Yesterday, Aug 5, 2013, my little giant fur ball, Oboe Matalqa, turned 11. I got Oboe on Sept 23, 2002 when he was only seven weeks old, and felt so much reluctance at the end of the day because Cello, who was five months at the time, kept trying to eat his head. He was jealous that I’d brought another puppy into our lives. We found him at a farm in Grove City, Ohio that had posted an ad in the newspaper. Oboe (born Sammy Joe VIII) was the first puppy to come play with us, and I decided to bring him home.
It seemed impossible to convince Cello that this was now his little brother and he must love him. I had to separate them, and by the end of the night felt that I had made a mistake in bringing this fragile little guy home (though he did stand up for himself). I called the lady I bought him from and asked if I could return him, for his own safety. She said it’s only natural to have sibling rivalry. Just give them a chance.
I kept them separated while I was at work, and Cello refused to make eye contact with me for two weeks. I had betrayed our inseparable bond, man and his best friend. What the hell was this pet doing in the middle of it all? He wanted him returned as soon as possible. Eventually of course, Oboe started throwing himself at Cello, jumping at him, and they started playing together, chasing one another like Tom and Jerry, and they would soon realize that this was the deal: Amin, Cello, and Oboe, until death do us part. It would turn out to be the deepest friendship of my life.
The amount of laughs our little Oboe has brought into our lives, and all the warm and fuzzy moments, are impossible to capture with words. All I can say is how grateful I am to not have returned this little guy that night. He has taught me that all the stress of work and transition and uncertainty doesn’t matter, as long as you can take a simple walk and flip upside down on the couch.
Thank you Oboe for being our teacher and my eternal bear.