handed to me. All he did was lick me as I carried him up. I carried him until we got inside the community gates, and then we walked home. He was so happy and playful, as puppies usually are.

He met Elise for the first time, and they instantly clicked. All they did was play and play all afternoon. She would ask him to chase her, and he would, and they would just go back and forth. If you were looking closely enough, you’d say that she was showing him around. I still have that video. From that moment on, he was family. He became the Neil Fak (baby boy) of the family. I named him Lockheed after the X-Men character and companion of Kitty Pryde, because he was always going to be Elise’s companion for life. Of course, his full family name is different (Lochius Magnus-Grey).

We established a little routine: I'd come home from the night shift in the morning and walk them. Then I’d take them out to watch the cars and buses in our front yard pass by, just before I left for work in the afternoon. That went on for years and years — seven years, nearly without a single miss. The only days I skipped were when I had to stay in Manila, and even then, my mom, my sisters, and my dad took care of them. My dad always brought them treats. My mom always made sure they were safe and fed. Those walks were part of life. Part of home. Part of happiness.

Even during COVID, and when Taal Volcano erupted and we were stuck away from home, my mum had already made a plan — the dogs get evacuated first. I'll always be grateful for that.

— ✦ —

When we moved to our new home about two years ago, he and Elise became the guardians of the house. Those first months were strange and unsettling, especially at night, but they stayed alert. Always watching. Always protecting. And once the weirdness settled, Lockheed settled into his favorite thing — running through the garden, chasing and being chased, being part of the pack. His mum and I expanded the garden so they wouldn’t have to walk outside the gates and they could chase each other endlessly around the property.

By then there were already four of them, and he naturally became the big brother to all of them. On cold evenings, after a bath or under the air conditioning, Oreo, our younger one, would press himself against Lochius’s back for warmth. He was always a warm dog — he had that kind of presence.

— ✦ —

About a year and a half ago, he started limping on his right leg, and our family veterinarian said that it’s common for a dog his age to develop arthritis. As time went by, his condition became more noticeable. Walking became harder. He couldn't go as far anymore.

The last six months were especially hard. On good days, he could still walk to the garden, stand in the sun, drink water, and watch everyone. On bad days, even going outside was a ten-minute journey — walk, stop, rest, walk, stop again. Sometimes he'd just stay in the lanai and wait for the others to come back to him.

In his last week, he started coughing a lot until we saw pinkish drops on the floor. We found out he had pneumonia. His heart was also enlarged. The pain had gotten worse. His bone spurs were worsening. He couldn't lie on his back the way he used to. He moved more carefully now. More slowly.

It was painful to watch, because I knew he still wanted to be there with us. He still wanted to join in. He still wanted to live the life he loved. His body just couldn't keep up anymore. But he watched. And he waited. And he was present in every way he still could be.

And still, he remained a happy dog.

Even in pain, when he saw familiar faces — my mom, my dad, my sisters, and his mum — he would try to stand up and come closer. He still wanted to say hello. He still wanted to be part of everything. That was Lockheed. Even when his body was failing him, his heart never stopped loving.

He was always happy. Always ready to greet anyone who walked through the door, always wanting to be noticed, always wanting to say hello. He loved belly rubs and face rubs. He had this way of nudging you with his big head just to get your attention — softly, persistently, lovingly. When he met Dayanara, he loved her immediately, like she was his mum. He loved being near the people he loved. He was never just a dog in the house. He was part of the soul of it.

Just last Friday afternoon, I was outside trimming one of my hibiscus trees, and he was just there, beside his tub of water, watching me; watching his mum water the garden; watching his siblings walk around. At one point, he stood up and walked toward the Jacaranda tree we had planted about two years ago. I followed him and watched him do his business. I talked to him for a bit, then led him back toward the house. I had no idea that would be our last real moment together.

We lost him just half past midnight on Saturday. His big, kind heart gave out. The stress of his ailments and the pain were just too much for his frail body to bear. He passed just 32 days short of his 10th birthday.

I still can't fully accept it. I’m still processing it. His mum, his aunties, his gramps, and I are all devastated — completely, utterly devastated. It happened so fast. We weren't ready for it. I feel inconsolable. Every morning I wake up and look at their pen downstairs, I’ll always see the huge empty space that was once his. He was with me for a quarter of my life, and it was a decade-long experience of love and happiness.

I don't think there is ever enough time for a goodbye. It felt so abrupt; it caught us off guard. Even when you prepare yourself for it, it never really prepares you for it. You still wish for more time. One more day. One more afternoon in the sun. One more chance to sit beside them and tell them how much they mean to you.

But if there is one thing I hold onto, it's this: his last day was not all pain. He had a beautiful afternoon. He was outside, beside his tub of water, on the grass, watching his siblings play, watching his mum water the grass he so fondly loved to lie down on, watching me trim the hibiscus tree he always liked to smell. He was there — in a place he loved, with the people and life he loved around him.

He was a good dog. The best boy. He never had a bad bone in his entire body. He only ever brought good things into this world. He was not human, and yet he gave more love than many people ever could. He made this world better just by being in it.

I miss you, buddy. You made our home brighter. You made our lives fuller. You gave comfort, joy, loyalty, warmth, and love — without ever asking for anything more than to be near us. You had wings long before you left us, because you were always that good.

Run free now. Eat all the food you want, swim around the most beautiful lakes and enjoy yourself while you wait for us. It may take a while, but we will see you again.

And if you ever miss us, you are always welcome to come back. This is our forever home — and it will always be yours too.

Thank you for the flowers, my boy. Your mum and I appreciate them.

For now, just have fun. Look for old friends in heaven. Look for Arya for us, so she won't be alone anymore. Be the good big brother to her the way you always were here. She would have loved you.

We'll take care of your siblings. We'll hold everyone close for you. Your mum and I promise you that.

And if you ever want to come back to us, just let us know it's you.

We love you forever.

We will never forget you.

Until we meet again.

— Lochius Magnus-Grey “Lockheed”, May 20, 2016–April 18, 2026. 32 days shy of ten years. —