My new dog. He came home about half a year ago when he was around 4 months old (presumably), and had a lot to live up to, given his predecessor's legacy which the past 8 years had not dimmed in the least. Instead of taking the issue by the horns, he decided to approach the issue from the flank - by being as different as he could possibly be from Micku - in personality, world-view and size!
This dog is like a skittish pony. He gets alarmed when vehicles honk or rev up next to him, every new situation he encounters is navigated with mild diffidence, and the general veneer of harshness that the world wears sometimes seems to get a bit much for his nerves. In the initial days, I couldn't help thinking about my first dog, who was pretty much king of the village in Nagaram - the tiny place in the outskirts of Hyderabad that we called home for about 20 years. Honestly, I cannot say with any sureness how accurate my memories of Micku are - I was, after all, only 8 years old when he came in as a month-old puppy, and like siblings, I suppose we didn't really bother much with the details of each other's growing up. What I do know is that I had little or no part in bringing him up - that was all left to my parents. To me, he was an alpha-dog that gleefully terrorised the townspeople (and the town dogs and the town pigs and the town cows...), used me as a plaything when it suited him, tolerated me during his teenage years, softened a bit towards me as he grew older and let me be there for him now and then. He was not the kind guests would call sweet-natured or cuddly, but he wasn't mean either. Just reserved with new people, and rather uninterested in human goings-on, except when it had to to do with any of us eating eggs, papayas or mangoes. Playful and exuberant, but on his own terms, like when he saw a lizard or a cockroach or some other creature that caused him to get a little wild-eyed. Terms that we lived by for twelve years. And boy, was he a looker! While not a purebred German Shepherd, he certainly had a lot of it in him. A strong stance, straight back, straight ears, a thick and shiny dark brown coat, beautiful black eyes, a steely spirit that spanned the times that he toppled me over to get loose of his leash, chased around the animals in town and returned victorious and the times that he was hurting in his last days but stayed a happy, loving dog. My first best friend, who taught me about the power of love and the poignancy of loss.
So you see, that is a lot to live up to. It's just as well that Philo is not interested in being the king of anything - he's a puppy-dog who clamours for our love and protection, and who gives total, starry-eyed adoration in return. Bringing him up and taking care of him - keeping him healthy and happy, teaching him to be braver, stronger and calmer, besides training him in other dog-like ways - has been one of the big learning experiences of my life so far. He worships us, treats us like we're the center of the universe, prances around us with slightly manic eyes when we return from work, seeks a lot of our time and attention and sulks magnificently when he does not get it. He's incredibly expressive - it's impossible not to grin from ear-to-ear when he puts on his happy face. He's sweet, rather small and quite a handful when he's naughty. He gets a lot of compliments from people who think he's friendly and sociable - it's quite nice to see that he's living up to his name, really. Philos - Greek for 'loving'. It hilarious when people ask if he's an Alsation puppy - I'd like to let them believe that, but the truth is he's a mixed-up little fellow who will always looks like more of a puppy, not to mention more of a Shepherd than he really is. If I had to hazard a guess, his family tree probably has a Cocker Spaniel or a Spitz or a Terrier in there, along with some Indian dog and some very definite German Shepherd somewhere further back. And just like that, I sound like a pedigree-ist. It still feels rather surreal to be able to whisk him off in an auto-rickshaw to the vet's or the sitter's whenever I need to, him sitting on my lap staring out at the Mumbai traffic with tongue lolling, easy as pie. Or pay a small fortune to have someone look after and pamper him while we travel, an option Amma and Achan did not have with Micku. Or feel rather guilty when I realize what I spend on his food vis-a-vis what a maid earns. At such times I think - how strange is this world I have climbed into, how ephemeral all ideas and principles, how relentless the circle of life. I took a dog in, and now, though he let's me check his ears and paws, force feed him medicines, pick him up and jostle him around in more ways than one, he's the one who owns me. He's news to me - this acquiescing, gentle creature. I guess I really have grown up.
This dog is like a skittish pony. He gets alarmed when vehicles honk or rev up next to him, every new situation he encounters is navigated with mild diffidence, and the general veneer of harshness that the world wears sometimes seems to get a bit much for his nerves. In the initial days, I couldn't help thinking about my first dog, who was pretty much king of the village in Nagaram - the tiny place in the outskirts of Hyderabad that we called home for about 20 years. Honestly, I cannot say with any sureness how accurate my memories of Micku are - I was, after all, only 8 years old when he came in as a month-old puppy, and like siblings, I suppose we didn't really bother much with the details of each other's growing up. What I do know is that I had little or no part in bringing him up - that was all left to my parents. To me, he was an alpha-dog that gleefully terrorised the townspeople (and the town dogs and the town pigs and the town cows...), used me as a plaything when it suited him, tolerated me during his teenage years, softened a bit towards me as he grew older and let me be there for him now and then. He was not the kind guests would call sweet-natured or cuddly, but he wasn't mean either. Just reserved with new people, and rather uninterested in human goings-on, except when it had to to do with any of us eating eggs, papayas or mangoes. Playful and exuberant, but on his own terms, like when he saw a lizard or a cockroach or some other creature that caused him to get a little wild-eyed. Terms that we lived by for twelve years. And boy, was he a looker! While not a purebred German Shepherd, he certainly had a lot of it in him. A strong stance, straight back, straight ears, a thick and shiny dark brown coat, beautiful black eyes, a steely spirit that spanned the times that he toppled me over to get loose of his leash, chased around the animals in town and returned victorious and the times that he was hurting in his last days but stayed a happy, loving dog. My first best friend, who taught me about the power of love and the poignancy of loss.
So you see, that is a lot to live up to. It's just as well that Philo is not interested in being the king of anything - he's a puppy-dog who clamours for our love and protection, and who gives total, starry-eyed adoration in return. Bringing him up and taking care of him - keeping him healthy and happy, teaching him to be braver, stronger and calmer, besides training him in other dog-like ways - has been one of the big learning experiences of my life so far. He worships us, treats us like we're the center of the universe, prances around us with slightly manic eyes when we return from work, seeks a lot of our time and attention and sulks magnificently when he does not get it. He's incredibly expressive - it's impossible not to grin from ear-to-ear when he puts on his happy face. He's sweet, rather small and quite a handful when he's naughty. He gets a lot of compliments from people who think he's friendly and sociable - it's quite nice to see that he's living up to his name, really. Philos - Greek for 'loving'. It hilarious when people ask if he's an Alsation puppy - I'd like to let them believe that, but the truth is he's a mixed-up little fellow who will always looks like more of a puppy, not to mention more of a Shepherd than he really is. If I had to hazard a guess, his family tree probably has a Cocker Spaniel or a Spitz or a Terrier in there, along with some Indian dog and some very definite German Shepherd somewhere further back. And just like that, I sound like a pedigree-ist. It still feels rather surreal to be able to whisk him off in an auto-rickshaw to the vet's or the sitter's whenever I need to, him sitting on my lap staring out at the Mumbai traffic with tongue lolling, easy as pie. Or pay a small fortune to have someone look after and pamper him while we travel, an option Amma and Achan did not have with Micku. Or feel rather guilty when I realize what I spend on his food vis-a-vis what a maid earns. At such times I think - how strange is this world I have climbed into, how ephemeral all ideas and principles, how relentless the circle of life. I took a dog in, and now, though he let's me check his ears and paws, force feed him medicines, pick him up and jostle him around in more ways than one, he's the one who owns me. He's news to me - this acquiescing, gentle creature. I guess I really have grown up.
2 comments:
Yes, you've really grown up! Let go of the past, embraced the present, and fully enjoying it. God bless you and Philo!
:) Love you Acha
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