Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Surviving the Loss of Your Dog

I did a Google search for 'dealing with the loss of a pet' and found tonnes of articles describing how a person could cope once their pet died. I found none of these useful, mainly because I was dealing with the loss of pets that were still living. So I decided to write a survival guide just for you, brave reader, as you try to ease your pain.

Life after losing your dog

Earlier this year, my golden Labrador, Peanut, went missing. Unless you are a regular reader of my blog, you will be unable to fathom just how much Peanut meant to me. Peanut was my son; he was my pillar of strength when I was down, my shadow as I moved about the house, my constant companion as I pottered about and muttered to him words of kindness or of anger.

So if he meant so much to me, how could I let him out of my sight long enough for him to be lost. A valid question, yes.

Well, the truth was that at the time the puppies that Peanut had fathered with our German Shepherd had just been born. The puppies grabbed all of my attention, as puppies will do, so that all day I devoted my time to making sure they were alright and keeping Peanut out of the room so as not to upset the mother. In the same line of thinking, therefore, I let him out of the house while I tended to the pups; it wasn't the first time, I'd let him out by himself several times in the past and he'd made his way back home. Except on this day I'd had one glass of wine too many and fell asleep so that it was 7am by the time I realised that Peanut hadn't come back home. Perhaps he had come and found that the door wasn't opened for him, went hunting for his home at other locations. I have only myself to blame.

So first comes the cold realisation that your dog, your beloved non human child, is gone. You go out and look for him in a cold panic. Steeling yourself against the growing realisation that you're never going to find him. Or that he's never going to come back  home. Your brain, of course, rationalises the situation and tells you that of course you're going to find him; he couldn't have gone too far. So you ride through the neighbourhood, calling out his name, looking for his familiar shade of coat against the cold metropolis. Nothing. So then you fear that perhaps someone has taken him and that is why he's unable to make his way back to his home. So you put up posters offering a reward; you spread the word on your social networks - your Facebook, your Twitter, whatever works. You will of course gain lots of sympathy during the course of these events.

Still nothing. That's when your old dark fear comes true: Your little boy had never been happy with you to begin with. Whoever dognapped him, and whichever home he landed up in, is keeping him much happier than you ever had. Which is why he hasn't come back to try to find you, which is why you cannot find him.

Never, never, admit to yourself that he may be dead.

So in the midst of this morbid tale, how do you survive? You cling on to the hope that he may still be out there, looking for his way back home. You never stop glancing about you as you leave home or return, in case you catch sight of his glossy coat. You keep checking the lost pets section of a Facebook page or newspaper in the hope that he may yet turn up.

And life does go on.

Life after giving away a dog

 By 'dog' in this case, I will be referring to puppies that you helped to raise. My lost dog was fortunate enough to have fathered seven pups. Rather, we were fortunate enough to have them born in our home as little reminders of him. But raising seven German Shepradors is impossible when you live in an apartment, so off they had to go to find new homes.

Now, when my German Shepherd went into labour, we did not take her to a vet. Partly because there are no competent vets nearby, but mainly because I am already familiar in the art of canine midwifery, having served as apprentice midwife to my aunt when our pom was whelping. So from the time they were blind little rat-like creatures being popped out in their amniotic sacs, to the time they began ripping around the house tearing up everything in sight, I had these pups in my sights, making sure they were well fed and happy. You can imagine, therefore, or perhaps you can't, the searing loss that comes when you have to give them away. You know it is in their best interest to go to a better and bigger home, but it is a terrible thing to have to give away what has come to become such a lively part of your life. We have since given away four of the puppies, always making sure that the new owners were loving and knew what they were letting themselves in for. But I will still remember little Prilo's loving toe-licks, Rajjo's simpering gaze, Django's hyperactive bounding at the merest whisper of your voice and Yogi's easy attitude.

No, it isn't easy having dogs. Not because of the effort involved in their care; but because it simply hurts too much when you have to see them go.

Monday, April 01, 2013

I Love Breaking Bad

And Gus Fring can scare anyone shitless with a mere raised eyebrow.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Where did all the good men go?

Perhaps there were no good men in the first place. Good men were a myth invented and propagated by enterprising aunts and sadistic mothers to lure their girl folk into a relationship so as to cohabitate and procreate.

More and more I see friends of mine divorce or separate - and see them the happier for it. The so called feminine revolution bit us women in the ass. The more successful we are with our careers, the higher we aspire, the more material wealth we are able to independently collect, the more our chances of finding a bottom feeder to latch on to us and use all of this to their own purposes. Mainly that of sitting at home without a job.

I came close to going down that happy route but I am weak - I am a simpering idiot, a mere fool who cries to all her woes, but does nothing to improve her own life story. I sit content to watch others liberate themselves; walking with eyes wide open to a future unknown and alone. They have the courage to live their lives without leaning on an insignificant other. By lauding them instead of joining their ranks, I merely prove to myself each day - that I have deserved every little bit of what I have been meted out by the world.

Happy women's day to me.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Basic instinct

Of all the things I admire, what stands above the rest is the animal instinct, exhibited by animals. Of course, 'animal instinct' as said to be exhibited by humans is more often than not about multiple sexual partners or murder.

My dog just gave birth to seven puppies. She didn't need anyone to teach her what to do or what to expect during her pregnancy or delivery. How many human women do you know who could carry through a pregnancy or delivery without outside help/intervention?

From the time whelping began, Doughnut, my German Shepherd, kept herself busy licking her bottom and every little amniotic sac clad pup that popped out. She didn't really need me; she wouldn't have died without my assistance. I was merely an onlooker, making sure she was completely pushing them out in time before they choked midway, ensuring she'd taken off the amniotic membrane off their face so they could take that first step without drowning in amniotic fluid, making sure she bit off the umbilical cord so there wasn't too long a one hanging off of each puppy's belly. She knew instantly that she had to eat up the placenta and the amniotic sac and make room for the next pup to emerge. If you were in labour and alone, would you know what to do? Would you be in a frame of mind to do it?

Even after the pups were born, Doughnut knew to lick them constantly to remove any obstructions from their breathing or anal orifices. She also began to lick their poop and piss. How many of you could survive without commercial diapers or pampers?

Now, a day later, Doughnut has learned to let her puppies suckle and only goes away for a couple of minutes when she needs to eat, excrete, or just needs a minute of personal time. Would you be able to be with your infant twenty four seven without any outside help?

I guess my gripe isn't really against human mothers. What I'd like to know is: why can't we be as intuitive as these 'lower species'? Why do we have to do through volumes of learning and experience to know what to do and when? If instincts were eliminated from our species so as to prepare us for a lifetime of learning and spiritual development, why aren't we learning and thus evolving instead of wasting our time with meaningless conflict and vacuous thought bubbles in the form of Facebook?

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Tagged #2

Yes, readers, I have been tagged again. The good part is this gives me an excuse to write when I can be working instead. Well, the bosses shouldn't have let me work from home then, now should they have?

So keeping deadlines and decks aside, here is what I have to say for myself (rules for the next lot to follow this bit):

11 things you ought to know about me

1. I have always been a fat kid. Tortured, bullied for it and lived life pretty much miserably. No mutations into swanhood happened during the teenage either. Through aerobics, I had a happy, slim twenties and now back to displaying all signs of prosperity. Yes, I have finally come to deal with living with my belly - the bane of my existence.

2. I'm a mess. No matter how wonderfully organised I am at work, there's just nothing I can do about the mess at home. I look at the clutter and look away, hoping it hasn't seen me notice it and doesn't give me a guilt trip about its neglected existence. Luckily, I can always blame the mess on my dogs.

3. I hate non fiction. I have tried very, very hard to read non fiction. Unless it's an autobiography of someone fascinating (like Mein Kampf) I'm kilometres away from it. Give me the funny literature, any day.

4. I'm a sucker for stand up. I just can't get enough of stand up comedians. Of course, they have to be amazing, like George Carlin or Bill Hicks.

5. My secret shame is that I learned to ride a scooter before I learned to ride a bicycle - and all this done only in my mid twenties. I never took off my training wheels, as a child.

6. I take misanthropy way too far. Not that I'm out buying guns and killing little kids or anything, but I am terribly people phobic. Perhaps I am becoming what they call 'uptight'?

7. As a work from homer, I brush my teeth only on special occasions. Haha. And you thought technology was going to improve lives.

8. I liked Gangnam Style.

9. I hate making lists about myself.

10. Why eleven things, anyway?

11. I hate numerology.

Ok, now that we're done with that (dusts off hands), let's move on to some of the questions:

Your pet-name / nick-name
Mini, through college. And Love, after that.

Your celebrity crush
Johnny Depp

Your favourite book
How does one choose just one? Catch 22 by Joseph Heller, I guess.

Who was your favourite teacher
Ugh. Teachers should be shot (of course, America's already way ahead of us on that one).

Which dish can you cook best
 Some version of a sambar that you would not find in traditional households.

Your idea of a dream-date
Sitting curled up by a fire (in a cold country, of course. Imagine having a fire blazing in the hearth while you're in Chennai or something. You'd probably have to have a snowmachine installed just to give you a reason for the fireplace) with a book and my dogs lying next to me. No men, no other person, I'm quite happy with myself. No masturbation, either, if that's what you're thinking.

Should cricket be banned in India
Why not? So many books are, there's hardly any freedom of speech... and cricket's just a game. Of course, with the amount being minted by BCCI, there definitely isn't going to be a ban.

Rajni or Kamal
Rajini for the kicks. Kamal is a fine actor and there's are enough of those around if you care to look; Rajini on the other hand is a harmless source of corny entertainment and we need that every once in a while.

The one possession that you would like to save if your house were on fire!
 Nothing. It can all just burn, frankly.

Love marriage ya arranged marriage!
No marriage!

If you had the power to give one tight slap to three people - who would they be?
 Just three?? Why?! 11 things about myself and just three people to slap? Damned numerology...

I'd like to tag Bill (if you're reading this). Please feel free to give your own twist on this daft little exercise. Here are your questions:

1. If given a choice to rid the world of children and bring about a zombie apocalypse, which of the two would you choose and why?
2. What is your take on the Gulf uprising? Do you really think some of them were genuine, or were all of them backed by the West? Why do you think all of those countries suddenly realised what a sorry state they were in, all at the same time?
3. If given the opportunity to own a gun, your choice of handgun, while living in India, with minimal hassle/paperwork/waiting period would you?
4. If you could have chosen the country/city of your birth (not to be born as an Indian, but as a person of that country), which would it have been?
5. How often do you visit a dentist, yourself?
6. What in your opinion, would be a most effective deterrent to crimes against women in India?
7. Which seems to be more just towards the people whose lands they have colonised: the British empire or the American empire?
8. Which is your favourite book?
9. How many more books do you plan to publish?
10. Any new tattoos you're planning? What's the total on them right now? With pictures, please.
11. Which is the finest meal you ever had?

Ok, I'm done. My duty to society is complete. Thank you for watching.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Bitter muse: On being the good kid

In keeping up with the general irony of my situation at any point of time in my life, my parents called me today to let me know that they were planning to send my sister on an all expenses paid holiday to Thailand with her friends. My sister is in college. So where is the irony you ask?

Well, dear reader, if you have ever followed my blog closely enough, you would have realised that I have major parental issues. I have led a miserable childhood, one in which I strived to keep them happy and deprive myself of all joy and fun. This included making sure I went to church and lifted up my arms in praise (huge lecture if you didn't do the latter), making sure I never ever failed a test even if it was just a class test (noncompliance resulted in being beaten, or having your existence ignored for a suitable period of time), never having male friends or going out to parties or outings of any kind that did not involve church, and never ever spending more money than was necessary on anything whatsoever. So I never got to own pretty, expensive stuff or clothing, but I made do, conscious of the fact that I owed my parents a great deal and it would never do to upset them.

My sister, on the other hand, has led a life of merry revelry wherein she has partied into the wee hours since she turned thirteen, has always worn branded fashion, has got whatever she wanted from my parents by coercion or blackmail. And they gave in to her everytime, just to keep her happy.

My college life, therefore, naturally consisted of subsisting on a mere 3000 rupees per month, being forced to live with relatives so as to cut me off of any hope of fun, never having a boyfriend, etc. Never once did the parents offer me a trip to any foreign country to cheer me up, besides the country they were living in, of course, and even then I'd be constantly reminded of how expensive plane tickets were, why I shouldn't do too much shopping as most of that stuff was available in India anyway and that I was to be with them twenty four hours a day.

I suppose my point is... It doesn't pay to be the good kid. So go ahead, all you teenagers, give em hell. It'll be so worth it in time.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Sonia's little monkey

He also does tricks!

Prime Minister Maunmohan (aka Manmohan) Singh