BENGALURU: I have never had a pet in my life. The concept of having a pet always struck me as inherently cruel. The animal is robbed of independence and social life, and is made completely dependent for food and shelter. Not only do we sterilise them, the heat in India is unbearable for most purebred dogs. Also, I was told all through my childhood that pets are for rich people.
I might not have had pets, but I have always gotten along fabulously with stray dogs. In my university, there was Kimbo Slice - the alpha who did not adhere to territorial boundaries and retired gracefully into the sunset when he turned too old. I have made friends with the stray dogs in every place I’ve visited. Whether it is the shaggy dogs in the Himalayas, or the free-spirited hippie dogs of Goa. Which is why my interest was piqued when a friend who runs a rescue shelter enquired if I’d be interested in fostering a puppy for a few weeks. The little thing had met with an accident and required care and attention till it was good enough to be back on the streets.
But I had my own fears. I’d never been responsible for anyone in my life. I was also afraid that my home would smell of piss and poop, and become messier than it already is. However, I got the puppy home.
For the first few days, she merely sat in a corner of my bed. She did not wag her tail, or make a sound. My responsibilities included feeding her thrice a day, taking her out for a walk twice a day, checking if she was pooping, and sending the pictures of her poop to my friend for verification. For someone without any sense of discipline, it gave my hedonistic life some sense of routine. My friends would even pamper her, buying her expensive toys and imported food that had to be mixed with only a particular flavour of Cerelac (Rice).
You can take the puppy out of the streets, but you can’t take the streets out of the puppy. A true daughter of the soil, she had no expensive tastes to speak of. In spite of all the toys, her favourite things to play with were my socks, old T-shirts, slippers, and doormats. In spite of all the posh food at her disposal, she loved chewing on my hair and biting my nose.
The kids in my lane had fallen in love with her and given her a name (Pichhamma). I had gotten used to the routine, as had my flatmate- someone who is terrified of all kinds of animals. The shy little puppy had turned into the devil incarnate. Before I knew it, the two weeks had zoomed by, and it was time to return her to the streets.
And so on Sunday (incidentally National Pets Day), I returned the puppy to her street, to grow along with her siblings. She has adapted well, and I’m told is now the naughtiest of all the puppies in her litter. If you’ve ever been curious, I’d advise you to try fostering an indie puppy for a few weeks. Two fun-filled weeks for you could mean the difference between life and death for the little ones.
My room still smells of piss and poop. It’s messier than it ever was - with paper, plastic and clothes strewn all over. But there’s also a puppy-shaped hole in my heart, contended that she’s made it back to where she truly belongs.