Tails, I Win: A Story of Taniya Roy’s Love of Dogs

The Book of Dog, edited by Hemali Sodhi is a testament to how deeply dogs touch us, to the special bond we have with them and the unique place they hold in our hearts and our lives. Through a series of unforgettable real-life stories-funny, poignant, warm and joyous — the authors celebrate the remarkable dogs they have known and loved.

Read a heartwarming story from one of our readers, Taniya Roy, in which she writes about the lessons she learnt from her furry friends.

Tails, I Win

Valentine’s Day 2009 was a strange day. I was in ninth grade in school, and the sentimental significance of the day was rather muted for me back then. So that year, when my father woke me up to tell me that there was a surprise waiting outside, we stared at each other for five seconds straight. Thankfully, it was no monkey business, but a dog one. I opened our door to a little black ball of fur—curled up and asleep. A run-of-the-mill black stray that you see on the street every day. I should probably mention at this point that my family and I had always had cats before this. Remo was the first dog to cross the threshold.

Our pets always had strange, fancy names – Dado, Viku, Pim, Nutubihari. Remo’s was an interesting name, because he was fond of the song ‘Signal’ from the movie Bhagam Bhag. The song was sung by the singer Remo Fernandes. Our parents had always allowed pets at home, thanks to the tantrum and fits my sister and I threw. But while cats were about setting boundaries and begging (so they’d slowly blink back – cat parents will know), dogs were a different ball game altogether. We did not know what to do with these wagging wonders of endless energy. Remo was the first dog in my life, and although his coat did not feel as soft to pet as the cats’, the corner he went on to claim in my heart was just as soft. Whether cat or dog, I learnt that caring for an animal teaches you a lot about compassion and responsibility. By allowing pets at home, knowingly or unknowingly, my parents passed these virtues on to me, and for that, I will forever be grateful to them.

The acclaimed Bengali writer Lila Majumdar was also an animal lover. She opined that chaining an animal in your home, petting and feeding it, does not count as love. Love entails acknowledging a creature’s being. We too believed in this. Remo ate his meals with us and received his vaccinations from us. Rest, he reigned freely in our neighbourhood. Like a homing pigeon, he always came back to sleep in our patio at night. But one day, he suddenly didn’t. People from the neighbourhood said that they had seen him in the nearby schoolyard. We hurried to the spot to find Remo playing. He was all excited when he saw us and greeted us as if his best guests had arrived. He came back home with us that day. But it was one of the last few days that he did.

I never quite understood what drove Remo away. He started living near the schoolyard. Some people said our neighbours had scared him away by repeatedly showing him a baton. Others said that’s what some dogs do – just run away. But I had never had a dog before, so Remo’s departure left a pit in my mind. At first, I would carry him food, but then some days later, he would not show up. I would have no choice but to wait among the mosquitoes, feed the meat and rice to other dogs and finally return. During our chance encounters on the street, say, when I would be on my way to a coaching class (I was in the twelfth grade by then) on a paddle rickshaw, Remo would spot me from afar and sprint enthusiastically after the rickshaw till his ‘canine borders’ would permit. It always struck me as odd, why he never returned home. The question persisted and then faded as the years went by. Remo went on to be seen less on the street, even less following a rickshaw and then not at all.

The one who came into my life a year later was a spotted little dog. He was literally little, the last of the litter. A blunt face, flat ears, full of ticks between the paws and all over the body. Godu was born to a mother different from Remo’s. This dog, even as a puppy, had a very resigned look about himself. He had an uncharacteristically short tail, and people asked us if we had docked it to make the dog aggressive. Neither did we, nor did we believe in such a thing. And when you get right down to it, animals have every right to become aggressive if someone tries to dock them. My Godu with the short tail was however the opposite of being aggressive. He never whined about anything in life – not even the ticks he had. And believe me, he had ticks. I remember sitting one day and picking off every single one. I think both of us slept soundly that night. Godu and I had a favourite routine – running around an old, plastered pillar on our terrace, chasing tails. Like Remo, he also roamed in our neighbourhood during the day. One October, I went to feed him right after he came home. He was sitting at the top of the stairs that led to our terrace. To my horror, I saw streams of blood trickling down the steps. Upon seeing me, Godu straightened up and started wagging his tail vigorously – and that’s when I saw it. His testicles were torn open; it was mating season, and some other stray had bitten him badly. We tried to call anyone who could help us admit him somewhere; but it was not until the next morning that the veterinary hospital was able to send their staff. Godu survived on the hope of milk, medicines and painkillers that night. That incident made us immensely aware of the importance of timely castration.

Life with a neutered Godu was even calmer. And at some point, it came to a standstill. Meanwhile, I had changed states to make a better living. Godu stayed back in Kolkata. We would meet whenever I came home. Time floated by and one day, I came back home for good. I had quit my job in the other state. If you had asked Godu, he might have disagreed with the decision, but I think this was the period when we bonded the best. There was an inexplicable commonality in our joblessness and passivity. However, the spell ended when one January, I got contracted for another job – and Godu contracted parvo.

Godu left me at a time when life was really unbalanced, unpredictable. And his leaving made it even more so. Godu’s brother – Kaalu, who was born a year later – came to claim his position soon. Kaalu is a typical Bengali name given to one’s pet when it is black in colour.

Kaalu also lived up to the name, only his chest had a patch of white. But he also had a skin disorder for which he would scratch himself red. We would bathe, clean and treat him periodically, but to no avail. Once a local ‘do-gooder’ applied phenyl on Kaalu, thinking that it might heal his skin. The persistent whimpers and strong smell soon alerted us to the matter. I remember bathing Kaalu at half past ten that fateful night and drying him with a hair dryer. For a while, we considered tying Kaalu at home. But we had never tried restraining any animal, and our home had too many doors, windows and escape routes to even begin.

When he was about eight, Kaalu got hernia. The vet felt that he would not survive surgery, and since the growth did not interfere with his daily routine, we could leave it at that. However, suspecting that he was spreading diseases, another ‘benefactor’ arranged for Kaalu to be taken off to a shelter sixty kilometres away from our home, without our knowledge. It was a restless week, running from one NGO to another, trying to find Kaalu. Luckily, I had friends whose car I could borrow to bring the poor animal back to the place he knew as home.

Kaalu passed away exactly a year after that incident. Just before that, I had also lost my grandmother. I could not be by her side when she left; and that is a regret I will carry with me forever. It is possibly a self-redeeming thought, but I am glad I was able to be with Kaalu the day before he died. When he knew he was about to go, he had stopped eating much. He lay down all day. The day before we lost him, I had gone to him with food. Despite his state, he lifted his head and took a morsel. You never know there can be a more beautiful place, unless you have been in someone’s thoughts and considerations.

After Kaalu, I thought of having no more animals at home. Loss comes holding the hand of love. But it’s a lesson you learn in life: love makes you a drunkard. Once you drink, know that you will drink again. And that is how Gupikanta came into my life. But that’s a story for another day.

 

With Godu