Background: SinceApollo got to Siargao, Nicolas has been measuring him every week, charting his weight and his height and then – ack! – comparing him to Great Dane sizes on the internet! Apollo, being a Philippine Great Dane – and a merle to boot – obviously, wasn’t measuring up.

Nicolas felt cheated. He was convinced that we had either a giant Jack Russell or a dwarf Great Dane. Nicolas wanted areal Great Dane. We found a kennel in Thailand that breeds Great Danes from German stock. (Yes, Great Danes are German, not Danish.) He fell in love with a mantle and immediately put a deposit on it.

Nicolas with our new dog’s harlequin father. His mother is a mantle. While his father is stocky, his mother is leaner and much taller than regular female Danes.

Last December, after our trip to Myanmar, we dropped by the kennel in Thailand to see the dog. (The Myanmar trip was actually an offshoot of a trip to Thailand to bring back the dog, at the very last minute, the breeder told us that the puppy was too young to be transported.)

The dog looked like a rat.

Eek! It’s a rat!

We almost changed our minds in favor of a black Dane, but the mantle was starving for affection and I didn’t feel good about abandoning him, so we stuck to our guns and hoped he would look better in a month.

We almost considered one of these instead of the runt.

Last Friday, our new baby was put on a plane bound for Manila.

Friday, 10 January 2014

The day wasn’t starting out well. I only had four hours of sleep (again) and I felt sick. The nodules on both sides of my throat were inflamed and I managed to almost completely lose my voice while waiting for the Black Nazarene the night before. (No, I’m not a zealot. A friend has an ancestral house that overlooks one of the streets where the Nazarene passes and we had a great vantage point from air-conditioned safety).

Before proceeding to “Pier Cargo”, where I was informed I could claim the dog, I had to see my mom about something. I went to see her in her room but she wasn’t there. I looked for her in the backyard, the dining room, and the kitchen. When I couldn’t find her, I returned to the backyard to leave a message with the maid, who was out back doing the laundry. While I was speaking to her, I noticed Jill, the family Jack Russell, lying inside a cardboard box. I had seen her earlier but paid her no mind. This time, I noticed how old had gotten. All the fur around her face had turned white. She was lying in an awkward position and had a pained expression on her face. She was straining to lift her head towards me. When I got closer, I noticed that she was shaking.

The guilt hit me hard.

I got her from Nicolas’ friend many years ago and brought her to Manila as a present for my family. But I’m just as size-ist as Nicolas and despise small, yappy dogs. I never thought of Jill as mine and never loved her. Even if I was her first human, I thought she’d get over it – the way Napo and Apollo quickly attached themselves to Nicolas even though, technically, I was their first human. But Jill never forgot and she was always overly excited whenever I’d come home from a trip. I always pushed her away.

Seeing her there, in agony, still straining to reach me, finally melted my cold, cruel heart. I went to her and tried to comfort her. I spoke to her soothingly. I covered her with a blanket, and stroked her.

It reminded me of last year, when Napo died a day before I was scheduled to get Apollo. Was Jill about to die on the day that my new dog was supposed to arrive? I broke down.

In the car, on the way to the airport, I sent a message to one of my brothers: “Jill needs to be brought to the vet. If she needs to be put down, please do it for her.” (Update, 12 Jan: According to my mom, Jill is better and fully recovered.)

I was miserable and was quiet throughout the drive to Pier Cargo. (I had borrowed my dad’s car and hired a driver for the day.)

When we got there, I proceeded to the DHU (Documents Handling Unit) on the second floor of the office building, where I was told that the flight the dog was on had not arrived.

So I left for lunch.

When I returned to DHU, I only had to wait for a bit before they found my documents, and then I was instructed to proceed to Quarantine at NAIA Terminal 1 to get a clearance.

While I was receiving these instructions, a guy next to me piped in that I had to get photocopies of my documents (six of the airway bill, six of my ID, and four of the import permit). He pointed out the photocopier and also informed me that I could get my airport pass there for P400. And then, under his breath, he muttered, “If you want, I could do everything for you when I am done with these papers…”

I thanked him and went to the photocopier. Once there, another guy whom I had noticed had been hovering around me, gave me more instructions but, according to him, the pass at the airport was only P100. The first guy came around to point out where I could get the pass. When I mentioned that I heard it only cost P100, he said, “No, it’s P400 and you can fill up the forms here already and go straight in at the airport.”

On my way to the car, Guy No. 2 offered to help me out too but I thanked him and politley declined.

At NAIA 1, I assumed that Quarantine would be at the Arrival Area but asked the driver to inquire with the guards anyway.

“We have no Quarantine here. It’s at Terminal 2.” A second guard said the same thing. "That’s impossible, " I told them. I pleaded with them to check. They radioed someone and were informed that there was indeed a Quarantine at the Departure Area. Of course when I got there, it was at the Arrival Area.

I went to the Arrival Area, where I was told I needed a pass to get into the airport. Ah, yes, the fabled entry pass. It didn’t cost P400. It didn’t cost P100. It cost P50. And there was no form to fill up, just the ID itself. Those damned fixers.

At Quarantine, the lady who assisted me was helpful and nice. And also a bit of a space cadette. After, I thought we were done with everything, someone else pointed out that I needed some gate passes. “Have you forgotten,” she teased Lady No. 1. Lady No. 1 was apologetic and pointed me to the Customs Cashier where she said I could get the passes that I needed. I got the passes, returned to Quarantine where they signed some more stuff and then instructed me to return to Cargo.

“Is that it?” I asked. “That’s all I need?”

“Yes,” they nodded.

Piece of cake!

I went back to Pier Cargo, to the Backdoor Cargo warehouse. When I said I was there for a dog, they quickly pointed out where he was. He was so close! Only a wire fence separated me from the cage. I couldn’t wait to get him out!

Of course, it was too good to be true.

I was shown into an office where they looked over my papers and said I had to go back to NAIA 1 to get more signatures. I went nuts. “But they told me to go here!” They tried to explain where I had to go, whom I had to see and what I needed signed when the Sherlock Holmes among them had a light bulb moment, “Oh, there’s a Customs office on the second floor! Ask them if they can do it!” The Customs office only occupies about three quarters of the second floor.

At the Customs office, they didn’t even blink. They took my documents without any question and what I thought would be a piece of cake turned out to be a goddam bakery. The papers went from one desk to another. After 20 signatures, I stopped counting. Sometimes, they’d pass the papers back and forth among themselves: Woman No. 1 would sign, pass the papers on to Woman No. 2 so that she could sign, and then she’d pass them back to Woman No. 1, who would sign some more. I wanted to flip out! Actually, I almost did when one of them started asking me questions. I thought he was giving me a hard time and I was close to breaking point. He calmed me down, stopped asking questions, then passed me back to the guy who had passed him the papers.

What made all of this ridiculousness a bit bearable was that everyone was very courteous and helpful. The men always offered me seats. If there wasn’t one around, they’d get up and look for a chair and bring it to me. And no one made me wait. They attended to me right away and would accompany me or have someone take me to the next person I had to see.

When I finally got to the Cashier, I thought, “Hallelujah! End of the road!” Until he passed me on to the person at the desk next to him. For as long as I wasn’t passed on to another office, I knew I would be fine. He passed me on to another office. I almost cried.

At the other office, everyone who even glanced at my papers asked where my Location Form was. That’s when I lost it. I had seen about a million people and nobody had ever mentioned this form that, apparently, was only supposed to be stapled at the top of all my paperwork as if it were the Alpha and the Omega of all Forms. I had a ton of photocopies but nobody seemed to want those. I made so much noise that the person behind the glass took my papers, then told me to go to Billing. Of course, at Billing, they asked me for my Location Form. I nearly screamed.

I managed to keep the language decent but I was obviously fed up and angry.

I stormed over to an office on the ground floor and yelled for a Location Form. They looked amused. My papers were passed to a guy, who took them and left. When he returned, he handed my documents to a Guy in Glasses who said, “Ms. Olivares, I will get you your Location Form.”

He told me to follow him and, as we were on the stairs heading back to the second floor, he greeted someone and asked her about my case. She said, " (something something) for items weighing less than 50 kilos, (something something) is not necessary." My dog and its cage were 34 kilos! The Guy in Glasses handed my documents back to me and said I could proceed to Cargo. Yes! I was finally close to the Finish Line!

Back at the Backdoor Cargo office, none of the guys who were trying to help me out earlier were there, so I gave my documents to anyone who would take them. The guy who did asked me for a photocopy of something. I showed him all the photocopies I had done from earlier and none of them were what he needed, so he went outside where I assumed he was photocopying my documents. I stood around for a bit and fidgeted. This was it. I was getting my baby out. Another guy came around and offered me a chair.

The guy who took my documents came back and, like a bad song, repeated the chorus, “You need a Location Form.” That was the last straw. I burst into tears.

He got nervous, dragged me out of the room and presented me to his supervisor. “My dog has been in that cage for hours,” I cried. “He hasn’t eaten. He hasn’t had water. He’s scared!” The supervisor wiped his brow and launched into a lecture of How Things Work At The Customs Office, but I didn’t have the time or the patience for it. “What do you need?” I demanded. “The Location Form? Fine! I’ll get it for you.” I snatched the papers out of his hands and stormed off. I could hear the supervisor tell one of his men to accompany me but none of them did.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I marched back into the office building when who should be coming out of the ground floor office but the Guy in Glasses. He instinctively gave me a friendly wave until I shoved my documents into his hands and growled, “Get me that Location Form.” He showed me back into the office and took off with my documents.

I was so angry and frustrated that I couldn’t stop crying, and everyone around me was talking about me as if I couldn’t understand them.

The guy came back, handed me my documents and told me to go back to Billing.

At Billing, I tried to get it together. I also noticed that the Guy in Glasses had followed me and was taking care of my documents inside the Billing section. He’d pass the papers around inside to whomever had to sign it, asked me to pay whatever else had to be paid , took my papers to the office across, had them sign more papers, and brought the documents back to Billing for more signatures. When he approached me again, I was calm and apologized for my rudeness. He assured me that he understood and accompanied me all the way to the end.

We went to more offices for more signatures, then we went to the Front Door Cargo warehouse where they said my dog had been transferred. Everyone was being very nice and it’s a good thing Noel was there (- by this time, the Guy in Glasses and I had finally introduced ourselves) because they were still asking him for more photocopies and signatures all the way to when the dog was almost out of the warehouse. (Not all the photocopies I had done earlier were completely useless. About half of them were eventually required from me. The other half have been used for dog piss.)

I got my documents from DHU at about 1 PM. I finally got the dog at around 4 o’clock. I spent three hours at Customs. A friend told me it took someone she knew three days to get her stuff out of Customs. I guess I was lucky.

Our flight to Cebu was at 5 PM, so I shook Noel’s hand, apologized again, thanked him and said goodbye.

Since the dog cage was too big to fit in my dad’s car, I sent the driver home and hired an old Ford Fiera to bring me to the airport. The Fiera took me to Philippine Airlines’ Cargo warehouse instead. Had the driver brought me to the Departure Area, I would have made my flight and would have only had to pay for 14 excess kilos. But I was too spent to kick up a fuss. Accepting that it was my fate to miss my flight, I put the dog on as cargo for the 7:30 flight and proceeded to the Departure Terminal to get a new ticket.

When I got there, it was 4:30 PM. It had only been 15 minutes since the counter had closed. I decided to take a chance and ask if I could be allowed to board since I had no check-in luggage anyway. When the supervisor agreed, I knew my luck had turned. When she handed me the boarding pass that reflected a boarding time of 5:30, I was hopeful. The flight was delayed! I asked if they could get Cargo to load my dog on the same flight as me. They directed me to their office where I was told I had to go back to Cargo and tell them personally.

To make an already long story short, the flight was further delayed and I managed to get both of us on the flight. We didn’t make it to Cebu till 7:45 PM and we didn’t make it home till about 9:30 PM.

On our way home, I sat on the floor of the van, whispering my new baby’s name through the holes of his cage that reeked of fear and urine. He held out his paw to my fingers almost the whole way.

When we were looking for a name for the new dog, the kennel owner said that it had to begin with the letter I for some reason that was lost in translation. Nicolas gave him the temporary name of Iago, after the character in “Othello”. Later on, when we were seriously considering names, I remembered that one of my friends had thought we had named Apollo after Apollo Creed from the “Rocky” films so I Googled Rocky’s other opponents and found Ivan Drago. Since we had already been referring to the new dog as Iago, and Drago sounded close enough to Iago, and Nicolas said he had always liked the name, that was the end of our search for a name.

At 3.5 months, Drago already weighs 20 kilos. He is nervous and needy but, unlike Apollo, who may have been a cat in a past life, Drago is overly affectionate, which can be either suffocating or endearing, depending on one’s mood.