by Chandramohan Nair
Balu’s arrival was unexpected. My uncle informed us that his neighbour had a puppy available for adoption. The four of us siblings were in high school and college and busy with our studies, friends and pastimes. There didn’t appear to be any time in our lives for a pet and my uncle’s offer received a lukewarm response. Not one to give up easily, he said he would bring the puppy home in the evening and we could then make up our minds.
Our opinions changed when a furry little white creature with innocent and beguiling eyes was presented to us. He must have been a month old. We thought it would be fun to have him at home as long as we weren’t saddled with the responsibility of looking after him. We left the decision to Amma. She agreed, surprisingly, in spite of having her hands full running the house. Her maternal instincts must have come to the fore especially at a time when all her children were grown up and increasingly independent.
Amma christened him Balu, a two-syllable name that was pleasing to the ear and easy to call out. During the first month, Balu was completely in her charge and she had the arduous task of feeding him and cleaning up after him. Amma knew something about raising a dog since she had grown up with one at her family home in Quilon. She made a home for Balu using a gunny bag placed in a cardboard box and fed him on a diet of milk and cooked rice. It was adorable to see him constantly trailing Amma while she went about her daily routine.
Our interaction at that stage was limited to cuddling him whenever we had some free time. We were curious to see how he would turn out in looks and temperament. We didn’t have to wait long – within six months the hesitant pup was transformed into a young adult dog with a captivating face highlighted by lovely brown eyes. He had a smooth white coat and a resounding bark. He could have been mistaken for a Labrador Retriever except for his small stature which seemed suggestive of a mixed breed.
Balu was exuberant and playful and could not be contained indoors. We had a courtyard on three sides of our house and there was space for him to scamper around. The little outhouse we used to store firewood served as his kennel.
From this point onwards I began spending more time with Balu. Amma would take care of feeding him while my responsibility was that of bathing and generally looking after him.
Balu hated getting wet and detested taking his monthly bath. At the back of the house we had a small wash area with a tap and a washing stone. When I took him there he would sense the impending ordeal and try to wriggle away. After I poured the first few mugs of water down his back he would calm down and meekly endure the experience. Dog shampoos and conditioners were yet to make their appearance but I managed quite well with a bar of Sunlight washing soap, rinsing him thoroughly with my fingers from his neck downwards. Washing his head and ears was trickier. I had to muzzle him with one hand and carefully lather and wash his face without water getting into his eyes and ears.
He would get his own back on me as soon as he sensed the bath was over. Even as I reached for the towel he would give his body a mighty shake and cover me with a fine spray. Afterwards, he enjoyed basking in the sun lying stretched out on the sit-out.
Balu’s liveliness and free-spirited ways never failed to cheer us. We looked forward to the enthusiastic welcome he gave us on getting back home. Perhaps because we did not spoil him the way we might have done had we been younger he was undemanding and independent. He had his own ways of keeping himself busy and just watching his antics was a delight.
Balu had a strong prey drive and there was enough animal life in the courtyard – lizards, birds, cats and the occasional bandicoot – to keep him on his toes. When the mood struck him, he would feverishly dig the earth around the pit of our coconut tree. At other times he would clamber on top of our compound wall, using the roof of our disused chicken coop as a take-off ramp, and gingerly walk to and fro like a trapeze artist.
With all this activity he would be ravenous by his meal time when we would give him rice with fish curry. The occasional chicken bone was a treat he would savour for hours.
We had to be careful about keeping our main gate closed as he could not resist the temptation to bolt out and race down the busy main road facing our house. My brother Raj or I would then have to run out and follow his trail guided by roadside shopkeepers and alarmed passersby. When caught he would have a contrite look on his face and return home without much fuss.
His presence had unanticipated benefits too. Thefts of household items through open windows were quite common in our area and we would always sleep uneasily for a few weeks after every such occurrence. That became a thing of the past after Balu’s arrival. His loud bark had made him well known in our neighbourhood and deterred prospective burglars.
Little did we realize how short his carefree days were going to be.
Balu must have been around two years old when the cruel randomness of life made its appearance. It was early one morning when we heard a dull thud followed by anguished whining. Instinctively I knew it was Balu and rushed out to find him lying prone on the road a few yards away from our house. The gate had been left open, presumably by the milkman, and he must have been hit by some speeding vehicle.
We brought him into the house and wrapped him in a sheet. He was whining incessantly but did not have any external injuries. We waited anxiously for a few hours for the SPCA clinic to open and show him to the vet. While he was being examined we prayed that his injury was not serious but it turned out otherwise – he had suffered a spinal injury paralysing his lower back and hind legs and there was only a small probability of recovery. On the positive side, no other organ had apparently been affected by the accident.
During the days and weeks that followed, we kept hoping for a miraculous recovery. There were some encouraging early signs. He was out of pain in a few days, eating normally and exhibited some jerky hind leg movement. But as time passed and his hind legs and tail showed no movement we had to reconcile ourselves to the grim reality that Balu would probably not walk again.
The mood at our household had changed overnight to one of gloom. There was a feeling of loss after witnessing youthful vitality being cut down in its prime. We didn’t have the heart to consider euthanasia seriously as he was young and otherwise healthy. There was also the irrational hope that he might yet get better.
It was Balu who got us out of our despondency. He appeared undaunted by his disability and was soon moving around although it was wrenching to see him drag himself on his two goods legs. He would even go down the flight of steps to the gate but needed to be carried back. His bark resounded as before and still kept intruders at bay. Though we never really came to terms with Balu’s infirmity and the good humour and merriment that he inspired earlier would not return, his mere presence had a kindly effect on us. We missed his joyous, bounding greeting with the tail wagging furiously but we could still read the affectionate welcome in his eyes.
The years went by. Marriage and employment saw me and my sisters leaving home and Raj now had the responsibility of looking after Balu. I would now see him once in a year around Onam.
With age – in terms of dog years he had become a senior citizen – he became quieter, moved around much less and would be asleep most of the time. He had also developed sores on his hind legs which would not heal fully. I wondered how long he would be around before his health deteriorated irreversibly.
Still, I was unprepared when the end came. I knew from my periodic telephone conversations with Raj that Balu was ailing but was hoping to see his endearing face again on my next visit which was some weeks away.
When I reached home a sombre-faced Raj received me.
‘Anna, don’t look around for Balu. He was suffering terribly and we had to ask the Corporation people to take him away last week. I thought it better to let you know in person,’ he said.
I looked at the empty corner in our sit-out which was Balu’s favourite spot. The little force of nature had finally been subdued. It had been a life of youthful ebullience, followed by years of fortitude and a painful end. But through all of it his unconditional love for us had not wavered. It made me feel grossly deficient and guilty about whether I had done all that was possible to make his life more comfortable and ease his suffering.
I wished I could have been with him at the end.
That would have been a small consolation.
