Sandy

There was no indication ever in my life that I love animals …unless they were curried or roasted.  I have nothing against them, and I think all “leisure” pursuits which target them like hunting, fishing is just not right.

But in my own self-serving moral zoological radar, I made an allowance for poultry, bleating livestock and a guy called “Namya” in class VIII.  Namya was that school bully who had the classic CV.  Hulking bulk, bulking body odour, odious manners and an intelligence that narrowly allowed him to be classified as a vertebrate. 

Namya terrorised many a classmate who had the gumption to establish eye contact, by randomly punching them for lunch money. An act which was squared by giving the protagonist a black eye and occasionally also a side serving of an empty bladder.  This was the limit of my brush with the animal kingdom.

40 years later, however my daughter pleaded with the innocence that only 8-year-olds can have for a dog, or at least a pony which was deemed by her as an acceptable compromise.

The Phondke household sees a lot of horseplay but there was simply no room for a pony. With the grudging parental reconciliation for fresh house pets which typically moves with the speed of a sedated sloth, we gave in and accepted that there was going to be the pitter patter of little feet in the house in a non-conventional sense.

We got Sandy as a pup. As pups, dogs are clueless goofballs, curious, want to make friends with everyone including the side table and of course get excited when something really exciting happens like the curtains move or the wind blows.  Very little of that changes as they grow old.

The rustle of a leaf, the flutter of a butterfly etc, everything that man ignores, a dog treats as a miracle that deserves to be chased, subdued or sniffed.  Joy lies in simple things and the master’s company. 

If you ever part all that hair and investigate a dog’s brain, it could be divided into 3 broad areas. The front of the brain being the part responsible for unquestioning loyalty.  You could be the defending champion of the Mr Obnoxious title, and your dog would still look at you as though you were a love child of George Clooney and Helen of Troy. 

The back of the brain is dedicated to secondary emotions like gratitude, obedience and forgiveness. You may accidentally step on his paw.

He will yelp like a Shakespearean tragedy. Two seconds later, he is back, wagging his tail, ready to resume diplomatic relations. Humans, on the other hand, will remember something you said in 2003 and bring it up at a wedding. The underside of the brain is the wild part which focuses on sniffing and licking. If Sandy ever were to create a LinkedIn profile, it would read

Birth – 2021 – Sniffing. Single handedly sniffed out sweaty socks, dead lizards and egg and cheese sandwiched

2021 -2022 – Took a break and acquired diploma in licking

2022 – to date – Mentoring others to do their sniffing and licking ventures using AI

Every dog carries a little bit of Hachiko, that famous Japanese example of canine loyalty with him. Waiting, almost like a premonition, sensing when their master is about to come, they take up their positions in the doorway, hallway, their canine brains whirring into devising different ways of showing their happiness to the masters.

The nearest human equivalent is how one acts when one is waiting for one’s manager to tell the bonus number. Only difference being, the dog is happy after seeing his master whereas most reportees have expressions last emoted by Julius Caesar when he looked at Brutus on March 15th. 

Sandy is a Cavapoo, nature’s way of saying, “Let’s take a philosopher, wrap him in a teddy bear, and give him the emotional intelligence of a retired therapist.”

He’s been with us for nearly 10 years now. 10  Cavapoo years means he has seen things. Not war, not famine but certainly the vacuum cleaner, the delivery guy, and the existential betrayal of being told “no more treats” in three different accents. 

Dogs don’t just live in your house. They slowly architect your personality while you sleep. He has taught us patience. The kind that comes from waiting five full minutes while he circles the perfect spot to sit, as though negotiating a real estate deal with stakeholders who prefer to stay invisible.

He has taught us presence. Not mindfulness as sold in corporate workshops, but actual presence. Because when a Cavapoo looks at you, he really looks at you. It is as if he is saying, “For this moment, you are my entire world. Also, is that cheese that I smell on your mouth?”

So, from a long list of warnings from my wife before we got him, (He should not enter kitchen, should not climb on furniture, should always be on a leash etc) it has come to the point where my wife looks at him like an alcoholic looks at a duty-free shop.

Unknowingly from being the stable hand, he’s become the warrior prince. Sandy pretty much has the reign of the house and has the freedom to do whatever he wants, though he largely chooses to lick himself like a furry ice cream cone

At ten, our Cavapoo walks a little slower. Sleeps a little longer. But loves with the same reckless generosity as he did at one. Slowly as man and dog both yield to time, somewhere between his quiet and wet companionship and his dramatic reactions to the doorbell, I realised something uncomfortable. He has spent ten years trying to become more human. 

Sometimes, the best compliment you can give a man, is to call him a Dog.

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