Dog Brother
Strange title, I know. But hear me out. I realise several people share this line of thought and I wanted to see if someone else felt the same.
I see a lot of pet parents on social media. On Facebook, I follow several dog channels who make incredible videos. A lot of them have the idea of the pet parent quite strong. And it made me wonder what the difference is about living with a pet vs being a pet parent, and also made me wonder if I’d make a good one.
I’ve lived with a dog. Although I wouldn’t call myself a pet parent. The journey of my dog was a lot more accomplished than mine, if I may even use the word accomplished. Our dog is the reason I feel so comfortable with every dog that I come across. And so here, I follow my train of thought with vague memories of what was.
I have no certain memory of when my dog and I became friends, although I remember why. He was a stray who used to pass by our house regularly, smelling near our gate looking for something and then going on. This was during my primary school where I was dead scared of animals, especially dogs because I had been told that they were ferocious, bit a lot, and purposefully formed packs to attack people. I had been chased on the streets by strays when I was on my bicycle which added to my fears.
If there’s one thing I feared more than a pack of dogs attacking me, it was facing my mother’s wrath at having brought leftover lunch from school. Not a very good thing to be but there it is. I used to eat diligently almost every single day, but some days were not like the others and there used to be something left that I just couldn’t stomach. Especially, when friends at school also decided not to partake in mine.
My commute was on a city bus where mine was the last stop, in a fairly isolated place so there wasn’t much chance of me getting caught in case I did something scandalous. At that age, throwing leftover food was more scandalous than the worst crimes of humanity.
I knew of a corner where several people used to throw leftover food. Luckily, it was on the way home and I remember being ready to quickly throw what was in my bag and vanish, like a secret agent doing a dead drop without anyone’s notice.
It is here that I first chanced upon our dog. White in colour, but fairly dirty because he was a street dog. Somehow we crossed paths at the same time on many days and there was a silent approval in his eyes maybe because the food I used to drop was relatively fresh compared to what he used to have on a daily basis. Here is how we started noticing one another. A few days after this, I realised that him waiting for me at the food spot was a regular occurrence. He had even realised the approximate time that I would walk by and would wait there diligently.
I used to think he wanted only food and nothing more. It is only later that I started noticing the subtle tail wags. By this time, I had purposefully started saving some food for him. I had very few friends back then and becoming friendly with a dog seemed a bit daunting and yet an exciting affair.
He used to gobble up whatever I put furiously, and slowly follow my steps and come close to my crossroad and then go away. At first, I was terrified. Why was he following me home? I obviously didn’t have the courage to pet him or play with him. There was no way I was going to get a dog followed and be close to me. My fear and reluctance kept me on edge at all times.
Slowly and surely, he started following me home. Sit at my door for several minutes and go away. He used to get shooed by my family whenever they caught him lounging around because all of us were a bit scared of dogs. He wouldn’t relent. He would always come and sit at our door. Whenever I stepped out for a chore, pick up groceries, or visit someone close to our house, he used to follow me around. I tried to shoo him many times, but he used to look up at me with a bewildered expression, bordering on amusement, because he was a fairly big fellow and I was a puny little kid trying to scare him into going away. It would have never worked. But all that changed soon.
Once out on a chore, he was following me. As usual, I gave him a couple of warnings to stay away and yet he followed me at a close distance. Near our street was another man walking his own German Shepard. Me being me, I was suddenly scared of a large German Shepherd in front of me and our fellow following closely behind. As I was nearing the Shepard, the leash was loose and the German Shepard attempted a lunge at me.
From nowhere darted a large fluff of white straight to the German Shepard’s face, teeth and fangs baring, ready for a fight to the death. On cue, another street dog from a neighbouring street came running, ready to support my dog. I realised that I was already thinking that he was mine because he stepped in front of what could have been a near fatal bite. The German Shepard was outnumbered. Two fairly strong street dogs vs a German Shepard is still an uneven fight because a street dog fights to the death, every single day.
A few wrestles later, the German Shepard began whimpering and its owner dragged it away. And mine came to me wagging his tail, tongue out, his rescue triumphant. He circled around me and exchanged something in his language with the one who came to his aid and they parted ways. This is when I knew I had found the one.
The moment I went home, I opened the gate. He looked around, hesitated a few moments and then stepped inside the house for the first time. It was as if he too realised that he had crossed all the barriers and was one with us. There was definitely some initial resistance in my family in taking in a stray but soon he warmed up to everyone. What struck me was not his cute and playful nature. He was anything but that.
In his eyes, I saw a look that comes with weathering years of storms on the streets, of having had countless near-fatal fights and still having no one to tend to wounds later. The fact that he had decided that we would be his family rather us adopting him into our own was etched in all of our minds.
Ever since then, he stayed with us. He used to go out every single day, complete his rounds, patrol with other street dogs, and at the end of the day, he’d be home. We never knew how he found his way back, but dinner time he was usually home.
I gradually started to see his health improve because of regular food. And yet he seemed free from worry. He had the confidence of someone who could get by with absolutely no aid from our side. And it is this confidence that made me look up to him. Which brings me to this thought.
I was never a parent to a dog.
Our dog was literally as old as I was in human years. If anything, that would make him a senior citizen in dog years. Most of the times, I saw him as an elder figure offering counsel and protection when necessary. As someone who understood this world better but would happily throw himself in harm’s way to ensure I was okay. We explored many streets together. Him and I running through the streets, running around gardens, and sometimes chasing other dogs who wished us harm.
It’s been 18 years to the day of this writing that I last saw him. And I am ambivalent about how I feel. There seems to be a strange melancholy that accompanies every dog I meet. I pride myself on being a ‘dog whisperer’ as stray dogs seem to find my presence comforting and gravitate towards me wherever I go. I have adopted several dogs in dog shelters maybe as a way of finding the same state of mind that I had when I was with my own. I have travelled across the country, befriended every breed and stray, looking for that familiar glint that knows me as a peer or a senior.
And yet my own perspective when meeting another dog is that of a peer. I somehow always see them, not as children, but as beings with experiences more than my own. It’s inexplicable, as much as I try to put words to what’s on my mind. The weird pull I have is likely not because the dogs see me as someone who could take care of them, but more like someone who reflects and resonates with their own states of mind.
I wonder if this is something that pet parents go through as well. I have seen protective households where dogs stay indoors all day, becoming unhealthy and inactive. And I also see households where dogs are well taken care of, exercised, and active. I have no opinions of either of these. I’m sure the owners can take care of the dogs well. But I always wonder, always worry about what sort of behavioural evolution dogs will undergo if we treat them like peers.
Will they uncover more of their own traits, or help humans uncover their own hidden traits? Are there things dogs are trying to communicate that we are unable to understand, because we cannot see past a certain perceived level of intelligence and maturity? How long before we come to the same level of understanding? With these in mind, I meet every dog I come across as meeting an elder one. I don’t know if the dogs can perceive it, but I sure welcome it. And may forever it be this way.
