“Give way neither to love nor to hate, is one-half of worldly wisdom: say nothing and believe nothing, the other half,” said the dear old Schopenhauer. The first half of the wise counsel agrees with my attitude towards dogs and other sundry pets.
My dearest late mother wisely advised me to avoid going to the house of four kinds of people: couples who have recently become parents, couples who have recently become grandparents, couples who have recently acquired a son-in-law, and couples who own dogs or pets of any kind. The stories that these couples are likely to share will surely induce a deep coma. I am not an anti-dog person, but I generally like to keep the dogs and their owners at a safe distance.
I do see these wonderful and heartwarming videos of dogs (and cats and other sundry pets), but I generally remain stoic in not allowing pets into my house. My condition may be the result of psychological trauma inflicted at various stages of my life, especially during childhood. The earliest I remember was a vicious dog at our family friend’s place who did not wag his tail on seeing me but instead thought I was a chubby edible package to be consumed immediately. Now, this uncle was a geologist who brought a 20-foot-by-20-foot mountain dog from his expeditions in the Himalayan foothills while exploring oil.
The problem with this family was that their passion for dogs was incompatible with their culinary habits. Being strict orthodox South Indian vegetarians, they were feeding the ferocious beast, used to the rawest meat, with home-cooked rice, vegetables, pulses, curds, and Sambar. The dog would turn his face in disgust, so to make the food more appealing, they thought adding dollops of extra ghee might help. Such manoeuvres might impress a passionate Sambar-loving South Indian, but the dog was clearly not one to change his attitude. Hence, as the dog grew increasingly thin, he used to feed on the most diverse of creatures, like cockroaches, lizards, rats, and other unsuspecting and unnamed small animals sneaking into the house from the garden. A small child like me entering the house may have appeared as food to him, so he had to be kept on an extremely short leash made of the strongest fibre, even as I howled in terror at the sight of him. Meanwhile, everyone used to have a wonderful laugh. Textbook definition of trauma.
Once, I politely inquired about the well-being of a dog belonging to its owner, and he nearly boxed me in response. He curtly remarked that it was exceedingly impolite of me to refer to Tommy as a dog. Tommy was not a dog but his son. Building on that experience, a few years later, I remarked to a colleague that his dog resembled him. I thought it looked vaguely like a compliment, keeping the familial connections in mind. It was not, I discovered soon, when he seriously blew his top. I was left surprised, confused, and disturbed. Do I call a dog a dog or address it as a family member? My sensitive heart bore another scar.
Another time, I was staying at a friend’s house overnight after having dinner. The conversations, or rather the monologues, at the dinner table focused solely on their wonderful dog. He described how the dog, during the winter, would get on the bed under the thick blanket between him and his spouse and push him off the bed to get his sleeping space. Wow! I finally escaped to my bed. In the dark of the night, when I woke up to go to the washroom, I stepped on something squishy, then another, and another as I made my way to the toilet. When I switched on the lights, it was all dog poo. Here, there, and everywhere. Apparently, the damn dog had been having diarrhoea, and he had used the guest bedroom as his relieving place because it was too cold outside. For the owner, it was a joke. I made a firm lifelong commitment that night never to have a dog in my life.
I concede that there are many happy moments when you own cute pets, especially dogs (unconfirmed reports that cats are not so loyal): unconditional love being the most important, something that has become a rarity in human beings. However, the pressure to walk dogs (there are professional dog walkers these days), handle their excretory products inside and outside the home, provide them baths, administer their vaccines and medications, manage their surgeries, and attend to their mating needs only spells exhaustion for me. I am simply not prepared. Yes, they have expensive medicines and surgeries. Rumour has it that the richest doctors in big cities are veterinary cardiologists. I learned about continuous glucose monitors from a colleague who used one for monitoring her diabetic dog!
The love that pets show perhaps makes all the effort to care for them worthwhile. Recently, in one of the most astounding dog stories, dog lovers met on Instagram and got married, jumping all social barricades related to language, region, and caste. Maybe, pets have their uses. But, no, thank you. I distance myself from them, even though I may now be vulnerable to attacks from pet lovers who view people without pets as specifically missing out something precious in their lives and generally being inferior on cultural, intellectual, and emotional scales. A passionate friend who loves dogs considers me to be a heartless brute. I have also discovered that dog lovers can be extremely touchy when it comes to handling jokes on pets and pet owners.
But frankly, I am scared of dogs because one loses them rather quickly. I believe one dog year equals seven human years. Their rapid ageing implies that we have to face the loss of a dear one at extremely short intervals. I am unhappy with making emotional bonds and then having heartbreaks. Deaths at such short intervals can be disconcerting to a sensitive heart. I agree that there is something in the eyes of dogs that draws you into another world. That’s why I avoid looking into dogs’ eyes, which radiate such charm, sympathy, and love that one is compelled to take them into the arms immediately. I once looked intently into the eyes of a stray dog on the walking ground, and he followed me for almost a week. It was a superhuman effort on my part not to bring the dog home.
Anyway, for this lifetime, I am happy with Garfield, Snoopy (of the Peanuts fame), Dogmatix (of the Asterix and Obelix fame), Snowy (Tintin’s dog), and the very Indian Chamiya belonging to our own superhero Bahadur, who remain firmly in the cartoon pages. Of course, dear Phantom’s pet, Devil, is not a dog but a wolf. There are a few friends who have forced their way into my life. A charming chameleon resides in some remote corners of the shoe rack outside my house. Whenever I come to find my walking shoes, he/she comes out and looks at me adoringly until I finish tying my shoes. Then it runs back to hide. This is the closest to a pet in my life. I am sure their love for me has transferred across generations because the greeting has been going for some time now. I become worried when I don’t see it in the mornings.
For those who are not aware, animals have a strong association with many deities that attest to the immense reverence Indian culture has for all living creatures. The dog is the vehicle of Lord Bhairava, and dogs symbolise the Vedas in Lord Dattatreya’s iconography. The dog is also associated with Lord Yama. Similarly, the cat is the vehicle of Goddess Shasti, a deity for childbirth and fertility. Anyway, I am neither a pet lover nor a pet hater. I have a deep respect for all living things, so before strong animal lovers come at me with their knives for being a barbaric individual, I want to clarify my stance. I simply prefer to keep them outside my physical, emotional, and culinary life. Dog lovers of the world, unite and live your life. However, non-dog lovers of the world also have a reason to stay away from dogs and pets. Live and let live, I say.
