When I was small, and my gums itched, and my milk teeth began to break through, I could not resist chewing up anything I could lay my teeth upon – like shoes, slippers, clothes, toothbrushes, furniture . I especially loved chewing up my father’s favourite Kolhapuri ‘Kapshi’ chappals which were so silky-soft and yummy. So my father bought me a chewy bone which, it said on the wrapper, was guaranteed to save everything else. I don’t know why, but I secretly buried the bone in a hole I dug below the Mango tree, and I used to dig it out when I thought no one was looking, chew it a bit, and bury it in some other secret place.
One day my inquisitive mother found out, and she dug up the bone when I was sleeping and hid in under the pomegranate tree. When I didn’t find it, at first I was confused, then I tracked the bone down with my nose, and when I spied my mother giggling and grinning like a Cheshire cat, I knew who the culprit was. This started the “bone-game”. First they (the humans – my mother and father) would give me the bone, and after I hid it they would rush out into the garden and dig it out – then they would hide the bone (after locking me in the house so I could not see) and make me find it, which I did using my nose.
I wondered how they found the bone so fast, and one day I caught them spying crouching behind the hedge when they thought I wasn’t looking and the mystery was solved. So now I first let them see where I’m hiding the bone, and when they complacently and confidently go inside thinking they know everything, I dig out the bone and hide it some other place which they do not know and then watch the fun as they search in vain. Then when they go inside and my father asks me to get the bone, I run out and get it, for which I earn a tidbit. The way these humans act sometimes, I really wonder who is more intelligent – they or I?
One day my brother, my sister, and even my mother, they all gang up on my poor hapless father, apply all kinds of pressure – emotional blackmail, threats, cajoling – and soon he wilts, his defenses broken down – and it is not long before we leave our beloved bungalow and move, lock stock and barrel, to the ‘luxurious’ flat in Deccan Gymkhana. And with the huge sum of money the builder has given him, my father has transformed overnight from a simple frugal pensioner to a rich prosperous crorepati.
For me, life is hell. The marble floors are so hard, smooth and slippery that my nails break and paws get sore. The fancy ‘luxurious’ fittings are so fragile, and decorative adornments are so delicate, that my mother is always on the edge when I prance around, scolding me to sit down quietly. There is no earth to dig, no bushes and trees to smell, no grass for a carefree loll, and, worst of all, no cats and rats, mongooses and squirrels, and birds to chase. The society over here is so elitist that even their dogs are snobbish, and they sneer at me and loudly speculate about my pedigree.
I can’t even pee where I please after sniffing around and selecting a bush, or a tree, as in the good old days. Here there is a stipulated sand-pit in the corner of the terrace earmarked for my ablutions. They don’t allow me in the lift, so my poor old father has to walk me down ten floors, and then up again after our daily walk. Even that I don’t enjoy any more, as we have to squeeze ourselves on the crowded streets in the hustle bustle and din of traffic, since on the first day he took me out, we were to stopped at the entrance of the verdant Kamala Nehru Park and my father was rudely shown the sign – DOGS NOT ALLOWED.
In short, life is hell. My father has a guilt conscience and is more and more affectionate to me, and I too feel sorry for him and snuggle up to him whenever I can and tell him it’s okay and I’m happy. My loving father and I have become closer to each other than ever before and endure our misery together in silence, while the rest of my family, celebrating their newfound affluence, are becoming more and more distant.
One evening while huffing and puffing up the stairs my father suddenly cries out my name, let’s go of my leash, clutches his heart and collapses in a heap. I bark and bark, but no one comes, and suddenly they appear, carry my father to the lift and take him away; and I never see my father again after that.
Things change, my brother gets married, his wife hates dogs, so they tie me up in a dirty corner of the terrace whole day, and for the first time in my life I realize that I, Moti, once the apple of their eyes, have now become a terrible burden.
Days pass, a baby is born, and I am further baed from the house lest the delicate baby get allergic. One day, the baby crawls towards me. I wag my tail welcoming my adorable little nephew. The baby catches my tail, pulls my tail with his full weight and tries to stand up. The pain is terrible, but I grit my teeth and stoically suffer the excruciating agony. The baby innocently pulls my tail even harder, and now, unable to bear the terrible excruciating pain I squeal, howl and yelp in unimaginable agony, desperately crying for help.
My brother’s wife comes running out and starts shouting, “The dog, the dog, it’s killing my baby!” and my mother comes out and runs towards me. The baby releases my tail, I try to lovingly lick the baby, but my mother takes him away, comes back and glares at me, while I look at her trying to convince her of my innocence. Tell me, how can I ever think of even slightly harming my little baby nephew who I love so much?
But it’s no use. In the evening, my brother comes home, and he and his wife have a heated argument about me. “Either I stay in this house or the dog stays,” she warns my brother threateningly, “I can’t leave my baby with this dangerous dog. If the dog stays, I’ll go to my mother’s place. You make your choice.”
Later, in the evening, after taking me for my customary walk, my brother stops by at the vet doctor’s clinic and I overhear snippets of their conversation, “unprovoked…aggressive…behaviour…put to sleep…”
Shivers of fear drill my insides. Alarmed, I tug violently with all my strength, break the hook holding the collar to the leash and run for my dear life. My brother chases me so I turn swiftly into an alley; see a garbage dump, jump inside and hide. No one comes for some time.
Wallowing miserably in the filth I smile to myself at the irony of it all. Born in a rubbish dump, and now it looks like I am destined to die in a rubbish dump. That’s the tragedy of a dog’s life, isn’t it?
روش خرید: برای خرید پس از کلیک روی
دکمه زیر و تکمیل فرم سفارش، ابتدا محصول مورد نظر را درب منزل یا
محل کار تحویل بگیرید، سپس وجه کالا و هزینه ارسال را به مامور پست
بپردازید. جهت مشاهده فرم خرید، روی دکمه زیر کلیک کنید.
دانلود تولبار جی تاک
ed from the house lest the delicate baby get allergic. One day, the baby crawls towards me. I wag my tail welcoming my adorable little nephew. The baby catches my tail, pulls my tail with his full weight and tries to stand up. The pain is terrible, but I grit my teeth and stoically suffer the excruciating agony. The baby innocently pulls my tail even harder, and now, unable to bear the terrible excruciating pain I squeal, howl and yelp in unimaginable agony, desperately crying for help.
