Bingo – I forgive you!

Dear God,

Honestly, I have forgiven Bingo.

Yes, Lord. I’ve forgiven that four-legged scoundrel who wrecked my dreams, dragged my family name in the mud, and left twelve pieces of fur-coated evidence behind. So many people have asked me to share the “Bingo Story”. And I think I’m finally ready. Not because I’m healed, but because talking about it will confirm that I’ve truly moved on. Or so I think.

It all began in the early years of our marriage. My Adam and I, still basking in the glow of new parents’ bliss, decided to get a dog. Not just any dog—our twins adored dogs, and we wanted something special. So, we went all out and brought home a stunning Caucasian purebred. She was the kind of dog that made strangers stop and stare. Her name was Kaira.

She was classy. Regal. Soft as butter, with the personality of a goddess. Kaira had two vets (yes, two), a gold-trimmed feeding schedule, and when her milk ran out as a pup, guess whose baby formula she drank? That’s right—mine. She slept curled between our twins, watched cartoons with them, and dipped her pampered paws in their kiddie pool during hot afternoons. You would have thought she was preparing for a canine coronation.

As she grew, her elegance became undeniable. Her caramel fur shimmered like the inside of a pearl. So, it wasn’t surprising when both vets said, “Madam, you should breed her.” Now, we hadn’t planned on turning our dog into a baby factory, but when they showed us the possible earnings—chai! —my Adam’s Warri spirit rose. “Let’s make this money,” he said. We were sold.

So, the search for a worthy mate began. When Kaira’s heat season came, one of the vets introduced a stud—the dog version of Denzel Washington with Kenny Roger’s voice. Lord, this was not a dog. This was a lion. His name was Mufasa—well, he might as well have been. He had a mane that looked sculpted by the angels themselves. When he leapt from the truck, all of us—grown adults—ran. The twins screamed with joy. I screamed with respect. Even my Adam took two steps back. The stud knew he was majestic. He had that walk—the bounce of someone who knew his sperm had a price tag.

But our Kaira? Madam did not flinch.

Mufasa approached with all his glory. He sniffed, he danced, he postured. Kaira rolled her eyes, stood up, and walked away like, “Not today, please.” For hours, he chased. She ignored. He pleaded. She snarled. Even the vet started sweating. “Madam, this isn’t normal.”

I laughed, telling them, “That’s my girl, she’s not giving up her virginity that easily.”

Eventually, my Adam came to me, “Sweet, please, talk to her. You know she listens to you.”

I did. I sat down beside her. Rubbed her ears. Whispered woman-to-woman words of comfort and permission. After a while, she relented. The mating was brief, but the vets assured us it was enough. I wasn’t convinced, but they refused a second session unless we paid again. My Adam, ever the practical Warri man, said one round was enough.

Weeks passed. Kaira was pregnant. Joy filled our home. The vets began advertising the unborn puppies—purebred royalty, they said. People lined up, deposits were made. The market buzzed with anticipation. We were excited, I just couldn’t wait to see the puppies, there was no doubt that they will be exceptional.

But Kaira… she was sad.

There was this sadness in her eyes. A quiet heaviness. I flagged it. The vets dismissed it. “Sometimes they get emotional. They know the babies will be given away.” I believed them. But the weight in Kaira’s stare haunted me. I talked to her every day. Walked with her. Fed her delicacies. Assured her we would keep two of her babies, no matter what. Even had a small argument with my Adam about it. And when she lay beside me with her pregnant belly rising and falling, I would pray silently, “Lord, bless this journey, please make it easy for her.”

Then came the night.

Eight and a half weeks in, we heard her cries. Kaira was in labour. We rushed to her side, turned on her favourite music, (yes, my dog had a playlist). The vet was on the phone, giving instructions. We worked by torchlight, gently helping her. It was dark, but our hearts were full, as we waited for her to clean up. The vets had predicted six to eight puppies being her 1st time. But Kaira gave birth to twelve.

Twelve, Lord, Twelve!

We were ecstatic. But even in that joy, our dog’s eyes still held that haunting sadness.

Later that night, as my Adam and I lay in bed reliving the moments, a strange feeling crept over me.

“Sweet,” I whispered, “Did you notice the puppies’ colour?”

He groaned, “No, why?”

“I don’t know… they seemed dark. Shouldn’t they be golden or caramel like their parents?”

He was too tired to care. “Let’s sleep. We’ll check in the morning.”

But I couldn’t sleep.

At dawn, the house erupted in screams. The children were awake, and their joy knew no bounds as the puppies loitered over the compound. I ran out, heart pounding. And there they were—Kaira’s twelve puppies. They were midnight black in colour. Every single one of them.

I froze.

“Sweet,” I gasped, “They’re black. All of them. These aren’t Mufasa’s puppies.”

My Adam stared in disbelief. We called the vet. He came, inspected, and confirmed our worst fear—Kaira had mated before Mufasa. The puppies weren’t purebred.

I looked into Kaira’s eyes and saw it. The truth. The sorrow. The guilt.

The realization hit me like a wave. That feeling mothers get when they know their daughter lost their virginity carelessly. I recoiled. I couldn’t help it. The betrayal, the disappointment—it was overwhelming.

We had invested so much. Emotionally, financially. And now what? Our phones were ringing off the hook, the buyers wanted to see the puppies to make their choices, but we couldn’t show the puppies to them. We couldn’t explain. We were devastated.

What bastard dog did this damage? That colour, I thought hard…….. There was only one dog in the neighbourhood that had that dreadful colour. Bingo? That fly-infested stray dog? How? Oh Bingo!

The scrappy, black neighbourhood rascal dog with a limp in one leg, a bark that sounded like a smoker’s cough, and the self-confidence of a gangster rapper. A street-smart, scruffy mutt who roamed freely, annoying everyone with his antics. He had a knack for sneaking into places he didn’t belong. He had patches of sores on his back, ears and tail and was always trailed by host of flies. I hated that dog with a passion and had warned our security man and housekeeper never to leave the gate open or allow the rascal to get near Kaira. He was always trailing Kaira every time we took her for a walk. How did he get near her?

The vet did some digging. Based on the timing, the colour, and the behaviour, Yes, it was Bingo. That sly, sneaky dog had gotten to Kaira before Mufasa ever stepped paw into our compound.

I was livid.

How could this happen? We had protected her, nurtured her, given her everything. And yet, somehow, Bingo had slipped through the cracks. He had silently dug a hole through the gate, sneaked in claimed his bride and sneaked out again, all in one breathe. He was so sneaky that he covered back the hole he came through to ensure we never found out. Probably in the middle of the night. What a demonic dog? And just like that, dreams were destroyed. Hopes crushed. Deposits refunded.

Lord, I won’t lie—I was angry. The betrayal felt personal. Like watching your Ivy League daughter run off with a sloppy dropout who lives in his mom’s basement.

The betrayal stung. Not just because of the money lost or the buyers we had to disappoint—but because of Kaira. Was she raped or she just wanted it? She had carried that pain silently, through every walk, every cuddle, every whispered promise.

I cried. Oh Lord, I wept!

My Adam was furious. The vet was speechless. And Kaira… she wept silently, secretly. She could feel our deep disappointment and it hurt her the more. Her eyes told the story. The sadness, the shame, the silent plea for forgiveness.

We eventually came to terms with it. But there was no way I was going to keep Bingo’s puppies, so I broke my promise to Kaira and gave away all her puppies. We didn’t sell any, we just gave them away to people. I wouldn’t even give them to my friends to avoid meeting them again. Some of the buyers that deposited money still wanted them and we gave them for free and still refunded their deposits. The puppies were very beautiful in their own way—playful, loving, full of life. Our children cried and begged for us to keep at least one, but my heart was too broken to forgive their father. The dream of purebred royalty was gone, and I wasn’t going to be constantly reminded of Bingo the demon.

And Bingo? He still roamed that neighbourhood, tail wagging, eyes gleaming with mischief, leading a gang of flies around until we left that community. That I didn’t kill that dog was just by the mercy of God. I’ve forgiven him. I had to. Holding on to that anger was like drinking poison and expecting the demon to suffer.

If you’ve ever felt the sting of watching a daughter you raised with elegance fall for a street hoodlum, welcome to my world. If you’ve ever seen your finest culinary creation devoured by rats, you will understand. If you have ever felt the pain of a beloved child you raised with diligence fall from glory into the belly of a dangerous gang, then your heart feels my heart.

The experience was painful, very. We didn’t attempt to bred Kaira again and she died the next year. I was so sure Bingo the demon had passed some diseases to her.

Hmmm. For a long time, I didn’t have the heart to keep another dog until Tella came. This time a male dog. No ways, Lord, I am not nurturing another dog for “an ekuke” to take over.

Stop laughing, Lord. Its not even funny, I can’t tell this story without feeling some stings of tears.

Dad, if you laugh again, I won’t talk to you for one week………

 

Fine, this is your daughter, I am checking in.