I snap the blanket off me and throw my legs off the side of the mat. In one motion, I stand, totally naked. It’s a room with a cement floor, which Sarkodie and I find so embarrassing that we don’t receive guests here.

I pluck my shorts from the nail behind the door, get dressed, and open the door.

She places a covered bowl in my open palms. “It belongs to you.”

“Thank you.”

“It is hot here. The fresh air will be good for you.” She convinces me, grabs my wrist, and leads me outside.

I feel a sunray and chilly breeze push against my face. It is 1:30 on a sunny Thursday afternoon.

Our dog is called Ameria. She is faster and stronger than the others in the village, having been with us for almost seven years. One day, Ameria disappeared, leaving no trace, and an immeasurable despair haunted Sarkodie and me. I sobered with endless stories about Ameria’s return. Sister Adoma said nothing, she only said Ameria would return, but I thought she had died. In harrowing pain and silence, I kept waiting and waiting and waiting.

Then one Friday, Miss Frema told us to write a composition on our best friend. My essay, which was about Ameria, was the best, so I was called to read it in front of my class.

“My best friend is not a man but a dog. They call her Ameria. Ameria disappeared without a trace. She is a girl. Her mother gave birth to eight children: four boys and four girls. However, Ameria was the most beautiful puppy among her sisters and brothers. That was why my father brought her home. My family has known Ameria for seven years before she disappeared. That was my saddest day. Everybody, if you find Ameria, kindly bring her to me.”

The other kids smothered a giggle but Miss Frema asked the class to give me a round of applause because my composition was different.

During break, some boys from the next village told me they had seen Ameria there.

“What is she doing there?”

“Nothing. Just mating. All the male dogs congregate, fight, and bite each other to get the chance to mate her. They mated her and it is so bad.”

At home, I told Sarkodie Ameria was in a nearby township and she would return in no time.

And the Saturday of that Friday, Ameria was back, pregnant.

I knelt before her, “Who is your husband? How did you find him? Tell me what happened.”
But Ameria never revealed a thing, only panting to every question.

Ameria begot six children. Dan, Fan, Bob, Rob, Jon, and Don. They were getting rowdy and chasing all the chickens in the compound.

Dada decided to sell her young ones.

Using white paint, I wrote the announcement on our gate: We are selling dog children, boys and girls.

Santo was passing by when he saw and asked how much we were charging for one.

My father told him, “Whatever you give me.”

Tell us: Why are pets so important to have around?