Marley and Me

Marley And Me. Life and love with the world's worst dog. Straight on the shelf of my all-time favourite books.

This is not a book review, although God knows it's a must read for everyone, dog lovers and others alike. It adds to life's beautiful memories!

John Grogan has amazing writing skills. In Marley And Me, he brings his story to life, right in front of your eyes. I never felt like I was reading a book, I was watching it unfold before me. I know, for a fact, that I could neer watch the movie and feel the same, no matter how well it might have been made.

As I turned every page, I laughed at Marley's antics, stressed when the family went out leaving him alone at home, hated it when they put him in a kennel to go on vacations, love the walks he took, felt embarassed when he ran off with the table at the alfresco dining (all to sniff a poodle's genitalia). I could feel myself stiffen as Grogan described Marley stepping into the threshold of old age. Each time he discovered a failing function in Marley, I sensed something heavy in my heart. Why was this happening?

The Grogans lived an ordinary life. There was not a single incident in the book that was unusual or special, unless Marley was involved. Yet, not at one line did I get bored. I could read on and on, as Grogan talked of Marley's life year after year. I'm sure he has lots of funny, crazy and tearful memories stocked up, enough to fill another half a dozen books if he wished. I don't know if he picked the best of them or just wrote with the flow of the moment. It is most likely the latter.

Many times, as I read, I remembered my own first dog Sonu. He was no competition to Marley as far as being the world's worst dog went. No doubt he might have been a frequent visitor at the club, though. We loved him to bits, bossy and all. He was definitely the alpha male in the family. He refused to learn lessons he didn't want to. In some ways, there was a stark difference between him and Marley. He was disciplined and as he grew up, he was less and less a puppy. Devoted, no doubt. He understood the moods of people

When I read the bit about Marley comforting Jenny during one of her difficult pregnancies, it tugged at my heart. The warmest memories I have, of Sonu, are those times when he was just there for me, comforting me, always understanding. That's what I've missed most over the years. I still carry a picture of him, wherever 'home' is, for me. The decision to put him down was the hardest ever and he saved us the trouble by simply giving himself up. It hurt.

The last few pages of the book drove so close to home that I couldn't put down the book until I'd read to the last line. I didn't have a laptop at the time of writing this blog, so I wrote on paper, scribbling as furiously as my thoughts flew. I had to write. It is my tribute to Marley. And Sonu.

Reading Marley And Me makes me miss my own 11-year old back home. Pangs of guilt strike, as I think of my decision to leave her behind and chase after new experiences. She is a part labrador too but one of the most well-behaved dog I have ever had. Her obsession for food is no less than Marley's but she has none of the loony behaviour. The arthritis. The 'Mary's little lamb' act. Check. Check.

As the husband and I go through the same phase as John & Jenny, watching our 11-year old puppy in her retirement years, I notice how she too has her bad days when she needs help to get on the stairs and lots of good days when we wonder if she is really that old. Gone are those days when we tried to get her off our bed and sleep on hers in the lounge. Now, we hug her if she can leap onto it or get off by herself. Sometimes, she manages the leap but the jump down gives her the jitters. Not without reason, it is painful on her bones. How many times hasn't she collapsed when her hips gave way, trying to climb the stairs? Yet, we know that she has some more time to go. A few years, at least. Her eyes and ears, every other sense is as sharp as ever. She is still a puppy in so many ways.

Her name is Lucky. What a coincidence that Marley's story ends with the Grogans looking at an ad for a labrador retriever named Lucky too. As notorious as Marley was, probably?

I wonder what Xigris and George are up to. I wish I could cuddle them just now. On the other hand, what wouldn't I give to have Lucky sniffing around the house, fussing for food, right here with me?

Dogs. They make life so beautiful!

Stress Is My First Name, Panic My Middle Name

In a chat with a friend of mine, back in my pre-university days, we discussed how sometimes our intuition warned us of upcoming events and we ended up feeling guilty for not having understood the signs when it was something bad. It's a little freaky but we took it in our stride. We said, "It's a woman's instinct. That's how it is meant to be." 

I grew up, almost forgetting that conversation. Yet it lurked in my mind, ready to spring out at (in)appropriate times. 

In the last couple of years, there were two instances where I nagged a dear one to do something and when they did, they ended up in accidents. It is hard not to feel guilty when such things happen. So, how do you get over the nagging feeling that if you had not demanded it, things might have turned out differently?

I've spent most part of my life, never having to visit a hospital (well, almost). My brother and I were too young to realize when dad broke his leg. As far as we were concerned, we visited him at the hospital after school and he would be in a really good mood, amusing us with stories. At home, we got a share of the chicken leg soup that dad was prescribed. Yumm. Mum spent all these years, without ever having to stay in bed (touchwood), so did bro and I, until recently. 

Bro was in the hospital recently, when his wife's dog took a chewy bite off his lower lip. It was a gory sight. While I nearly fainted as I watched the nurses handle the wounds and the needles, I chose to stay because it was better than the alternative. The alternative was to stay away and not know what was happening. I hate uncertainty, I hate not knowing. I just cannot deal with it. It stresses me to no end. 

The only time I have ever been able to handle hospitals, operations, etc were with my Sonu. He wouldn't co-operate with anyone else when he was sick and I loved him enough to overcome my weak feelings regarding hospitals, doctors and everything around them. 

This morning started off with a grumpy me. I checked my email thrice and ended up restless. Something was wrong. It was not so much instinct as it was a conclusion drawn out of a series of un-natural events. When I made a phone call to check, my worst fears were realized! The next few hours were spent in numerous SMS-es, emails, phone calls and tears. The stress of not knowing and the tension of waiting for an update made me dizzy. The news seemed to get worse with each update. Google didn't help, only managed to freak me further. 

The much-awaited call happened but all it did was bring me to tears. Yeah, I guess I'm a sook! "Don't be a cry baby", the message said. Yeah right, easier said than done! Panic should have been my middle name. I was swinging between feeling silly but unable to stop worrying. The final update came at the 7PM call I had waited all day, to make. The friend said, "It's just a girl thing", so he didn't mind me bothering him all day. Thank God for wonderful friends, what would the world be without them!!

A couple of hours later, another call and depression set in again. It was lovely to talk and find out it wasn't so bad. It was awful to hear those groans and feel the weakness in the voice. It hurt. It looks like a long weekend ahead. A really long one! More uncertainty, no updates and lots of wondering. Not fun.

In the meanwhile, CSK is playing a 'super' match against Deccan Chargers. Chennai Super Kings they are. There's a good chance the game will turn around and DC will win but I am hoping it will be CSK that takes home the goodies. Another DC wicket down. 48-4.

No Photos Please!

The intelligence and behaviour of dogs has never failed to amaze me. Some of their actions are so common that they may be the most natural thing, yet excite me to a great extent.

I woke up this morning to two dog-stories. My friend tells me how his little one that takes up his side of the bed and there is a fight for territory. Go back a few years. It's Sonu and dad fighting every night, for the spot next to mum. Dogs, the world over, are so similar. The husband, during our morning tea together, tells me how the little black pup near our house got chased off by the bigger dogs and his dad went across to comfort him. In a flash, the little one had forgotten all about the bullies and was jumping about excitedly. I've always known the big dad dog as a quiet, inexpressive dog. To hear that he acknowledges his little baby in the absence of the mother is so heart-warming.

Last night, as Lucky, the husband and I did our routine walk, we passed by the wine store down the road. There's a pack of 3 dogs and 2 puppies that sleep there. The black pup is very territorial and goes 'yap, yap, yap' the moment we hit the spot. His sibling, the white one, stands and eyes us warily. Sometimes he yaps too. Yesterday was one of those times. The moment the little ones start yelping, three fawn dogs come running out of nowhere. If there were two, I'd say the parents. I never understood the story of 3 but there they are, always together, all equally protective of the puppies.

So, if you pass by that corner with a dog, you'll see 2 pups who raise an alarm (and then head off into the side lane to hide) and 3 dogs who take position at the turning of the main street and the side lane.

They looked so beautiful, watching each other's backs, that I had to have a picture. The ever-obliging husband pulled out his cell phone and started clicking. Immediately, the mother of the pups stood up and crossed the road, to hide behind a road-sign. She hates it. I wonder how she knows but she does and she hides if you're taking a picture. Just like my Lucky. Just like my Sonu. He used to love posing as a kid but turned camera-shy as he grew older. The little ones of my friend's, they seem to love it, staring right at the camera. Maybe, it's a universal thing. Pups love being photographed but the older ones don't. Maybe it's a natural instinct to grow cynical about the whims of humans as dogs grow older.

I guess I'll never know but things like these fascinate me to no end. How do they know so much, without being taught? How do they understand?

As we passed them by and the husband stopped taking pictures, the mother returned to her place with the other two. We turned around and took another shot at them. They had to go on my blog. The mother is the one in the centre, in the picture below.

My Pets

In the 10 years that Sonu (my pomeranian, now dead for 4 years) lived with us, he used to love it when we cuddled him. He loved being pampered, although there were times he would behave like a typical boy and turn away with his nose in the air.

When we brought Lucky home, I noticed that she hated cuddling or any sort of physical proximity. She walked about like a lady who likes her space. I used to find it really strange because I thought all animals loved to be petted, especially dogs, especially labradors (she's a lab-mutt cross). I assumed it must be the kind of environment she was brought up in. Dogs have a great sense of the environment around them and they learn as well as adapt pretty quickly. My in-laws are a wee more formal than my family has ever been. Very polite. Respectful of each other's space. On the other hand, my family is one where we step on each others toes all the time as if that's the only way to go! It's our way of expressing a sense of belonging & sharing. I have learnt to love both and can switch from one mode to another quite easily, after so many years with both families. Back to Lucky now. Over time, she has learnt to acknowledge and even seek hugs whenever she can, from everyone in the family. I'm a very hug-loving person, I guess she just couldn't put me off for too long.

I'd read that Black Ghost Knives could be quite human friendly and once they establish a certain trust with us, they let us hand-feed them. I'd never tried that before. I've never really been able to build a relationship with Sheldon (or his former mate). He hides most part of the day and comes out only for food or after the lights-off hour. Last week, when I was feeding the fish, I tried to hand-feed Sheldon. He let me!! I was thrilled to bits. For some reason I can't really understand, he never allowed me that again.

I spent a couple of days trying to figure why. A couple of nights ago, he humoured me by grabbing one small bit of a flake but when I tried again, he wouldn't let me. It looked like he was shaking his head/body and swimming backwards. He did not go away, just kept going down in the tank, all the while eyeing the food. Frustrated, I dropped the flakes in the tank and left, mumbling to myself how a stupid fish could be so moody. I couldn't have been more wrong. Sheldon is far more intelligent than I could ever imagine a fish could be. He likes his space. He trusted me after all these days, to let me feed him. That was until last week. Over the weekend, I moved him in an under-sized fish-net from his home to a tub and then into a bucket, both of which he hated. I kept checking on him, so he knows who it was. That is enough for him to put a distance between us. He won't eat out of my hand. He needs his space (umm... why do women always get to hear that?)

I don't know enough about fishes to say if he sees me, smells me or it is a combination of both. I'm sure he sees me because he hates it when I watch him eat or when I peer through the glass into the space behind the air-pump where he hides most part of the day. Whatever it may be, it will be a while before I can make friends with him again, before I can hand-feed him.

In the meanwhile, the rest of the adult guppies seem to have shifted to the bottom of the tank, to avoid the school of fries who have crowded the top of the water. It's been about 3 days and Howard is finally back to his usual self. I saw him chase Penny around this morning! No!! I don't want any more fries! Is there a way one can neuter fishes?

In the smaller bowl, the new-born seem not to have adapted so well to the over-crowded bowl. The husband found 4 of them dead and lying under a heap of uneaten, soaked flakes this morning. They have now been moved to a larger tub where, hopefully, they will be able to live to grow into adult fish.

Mind Over Age

I've had a Spitz for 10 years and I thought I knew everything there is to know about dogs. Hell no! I got a 6 year old lab-mutt cross as dowry during my wedding and she opened a whole new world for me.

For one, she doesn't raise her leg and pee on trees. Car and bike tyres hold no fascination for her, except for an occasional sniff to see if any dog has passed that way. For another, she doesn't want to boss over us. Don't think that it means she does not get her way. Her ways of getting her way are different. She talks with her eyes and how! So expressive that we cannot pretend to not have understood her.

She doesn't bark unless necessary and she won't move a muscle more than is required for a task. Call her lazy if you will but I think that requires an enormous amount of intelligence. At the age of 9 or 10, she learns new languages. She used to be a Kannada-speaking (you know what I mean) dog but she now understands commands in English. Languages are not the only thing she learns... you have a new trick and she's game.

So much for old age. Whoever said that age is in the mind is so right. She seems to believe that she's only 4 or 5 and lives the life of one. Arthritis, cataract, weak liver and overweight can't stop her from doing what she pleases and being who she wants. Such an admirable trait. I wish we people could learn from her. She fights and she does it with a will-power as if there is no option of 'No'.

Something we have all tried to understand but failed miserably. How does she know where you are hiding, when playing ball? She does not sniff, she has not seen you go where you went and yet, she heads straight to your hide-out as if you'd discussed where you were going to hide. How on earth does she do that? No matter where you go, she will be there with her ball, as if it's the most natural thing.

She knows who will walk her, feed her and play with her, at the time she needs all of those. She just knows everything that she needs to know to suit her lifestyle. She is spoilt and we don't even realize that we are spoiling her. She simply knows to get things done, like a smooth operator.

Does she need tea before her first walk or after? Does she need tea at all this morning? No cold tea, it has to be hot. Not smoking hot, though, it will burn her tongue. And here I am, dancing to her tunes, catering to her needs as if it's my duty... almost never complaining. She has trained me well. Yet, one has to only login to her Facebook account to listen to her bitch about me and proclaim her love for the husband. What a bitch! Oops, that doesn't hurt, does it? It's who she is!