An Obituary
for my Dog
Meghna 'Phoenix' Ghatak
I dreamt of Kuttush again. I saw him
in the pink of his health, doing circles on our roof top, the wind ruffling
through his thick white fur. I was conscious of the time loop in my dream; the
clocks had been turned backwards. That my dog would be dead in a matter of
months weighed heavy in the dream. A sense of dread muddled the happy picture
of my dog against the white cement. Long after waking up, the fading picture of
Kuttush’s rippling muscles and lolling tongue haunted me.
Kuttush was a bouncing baby boy since
the day I picked him off the streets, always keeping everyone on their toes
around him. Even in his illness, he would do several rounds of the veranda and
bark at the pigs and street urchins and dogs. Never in my wildest dreams could
I ever imagine him gone.
For two full months after his
passing, I felt his ghostly presence around the house. I could mysteriously
hear his heavy breathing as if he had just been playing fetch in house. I could
hear his toe nails against the tiles as if he was patrolling the veranda to
bark at loafers. I even felt his physical presence in the form of his shiny
white hair strewn on a variety of my possessions. I was shell shocked when I
found his hair strands one day on my office desk for the entirety of the first
month of his passing.
Oh how I dreaded coming home from
office! I absolutely hated the habit of scanning my apartment veranda for the
sight of his furry self waiting with anticipation clearly visible in that young
faΓ§ade. He had done that every day and for everyday that he was gone, I felt
deep dismal to gaze up. In the three months that he is gone, I haven’t stopped
looking up. I am used to the little pang of sadness that accompanies his
absence.
I dreaded my abode devoid of my dog
even more. The silence was piercing and the myriad sounds from the television
could never drown that silence. Affection for my waiting dog used to well up at
the sight of him and his wet kisses. Now, only tears well up at the sight of
the empty spot and my dry hands. Even more tears well up when I find my bed
devoid of my sleepy dog who would, with one swift jump curl up on it. At night,
when I was shaken awake by nightmares, I couldn’t find his comforting snore or
bushy tail to hold on to. I spent the majority of the two months flipping
through the numerous pictures of him and me that I had a knack of clicking. My
mother would pour over them at times attracted by the babbles she heard from
our home videos. She missed him too, so did my father. But both had different
ways of lamenting and getting over. They got over him sooner and even sooner over
my ranting of my dog’s happy days.
Kuttush was a street canine and had a
habit up gobbling up garbage when unsupervised. He had on numerous times wolfed
down scrap biscuits, fruit and vegetable peels and seeds and even leftover food
offered by anyone and everyone. He even chewed down on frogs and insects during
playtimes. He used to mop around for a while then vomit them out of his system
and be his bouncy self in no time. Kuttush loved company so much he either
chased them around or hugged them. We all thought that there was something
unique about my dog.
In defense of his uniqueness, I had
negative interaction with people who claimed wastelands next to their abodes as
their own territories. On three such occasions, when my dog took a dump in utter
wastelands had I to fight with such amazing personalities. On Halloween eve, 30th
of October 2016, India was celebrating Diwali, the festival of lights with
light and sound shows in every street corner. Kuttush, who had never shown any
fear of crackers, was suddenly jittery on his feet that day. He kept having
fits and sought refuge under the sofa where he farted out his fears. We had
seen him have fits before so we did the necessary but didn’t panic. It being a
festive occasion, I knew for sure that doctors wouldn’t entertain a canine
patient.
It got worse in the night when he
shook nervously but ate normally. He refused to vomit but continued having
fits. I was frequently kept up by him peeing and pooping in the house. My
mother disliked any rancid smells in the house so I was up mopping after him
most of the night. Somewhere near dawn, my mother woke me up with her find of
more feces under the sofa with a horrible stench. While I cleaned, I couldn’t
help notice that they appeared abnormal with medicine induced smells. I found
Kuttush hiding near my bed completely dazed and covered in his own filth. He
didn’t respond to our calls.
I made a recording of his condition
to show any doctor I could find that day and out of exhaustion, feel asleep.
Some hours later when daylight had poured in completely, I woke up with a start
and sought for Kuttush. Kuttush was sprawled on the floor, dirty and smelling.
I went near him and called him but he didn’t move.
Kuttush was dead. His body was so
stiff that he seemed to have been stuffed by taxidermy. His eyes were open and
blank. His tongue was bluish and glued to the floor. He was so stiff that when
I tried to close his unblinking eyes, I couldn’t. I could even hang down his
ever erect ears. I tried to fold his paws but he had achieved rigor mortis. The
sight was so painful it was almost unbelievable. We tried to check his pulse
but to no avail. Tears streamed down my checks and hit his lifeless form.
Kuttush would know if someone breathed upon him and here he didn’t even stir
when a drop of tear fell upon him.
We called everyone we were close to
for answers, for directions. It hurt me when a few people suggested that we
should throw him out for now he is dead or hand him over to the garbage
collectors. I was appalled. He had been an invincible part of my life; I
couldn’t just throw him out like trash. I had to pay him proper respects. So we
called a taxi and took him to a lone land under a bridge, we paid a man to dig
out a space for my dog to rest eternally. Meanwhile we cleaned him and placed a
garland around his stout neck. When the man finished digging, we carefully
placed Kuttush in the hole and caressed his thick white fur. The man poured
salt on his entire frame and my mother placed the food and sweets that he
loved. Then we all took fistful of mud and slowly cascaded it on Kuttush. We
bid our goodbyes to our beloved white pooch and placed a few burning incense
sticks and flowers on his grave and left.
When back home, we got busy with
entertaining the guests and responding to their sympathy and well wishes. I
found a few thorny seedpods of Xanthium sticking on my dress and immediately
was overpowered by grief. Kuttush didn’t like to be left alone. I was grappled
with thoughts of him lying alone in his cold earth bed while I had my vast bed
empty made even more vast by his absence. I held on to those seedpods of
Xanthium bush that had been growing in the land where we buried him, for a very
long time.
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Xanthium Seeds |
In the coming few months I had many
dreams of him running about the house or away to the wasteland near my
apartment. I imagined the barks of the street dogs as his in my dreams and saw
him lying on cold dirty mud. I found my house too clean and shiny and felt that
I had far more time on my hands than before. I never really got over his sudden
demise and went over every detail of that fateful Halloween day that took away
my 10 month old, otherwise healthy dog. I visited many dog doctors, owners,
enthusiasts and showed them his last video recording. People gave many
explanations, some said he suffered a shock, others said that he had a heart
attack. But most feasible of them was poisoning. I recalled the medicinal smell from his feces
and his dazed, unresponsive faΓ§ade. I concluded that the fights I had with
those people over him pooping in wastelands near their houses have been
revenged. If so was the case, then Kuttush died a worthless death…
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ReplyDeleteA heart wrenching story. I can connect very well as I too had lost one of mine due to poisoning. Very well expressed.
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