A dog sits as its owner views spring blossoms.
Credit: Reuters Photo
A plump, cute-looking pup with a reddish brown hue caught my attention amidst five other litters of a highbred dog near the house of one of our acquaintances in the Salem district of the mid-forties. I scooped it up and brought it home to get my mom's consent to raise it as a pet. Busy in our kitchen garden, she readily nodded in the affirmative. With untold joy, I rushed into the house and showed it to my siblings — two sisters and as many brothers all older than me — who adored it.
In time, the pup became an idolised member of our family, earning oodles of love and affection from everyone. Every day after returning from school, I would for a while fondle the pup, named Brownie after its fallow brown colour, before having my snacks and coffee. My mom bathed the dog once a week with water and carbolic soap near the well in our house, ensuring it was always free from ticks and fleas.
Some of the days during summer vacation at our school, I would trek to one of the hills surrounding Salem with my lone companion, Brownie, on chains. No stray dog en route ever dared attack Brownie, who was more ferocious than most of the others of its species.
After getting to the foot of the hill, we would spend a whale of time climbing and descending the hill repeatedly and drinking the clean, cold, crystal-clear water flowing down the rills from the top. Only when my hunger pangs were getting stronger would I start retreating homeward. On the way, with the pocket money given by my mom, I would have snacks at one of the wayside eateries, sharing them with Brownie.
On rainy nights, Brownie, usually lying on a rug in a corner of the main hall in our house, would come to my cot, jump onto it, snuggle furtively into my bed, and sleep cosily, pillowing its head on my legs. A tad before the crack of dawn, it would, however, get up and jump down to escape a probable row from my mom.
After about four years or so, when our dad had to relocate to Chennai, we could not help but part with our much-loved pet, leaving it under the care of one of our neighbours in the same street.
As a boy of fourteen, I cried aloud, unable to reconcile myself to the deprivation of my pet canine that weighed heavily on me. With my cries falling into the deaf ears of my parents, I suffered unbearable pain and pangs of separation from my cherished possession, Brownie.