Newlyweds start the day by murmuring sweet nothings. Those past the seven-year-itch exchange polite greetings in the mornings. Couples nearing their silver jubilees rudely grunt ‘good morning’ to each other.
But what about those close to their golden jubilees? Well, they simply continue the argument from the night before!
“Everyone has a right to a pet peeve! Why can’t I keep nursing my grouse?” I asked the missus, continuing my rant from dinner the previous night.
“A peeve about pets is fine, but you can’t remain peeved about dogs! Why can’t you make some effort to make friends with them?”
My wife and I are empirical proof of the thesis propounded by the ancients of the Indus Valley. Or maybe it was the Sumerians who did it. Or the Incas. Whatever. But we are proof positive of the postulation that a dog lover will always get married to a dog hater!
The missus has always loved dogs; of any shape and size. From the common German Shepherd to the snooty Shih Tzu. Also, any mongrel of any description. She loves even the Pekingese, though she readily concedes that most have a nasty temper. She calls dogs ‘people’, and claims that one can often communicate with them better than one can with their owners! She often claims that dogs are more human than humans. And she keeps urging me to make friends with dogs.
Me? I hate dogs. All dogs. Hounds, terriers, retrievers, spaniels—the lot! Living in a closed community with shared spaces, shared lifts and shared corridors makes me hate them more. I would have been quite content to be hated back by the beasts but the dogs, being stupid, love me! It might be only to spite me, but I am often drowned in the overflowing milk of dog-kindness. My neighbour’s Labrador, a monster of an animal, is the ultimate doofus of a dog. It has taken a special fancy to me and tries to give me a hug each time we meet. It places its forelegs on my chest and goes “Huffa…. huffa ....huffa….” in my ear, dribbling gallons of saliva down my shirt front. Yuk!
Illustration: Job P.K.
My loathing of dogs is a mature and rational response. They are restless creatures. They bark randomly at all hours and incessantly in the dead of the night. The phantom sprinkler and mystery pooper have a preference for the corridor on our floor. Like the Magi, they bring gifts for us and leave them at our doorstep, right next to the milk bottles and morning newspaper. Then there is the irritating tyre irrigator, who prefers my car over others.
It pains me to see perfectly sensible people leave home at the crack of dawn on the diktats of their dogs. I find it revolting that the woman in apartment 17C keeps 13 dogs in her two-bedroom apartment. I am annoyed when I see dogs wearing pyjamas and booties. I am disgusted by the owners who ‘baby talk’ with animals. I get angry whenever I see the neighbourhood aunty feeding biscuits and milk to stray dogs. My wife declares that I need to view dogs more kindly and appreciate the lady for being charitable. My stated position is that I would agree, but only if charity were spelt b-a-r-m-y.
These detestable animals have also destroyed my faith in fellow human beings. At a meeting last month, I tried to persuade the residents’ welfare committee to install CCTV cameras in the common areas to name and shame irresponsible dog owners. Instead of getting support, I was ridiculed for raising concerns about non-issues!
When I tried to win the sympathy of my wife, even she sidetracked my demand. “Do you know, these days it’s a great compliment to be called a Golden Retriever Man? You are my Golden Retriever Man!”
“Are you nuts?” I asked. “Which man in his right senses would like to be termed a dog?”
My wife changed tack. “Do you know that during the pitra paksha when we pay homage to our ancestors, a key ritual is the feeding of dogs? This helps to protect the house from enemies and removes the problems that arise due to Rahu and Ketu.” She rounded up her plea with her usual advice to me to make friends with dogs.
I would have gone on hating dogs for the rest of my life, but something happened a couple of weeks ago, which has made me seriously consider my wife’s advice. About 10 days ago, for the very first time, I spotted this beautiful Afghan hound, almost the size of a small pony. The dog was out for a walk with its Australian owner, who has recently moved into our condominium. The golden hair of the dog and the long blonde tresses of the svelte owner made a really pretty picture! Each time I see these two, I think I should indeed be more friendly with dogs. Or at least one of them. And its owner, too! It should be easy, considering that my wife thinks I am a Golden Retriever Man.
K.C. Verma is former chief of R&AW. kcverma345@gmail.com