It was the early morning of a day before my online book launch. I had too much on my mind—having to plan, making sure I didn't miss sending the invite to my near and dear ones and the ones who are passionate about books and such events; regret that I might still have missed sending invites to many, all the meticulousness notwithstanding.
Bella, our 11-year-old Labrador, silently bid goodbye to her earthly existence to seek renewed adventures in the cosmic universe. She was buried in our backyard and given a quiet farewell with love and prayer. She had not been eating well for some time and become sedentary for over a week. Her partner Bingo, the Rottweiler, watched her helplessly, all the time combating his own ailments—a persistent tumour growing in the mouth even after repeated scoopings by the vet. Both around the same age, only six months apart, had lived in harmonious coexistence. It was Bella who always ended up a glutton eating her bowl of food like there was no tomorrow and heading to compete and complete whatever was left on Bingo's. Bella was overweight all her life, looked like a polar bear with her gait endearingly clownish. I would give her less food, but the rest at home would compensate for her loss, feeling she is being deprived of something she enjoyed most. I couldn't do much against each one's varying perceptions of care and affection. The thin line between choosing the right thing and its forgiving alternatives is the conflicting grey stuff that colours our minds. We like to brush them aside, giving precedence to emotions, living our precarious lives; moving on to focus on pending tasks that are seamlessly presented to us. (As a side note, I am happy to recall that my first article in WE magazine, years ago, was titled 'Unconditional Love', and it was about Bingo and Bella!)
A week after Bella's demise, little Patch enters our lives. Picked up one evening from the streets of Thirumudivakkam in Chennai, our faraway workplace, the frail, young, vagabond puppy got placed in our car inside a cardboard box on a whim of my husband. He rode silently for the first half, primarily out of shock and then raised measured wails to express his fears of an unknown future that he could not foresee. Only a while ago, just before our driver turned on the ignition, I had queried our office security about his mother's whereabouts. He pointed out to a famished-looking mom in a brownish-black coat limping away in the opposite direction with an injured leg, seemingly aimless(?). I had only a fleeting glimpse of her as our car had whizzed past to head home by then. My husband kept the cute little estranged one in his view and tried to shower his reassurances. After reaching home, he was kept in an independent territory so as to allow him to sniff his new big boss Bingo through the gaps in his gated enclosure, first to socialise, and then soon, hopefully, to befriend him. But sooner than imagined, he squeezed his slim body out of the gaps and pranced around in the common territory free of worries! However, when we moved in close with excitement, he trembled in fear and ran metres ahead, cleverly finding himself sequestered nooks for protection. Placing trust in humans needed time unlike his own species was clearly evident and understandable too. We hope Bingo will do the needful by reaching out to him, convincing him and giving his endorsement that we are indeed good people!
The following day, he was bathed and vaccinated, his body trembled continuously all the while. It made us worry if it was the best thing to give him shelter in our home. By the way, Patch's name came from my daughter—who was studying away from home—after seeing his pictures. He has a white underbody with cute black and brown patches on his back and on his face, all around the eyes and on the forehead.
I was particular about one thing at home. If ever, the next pet should arrive into the family, it should be a country dog from the streets and not a pedigreed breed. I wish to presume it was probably on that cue Patch was picked up by my husband the other evening. But this poor little terrified guy reminds me of a famous line in a Bollywood movie paraphrased "thappad se dar nahi lagta….pyar se…." meaning not afraid of violence but afraid of love! Could there be a similar situation in his life as well? The trauma he might have endured makes him more accustomed to violence than love? The latter, ironically, he seems to withhold and also desist from accepting?
Day seven, and he is still sprinting away from us, including human kids but thankfully wiping his bowl of milk clean when we leave the scene! We hope he builds his trust soon and begins to enjoy the gift of life with us, patching up the stressful gaps in our lives, too, with his unconditional love and antics.
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