Man's Best Friend

Yes, dog is man’s best friend, from Mahabharata to modern times. The dog had the sole distinction to be with Yudhishtira on the last leg of his Heavenward journey, when the rest of Pandavas and Draupadi collapsed en route for being not totally blemish-free. The modern era is replete with instances where owners bequeath wealth to their dog, for him to maintain a  standard of living he is accustomed. 

Closer home, in SFV, months ago a prospective tenant came to rent my son’s apartment in Oak. As he inspected the facilities, I heard him tentatively assign spaces for X and Y. Maybe earmarking places for his two sons, I thought. Nay, for his dogs. In the other instance, my Delhi friend had some disposable income and wanted to buy an apartment in Ebony, Oak or Alder. He chose Alder, though it meant stretching his budget too far. But he persisted. His argument?  “Let me provide my Tiger (Alsatian dog) a large  balcony for him to move around free.”

The relationship between the pet and its owner is such that the love of one for the other knows no bounds. Decades ago on a visit to Tokyo, my uncle directed me to get down at a particular station and “wait for me at the Dog’s Corner.” I was at a loss to know where on earth this could be. Only to realise that it was more popular than the Regal or Rivoli landmarks in Delhi. The story is a dog would see off his master every morning at the rail station and come back again in the evening to accompany him back home. One day the master never returned - died of cardiac arrest at work. But the dog waited for days. A metal statue of the dog still stands to perpetuate its memory. This happened in 1925. When the metal corroded decades later, it was promptly replaced by a new one. In India statues serve more as a repository for bird droppings.

Ko Ko is my sister’s d-i-l’s dog in California. Poor fellow is diabetic of late, and she gives him insulin shots every day. The family takes very good care of him. Both her son and daughter have recently joined universities in the East Coast - the other end of America. But unfailingly they call their mom daily - less to speak to her than to enquire the welfare of Ko Ko and hear his voice - be it a bark.

Biscuit, my son’s friend’s dog, is another instance. Last week the friend had invited us for dinner. Earlier in the day, he rang up to say that he had already announced to Biscuit of the impending visit of Rohan (our younger grandson) and Biscuit was all eager. ‘How could a dog understand that and be enthusiastic in advance?” I murmured. But when we showed up, Biscuit received Rohan as though it was Ram-Bharat milan, or meeting of a long lost friend. He took Rohan to his designated place where the two played together the rest of the evening. No wonder, months before leaving Bangalore when we called our grandchildren to ask them if they needed anything from India, Rohan was prompt: “Can you get me a dog, Thatha?” “A doll, or the real one?” I asked. ”Of course the real one, Thatha. I am eight years old, No more dolls.”

The grief at the loss of one’s pet is often no less than that of losing one’s own offspring. My friend in my previous apartment complex narrated how his ailing dog was literally waiting at the door step for him to come back from his travel.  As soon as he stepped in, the dog prevailed upon him to sit on the sofa and rested his head on the master’s lap. He too enjoyed the brief moments as he sipped coffee only to realise that the dog was resting in eternity. The Delhi old couple’s story is different. They loved Caesar immensely. When he died they buried him at their backyard. On the 13th day they distributed a  big packet of Parle Glucose biscuits to the dogs in the street. “Caesar was fond of them and friendly with them,” they said.

That takes me to a snippet from the great Tamil orator Suki Sivam. One day the street dogs of the village walked up to the pet dog at the corner house and asked him: “Why don’t you get out of the rut and join us? Almost everyday there is a feast in the village, and we get a variety of food to eat; we are never on leash; we roam around free.” “Wait for a while,” reassured the pet, and shared with them a conversation. “Come what may, I will not let you marry the boy next door even if I have to marry you off to a dog,” he overhead his master warn his daughter the other day. “I am waiting for my master to take a final call.”   

And I await Suki Sivam’s next discourse for an update.

V V Sundaram

Maple 3195

02 Dec 2016