Mark Twain said, “Take a hungry dog, feed it & it will never bite you; that’s the principal difference between a man & a dog.” Its about two hours past midnight and I’m having a strong urge to write about the female dog I met on the weekend. By far she was my closest encounter of the canine kind (on the happy side).
I’ve always been impressed by this supposed-to-be-feline-predatory-creature, though why it is called so, I never examined for myself. For once, I knew that whatever the creature’s prejudices towards cats, it definitely is not a friend if you’re 12 years old, it’s the 5:30am, it’s the Gujarati New Year in the chilly winter and the odds are four is to one & other five of theirs are on their way. That fateful day, my cousin brother, who has the portfolio of pranks much more diversified when compared to a margin investor like me, saved the night for me (yeah, the dawn hadn’t cracked yet! And you thought I can’t get up before the sun is halfway around the world?) This was the moment at which, the K9’s canines couldn’t breach my epidermis, but they sure did invoke their fear in my mind.
Since then, I’ve been wondering how can a dog be man’s best friend? I’ve gotten over some of my fears by learning that one is supposed to stand still and let the dog smell you (so the datum is fed into the bio-sensory security systems predating the invention of wheel) instead of running helter-skelter and giving the creature all the more reasons to attack you. The first dog to smell me when I stood still was Brownie…
And then there was Lassie… (the slow-motion dream sequence starts now) I visited my friend in Delhi for the weekend and met his so-called-sister, about 7 months old, white Pomeranian. I am a “quick learner” on my CV, so I employed what I’d learnt just about 6 years ago rightaway and let her smell my feet. At this point of time I was a bit skeptical about her intentions to lick me, but she fortunately didn’t (ok, I’m just a novice, haven’t achieved that high a comfort level, shoot me; because apparently, shooting the dog is a violation of animal rights!)
It was then that classical conditioning awakened the Pavlovian Dog in me. I learnt to love Lassie, because I was desperate to be with my friend & he just wouldn’t let go of her. In course of the weekend, I became used to Lassie so that all my fears regarding dogs were overcome. I used to pat her, scratch her throat & even let her lick me! Though she jumping on me is still out of line, but I wonder how long it would take if I were to go visit her once more.
The inscription on the grave of BOATSWAIN (Lord Byron’s dog) reads:
Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN a Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.
Little known fact here, Lassie Senior just died a couple of months back. She didn’t have the funeral like Boatswain, least of all a tomb, but her name still lives on in form of Lassie Junior, who is credited to a major extent for helping me get over my fear of her kind and letting me inch closer to my long cherished dream of having a dog. May Dog bless us all…
Hasmukh :)
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