Whitey - A Eulogy for the Baharwali ..

Whitey, one of our dogs , passed away this evening.
Suddenly . Not in our home . It was quite a shock .

We used to make our picky spaniel eat up her food , by saying if you don’t quickly gobble this up , I am going to give it to Whitey . And here I was this evening , just having finished getting her to eat a bowl of bread and milk with the usual kiddish threat of Whitey coming after her precious bowl , when the phone call came. It was Rani on the phone , her adopted doggie-mom ( my maid Maryma’s daughter ) , who said in Tamil ‘ I am sorry , Amma, but Whitey just died ’. My mobile battery had drained, and so had I . The call petered away , as did a small part of my heart, while I absorbed the news. And remembered her life with us .

She was a street dog I rescued nearly 7 years ago . She could not have been more than a year or so when I saw her first . I used to see this happy little thing pass my window, confused by their attention, as she was chased by a gaggle of male dogs on the street , and I worried for her . She was a real character, and she had a lot of little tricks and quirks. Imaginatively named by me , Whitey was actually all white, beautifully proportioned, lovely alert ears, and actually had a smily face, and her big grin with that panting pink tongue was cute to say the least . I watched out for her night after night for a couple of weeks, keeping out biscuits and dinner leftovers for her , before this high stepping , lithe and very elegant was persuaded to enter my gate with some biscuits and warily come near me. She was quick, evasive but kept her distance , and rightly so.

Within a week of much wagging of tails and a constant smiling face at the gate, I got her picked up by the Shelter Vets to be spayed and vaccinated . My maid Mary and her daughter Rani , who had grown fond of her in the time , were much saddened by the way she was cornered and yelping in the little prayer room in our house, collared and taken away by the Shelter staff . But it had to be done, or she might be taken away by the pound , or constantly pregnant, pursued, vulnerable or ill.

And afterwards , she came back spayed, vaccinated and belligerent , and lived with us. Not inside the house except to eat , but in the compound . She rarely entered the main house , as she probably remembered being coralled and take away to a hospital there. She also liked her freedom, and stayed within our compound , as she could anyway scale the walls and reach her beloved street outside . The toughest guard dog you could get , as she felt she now needed to protect us. She was constantly trying to pay back for the refuge we provided her after her surgery , and being looked after, I think , although she had no need to . She would be very respectful of our spaniel , who loved and bullied her. They were a weird two some, one dignified and dowager like, the other frisky and high stepping . A contrasting pair of dogs, quite inseparable - a white free spirit and a black home bound pet .

We used to call the two dogs the Andarwali and the Baharwali ( The Insider and the Inside-Outsider ). My spaniel CJ was the homebody , the insider and the Whitey was the Outsider , preferring the outside to being inside closed doors .

And the years with this strangely dignified , quirky dog passed happily . Dignity and an unputdownable Optimism described The Baharwali . She grew increasingly confident , found her own spaces on the outskirts of the house . She would sit near the kitchen door , on one of her beds ( an old carpet) with Mary . She would sit near the kitchen door , on one of her beds( an old carpet) with Mary, or with my dad , near his side door , or near the front door , or her favorite sleeping place , the garage. When she was guilty of chewing up something , she would slink around like a cat , and we knew she had been up to mischief immediately . When she was bad , she would jump up in my arms, squawking like a parrot , as she knew I would tie her up near the garage for her hour of punishment. She was a funny one, that Whitey .She would jump compound walls with ease ( our gates were cosmetic , and next to useless to her ) , and lie on the parapet , meditatively , yet alertly , looking out on the road, surveying her territory . And the road was her real home, and she hated being away . In the initial days, when we left anywhere in the car , she would follow us for nearly kilometer , running behind us. She adored my maid Maryma , and would accompany her like a white shadow to the vegetable market, church , the tailor’s, the bathroom everywhere! Us she loved , but we didn’t hold the kitchen keys ! Mary’s daughter Rani and her grandson Robin were thrown backwards by the welcome when they visited on Sundays ..

She was no angel , and had her rough edges and downsides . Visitors coming home weren’t always safe. She viewed most with suspicion, and passers by on the road could have got an occasional chase or a nip near the ankle, but she never actually bit anyone. Belligerent sometimes, and territorial , she could be unpredictable. We were forced to tie her up when we had visitors who were scared of dogs, and anyway once the first moment or two passed , she was very friendly . Needless to say , we never had a single robbery whilst she was there , although there were incidents with neighbours.

We moved home in April last year ,after many years in one house with a lot of free space , and this new apartment would have stifled her . She would have been on the road , (not a quiet residential area, but a very very busy commercial road , buses and all ),in a flash , and that could be the end of her , and we neither wanted to tie her up . You don’t tie up a Whitey. She needed access to the road she was born in . My maid's daughter Rani wanted to keep her, as they were crazy about her , and I thought it would work out while we settled in . They have taken great care of her , and she has been happy . We have missed her , but the bigger picture made sense . I think . No , I know.

A year passed almost to the day , and today Rani calls me that Whitey was vomiting for a day or two. This evening she let out a yelp , and by the time Rani reached her , she was gone . Just like that . Ranis 8 months pregnant , and is very upset , and I don’t want to trouble her that I wanted to see Whitey just once. She has taken the help of the neighborhood boys and buried her in the yard , as its hot summer. Rani keeps telling me she’s sorry , but I know that she loved her as much , and I think we are both apologizing to each other for having lost her . I don’t know what to do . There is no power at home, and I wander around aimlessly , touching things, and adjusting photo frames. And finally reaching my laptop , where my tears and confusion waft and converge together in typeface and print.

I have spent the last 4 hours remembering her , finding photographs of the featherweight dog that walked walls, her quirky dignity, her singing , her distance , her love and gratitude to us, her unbelievable reflexes, her light and easy walk , the fights she still got into with street dogs, the baths she yowled about and hated, her curled up near the several doors of our house , carefully watching over us, her love for the garbage collection area near by , rather than a decent meal in the kitchen.

I am trying to keep my thoughts cool , Whitey , as I write about you , because though your body has already been buried, I didn’t see you go . If I pretend very hard, I can pretend you are still at Rani's home, effortlessly rearing up on your hind legs like a dancing bear , and trilling at me that silly high alto of greeting, your paws feathering down till they reached my crooked arm , looking for all the world that I was formally leading you in for a dance . An odd couple . Turning onto your back , legs waving , and showing me your tummy to scratch , and to tell me that you love seeing me , and that you trusted me. How wonderful it was to ring the door bell when we returned home, and heard the cacophony of barks that resulted . And the entangled jumble of black and white canine bodies that would hurl themselves at us. Like we were worth waiting for , while my Dad and Maryma would indulgently grin at the sight of the flurry of handbags, briefcases, dogs and lunchboxes . .

I look at the photograph in frot of me with you sitting on your favorite vantage point on the compound wall , while we were near the front door .Chin on your crossed paws, eyes narrowed, while you cased the neighborhood like the FBI , trying to seem busy . I remember many other vignettes. The number of collars you wriggled out of . The clip on your ear , to show you were spayed and vaccinated. A tail curled on itself , like a question mark. Cowering scared and anxious, in the corner of the garage when I reprimanded you for chasing yet another road dog . And you doing it again anyway . Whitey, bad gurl ! Jealous of any new dog or person in our home or in our street . Slipping through your collar if I had the temerity to tie you up . You squirming and running away as I was trying to put in an antiseptic dusting powder after the vet had stitched up the ugly wound on your flank when you got into that violent fight for the second time with the other street dogs. I am remembering the number of personality traits and behaviors that made you so sweet and lovable. You never allowed me to hug you , although you would sit companionably close to my side , pressing yourself against me, ears flattened down, purring like a cat with a sore throat . And then again , I must not , it brings tears in my eyes, and I don’t quite know what to do .

I have mourned you today and cried , my little friend- who-was-meant-to-happen-to-us . And I want to stop, so I can get on with life , and pretend you are still in the world with me .But I know I will have to mourn you again and again , or when reality, regret and ash hits me.

You went so quickly , my sweet girl . Too quickly .

God Bless and tight hugs.