Have you ever wished that someone relaxes our stringent gun laws, for a few days at least, so we could quickly repel some gadflies (and show a few others their places)? Well, here’s one reason why I hope to live to see such a day.
In Sparky, the Maltese Falcon would have met an equal because S. was ‘the stuff that dreams are made of’. But some people seem determined to turn gentle dreams into nightmares. From the moment he yelped into my life till I decided to put him down, his inexorable presence turned everyday living into almost a celebration. But life with an ebullient chap like S., a stocky, blonde-eyed, fawn-coloured Labrador, was often marred by stupid, boorish folks and their queries about him (and, sometimes, to him!) ranging from the otiose to the insane. At first these queries seemed harmless, until their recurrence became a nuisance. It was then I began to suspect something sinister in the motives of the querents.
“Please don’t feed my dog, please ...” I pleaded with my neighbours. “It’s only a biscuit!” they retorted, chiding me for possessiveness. Some would glare at me, almost warning me not to interfere with their ritual of feeding S., as though he was to live by their measly biscuits alone. But no, I asserted, not even crumbs. Some warned me not to be so fussy and some others accused me of outright snobbishness. “He may not obey me. His loyalty will be divided, you know ...” I struggled to educate them.
Huh, what!? Obedience? Loyalty? Pooh! What’s this creep talking about? Man, we’re Indians. We obey ourselves. And don’t talk to us about loyalty. Why do you think we worship so many deities? Indians are expected to be loyal to many at the same time.
“Please give me the treat instead,” I would suggest, “so I can give it to him at an appropriate time.” They would give me a darting, suspicious look, as though I might gobble the treat. Why could they not respect a harmless request? Gradually I realised there was something more than met the eye: they were actually enjoying disrespecting me, deriving some diabolical thrill in the process, even wanting to control my pet, my love.
Such nagging would disrupt our walks too. Among the many FAQs were his name, breed, diet, weight, blemishes...
Dog owners, they say, make more friends. But in all this time I lost more “friends” for being a responsible owner and began to be detested by many who thought I was just too haughty for such a handsome Labrador. Where’s that thin line separating responsible upbringing and detrimental possessiveness?
It’s been many months now since Sparky was put down. People have stopped asking me if I’m “getting another one”. Perhaps they do not know: losing one’s first pet leaves one no less disconsolate than losing one’s firstborn. But, until we begin to genuinely love pets (or, for that matter, change gun laws) the void left by Sparky may never be filled.
mjx143@gmail.com
