My Doggie

The tenants downstairs said my dog was a good guard dog, as he barked when unknown visitors came in cars, from Uttara, or Old Dhaka etc. Some said that he belonged to a circus; he was so well trained, they said.

He moved his mouth to the tune of “Sur les ponts s de Paris”. “The dog catches the tune through his nose and ears,” explained Madan Dada to me, when I boasted of my dog's doings to my senior, who lived all the way in Tipu Sultan Road, Old Dhaka, with all its inimitable romance. He, too, had a dog of his own, along with a parrot. Today he has a collection of cats which appear more human than humans.

Managing Doggie in the mornings was not easy, as I came away to work. However when I returned in the afternoon, or evening, he was on his haunches, with his big tongue out, panting with pleasure, as if I were some returning hero, like Joan of Arc.

I would try to train my dog to scare the fish and chicken sellers outside my home. But I never managed. This was because those men were hand in glove with my dog and he was just never keen on attacking them.

I find my dog more adorable than my neighbour's thoroughbreds. His meals were not that fancy, just left over bits. However, he had some of my vitamins, and this revived him. He may not have been macho. He may not have been too sophisticated. But he was something to be treasured, and to be treated as an object of joy.