The real companion
N J Ravi Chander
I was fortunate to be in the company of some fantastic pets during my early days. In the early 60s, my parents moved into their new accommodation in Fraser Town and one portion of the building, rented out to a tenant, was a mini zoo housing birds and animals of various kinds.
Sparrows were a dime a dozen then and the tenants trapped the feathered beauties with the aid of cane baskets and housed them in cages. Ducks swam in the small pond at the back and fowls roamed the yard. Cats came visiting for a drink of milk or a feed of fish. There were white mice, rabbits and love birds too.
Jack, a much-adored Pomeranian, was the first in a line of canine pets that we adopted- Rex, Tinku, Don, Raja and Rani were the others who graced our home. Joseph, a schoolmate, offered him to us as a New Year gift.
The cute, brown-coloured, tiny ball of fur was a bundle of joy and welcome addition to the clan. We took turns to cuddle him and even allowed him the luxury of sleeping with us under a warm blanket during the night. Of course, we did all this surreptitiously as the parents would fume if they caught us in the act. But the puppy, probably uncomfortable in our company, would sneak away after a while and sleep on the floor.
We pampered the pooch with ice-creams and pastries. Our furry companion would reciprocate our kindness by licking us and wagging his tail. Jack would also meticulously wake us up at dawn with a gentle nudge of his paws, and if we did not respond to the promptings, would let out a soft bark.
Jack soon grew into a handsome adult and our bond became more emphatic. He would see us off at the gate when we left for work or wag his tail merrily when we got back home. It was his way of showing his love and compassion for us. For his small frame, he was extraordinarily fierce and picked on dogs many times his size when let out on the street. When he was on guard, no stranger dared to stray into our compound. He had the uncanny ability to pick up the slightest sound, and we felt secure when he was around.
In later years, he would amuse us by going into a spin and trying to grab his tail. He loved to play ‘fetch’ and would scamper in the ball’s direction and bring and place the rubber orb at our feet. He also enjoyed chasing away simian visitors who raided our orchard. I recall him escorting my better half to the bus stop every day on her way to the office and returning to his den after completing the job. His presence was always therapeutic.
Just nearing his seventh birthday in the summer of 1991, death cruelly snatched him away from us. He suddenly developed a liver complication and was admitted to a private veterinary hospital.
The day before his passing away, I went to check on his progress. He looked a pale shadow of himself and yelped as if to suggest “take me home”. He was probably uncomfortable in the presence of strangers or just wanted to be with us during those last moments. I repent for not bringing him home because the next day he was no more. His death deeply saddened me, and the pain took a long time to heal.
(The author is a former banker who has taken up writing as a pastime. He writes for the Deccan Herald, The New Indian Express, The Tribune, The Hitavada, The City Tab, Bangalore Mirror, The Hans India and Kashmir Vision)
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