For many years now, my family has possessed not-so-fancy dogs — mostly the kind that found us rather than the other way around. For some reason, I remember we had two Blackies, a Snowy, a Soapy, and now, of course, I have Naughty and Beauty.
Our canine cast started with a scrappy pup, who, being a good sniffer, ran into my father carrying home a loaf of bread. Being kids ranging in the age group of 5-11, we, for some reason, thought that Blackie was a good name. It anyway suited his partially black-and-brown ensemble. He was not very open to cuddling, more like, “Okay, you can pet me once in a while”.
Blackie’s adoption was not as straightforward as following a loaf of bread but doing a sit-in before our gate for three days. Initially, my mother ignored all our pleas, but after the third day, seeing the little chap still hanging out near the gate softened her stance.
With Blackie around, there was never a dull moment. His antics were never-ending. When we got a belt and chain, he sat in a corner and howled, although we had not even tied him. He ferociously attacked any cat, dog, or human being who came near our gate. He waited near the kitchen every time Amma was cooking and did funny poses, hoping that Amma would give him a teeny-weeny bit. He wanted everything we ate, be it idli, dosa, chapati, noodles, curries, curd rice, and so on.
One unforgettable episode involved a concoction of ‘Rasna’ that we all were gulping as we sat down doing some water colour painting. Blackie, too, wanted it. Mother decided to give him just half a tumbler of it. Well, this did not go well with Blackie as he wanted more. When he understood that he was not going to be indulged, he came and gulped the coloured water we had near our paints.
Then there was the jackfruit caper, where Blackie managed to run away with some of the fruit. To our surprise, he wolfed down five bulbs of the fruit, cleverly separating them from the intricate netting with his paws. It was a heist worthy of any Hollywood film.
Most of the time, we never chained him, and he could easily run around in our compound. Yet, he was a free spirit and loved running around on the streets with a pack of dogs. When he got a wanderlust, he would manage to jump the gate and spend time with all his street mates. During these jaunts, even if we were next to him or called him, he would behave as if he never knew us. This madness lasted a week to ten days, and then he would be back home.
The most endearing part of his stay with us was when he would listen to discourses. My grandfather was very interested in philosophy and Sanskrit, and was a learned person. Many people came home to listen to his discourses. For some reason, Blackie would just sit next to him and listen to every lecture he gave. We never understood this behaviour, and till my grandpa passed away, this was a part of his routine. Anyway, who are we to question a dog’s taste in intellectual pursuits?
And so, the saga of Blackie, the philosopher-pup, continued until the end of my grandfather’s discourses and beyond, leaving us with memories as delightful as a tail-wagging welcome at the end of a long day.
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