Doggy Ta(i)les

The wag of a tail, the affectionate yelps, the nuzzling nose, the eyes melting with adoration, the wet lick; all make you feel that you are the king of the world .Oh yes, you are, in the eyes of your dog. Some may scorn and dismiss it as a show of abject servitude. No cat will be caught dead with an adoring look in its feline countenance. Lovable and loyal are two apt adjectives for dogs. There are many famous dogs in literature too; from Argos in Greek mythology to Scooby Doo and Snoopy. Who can imagine Tintin without Snowy and the Famous Five without Timmy?

The first dog, I ever owned was a black Labrador named Hessy. My dad had got her as a puppy and had trained her well. She was good friends with me but declared war with my brother, who had once accidentally poked her in the eye. Sundays were her bath days, which was quite a spectacle. It was fun to see her black coat turn white with soapsuds and her ‘after-bath-shake’ left the onlookers dripping. She grew old and died peacefully not before leaving her ‘paw-prints’ etched on our minds.

Then there was our neighbour’s dog (whose figure is more memorable than his name), a well-fed mongrel whose bark chilled our spines. He didn’t fall for my charms. One day while playing with my brother and friends, he broke loose and celebrated his freedom by pinning me to the wall between his giant paws while he ‘licked’ my face. I was later taken, shivering and crying, to the doctor’s for a shot of tetanus toxoid.

My grandparents needed watchdogs for their farm and my dad being a canine lover volunteered to find one. We got them a Doberman called Heidi. She was really cute puppy owing to her pedigree; with a shiny brown-black coat and a little locket with her name on her neck. She travelled with us to the countryside in a hamper and was the cynosure on train. However she grew up to be a ferocious dog that scared the living daylights out of us kids. But we were quite bereaved at her death and made floral tributes at her grave the following vacation.

Popsey, a pretty white Lhasa apso - Tibetan terrier cross, was yet another neighbour’s dog. Since we shared the same compound she was our frequent visitor. She would saunter into my room every morning with a wake-up-lazybones look in her eyes. She often tried to ensnare my determined mum with her unctuous docility; sometimes it won her a tasty morsel too. Our neighbour’s house was thick with her fur; we didn’t want that so we tried keeping the front grill closed. That didn’t work because she soon learned to open it with her paws and nose. She was particularly interested in badminton. The minute the cork touched the ground she would have it in her jaws and have us chasing her all over the place.

After Heidi, we offered to take more dogs to our grandparents’. There were two mongrels called Hardy and Snowy. They were quite a comic pair. My uncle had much trouble transporting them as the carton ripped in the train. The two puppies ran amok much to the amusement and irritation of the co-passengers. My uncle managed to catch the ‘fugitives’, when they puked all over him! Gundu and Mani (of Popsey’s brood, as a result of her liaison with a wandering cur) were the next pair headed for the countryside. Their descendants have managed to stay. The dogs at my grandparents’ place presently are Smarty (this queer looking dog, with lone tufts of fur on the face and tail, is reported to respond to many names) and her son Heidi jr. (my cousin, in a haste to christen forgot that ‘Heidi’ was feminine). Heidi is a handsome dog with a beige coat and brown eyes. We have dubbed him ‘Braveheart’ for the sight of humans within a hundred meters freezes him.

The most memorable dog we ever owned was Laddy (again a case of illogical christening, this time mea culpa). She was only five weeks old when we got her and didn’t even look like a dog. She rolled out of the box, an amber coloured ball of fur making funny noises. We called her ‘Ladoo’ for short. She grew up to be a lanky dog .She looked almost like a fox with a long nose and a bushy tail. Her appetite ranged from broomsticks to glass; she loved munching rubber bands. Being of the adventurous turn she landed up twice in the unused well in the compound. She specially enjoyed her trips to the vet in auto rickshaw. She would stand on her hind legs, looking over the disgruntled driver’s shoulder, enjoying the wind in her face, her long pink tongue hanging out. However she had this unfortunate habit of slinking out at night. In the beginning, she used to disappear only during the night; then she was gone for days and weeks at a stretch. When Laddy turned up nonchalantly after a two-month escapade, my parents decided that she’d have to be permanently dismissed. Unknown to me they hatched a plan to dispose her. One Sunday evening they lured an unsuspecting Laddy into an auto rickshaw and headed for the seaside. Laddy (as they later told me) was enjoying the ride oblivious about the ambush. When the auto stopped she simply hopped out and walked off into the sunset, without looking back, probably mesmerized by the smell of the sea. My parents had then unscrupulously taken cue and hurried back home. We have never heard of Laddy since. I had openly voiced my displeasure at the ‘treachery’, but my mum assured that she’d be quite happy there.

We have never owned any more dogs since. Every time I bring up the topic my parents become temporarily deaf or propose lofty deals like ‘a first rank- for -a dog’ and then it’s my turn to act deaf.