MY LOVE, MY LIFE, MY EVERYTHING…

It was less than three years ago, we got this little puppy. He was happy for no reason, he chewed on everything he saw around him and looked like a ball of golden fur with two huge black eyes. He was so cute and huggable I would not have been surprised if I hugged him too tight and killed him. To him, sleeping and eating was bliss and it took him no time to get used to our house. We had another dog- Betsi, guess she helped him feel comfy around the place and shared food with him. The very first day, we had a naming ceremony in gathering. We knew he would grow up to be gigantic and heavy. My mom suggested we name him Caesar or Shadow. Somehow at that moment I looked at him merrily cuddled on my lap and thought those names were just not for him. She then suggested Whisky, to that my dad said “hmmm…what about Vicky?” Vicky! That’s it, I loved the name- it was short, cute and cheerful. So then, Vicky became the name of the little bundle of joy.

The first night, I put him in a small box and placed it beside my bed. I assumed he would be cozy and would just doze off. Yes, it did happen, he was cozy and slept well for …err…ten minutes. Then, started his squealing and barking (he sounded like a young crow trying to caw). I then put him beside me on my bed and he slumbered away quietly. Pups don’t sleep for long- definitely not all night. He kept waking me up by biting my hair or just biting my fingers. What was really unbelievable was that the little boy actually snored. He was so cute, I huffily felt like yelling at him when he used to wet my bed but his innocent puppy looks just shut me up.
GREAT! I thought. I am going to be sharing a single cot with a HUGE dog that would probably weigh 35 kgs.
Now, that was the night, what did he do all day? Well, he sat in the kitchen and that’s it. He simply loved the smell of food, he ate all day.

1 year later…
He was huge; he weighed 40 kgs and was taller than the average height of the breed. I managed to buy a double cot for the two of us. We slept together- at that, he managed to occupy an excessive amount of space. Yes, he still snored.
Labradors, I knew were used as ‘sniffer dogs’ by the police and are also called retrievers because they could retrieve people stuck in snow or in water. They are called GUN DOGS. Hmmm…I wonder why. Vicky seemed to be everything that a lab would not be- he was extremely silent- he never barked, he was scared of almost everything around him- other dogs, cows, horses, crows, flies, plastic covers, my music system, hair-dryers…just about everything.
He was a watchdog- a very proficient one at that. I knew someone had come to our house when I saw him standing at the gate and waging his tail. He liked strangers. I knew there was a dog or a cow outside the gate when I saw him skedaddle into the house and hide behind me.
He loved me infact he worshipped me; he was at ease only when I was in the house. He followed me wherever I went. He ate everything I ate. Thanks to it that he now likes cheese, chocolates, iced tea, cookies and looovvveess cakes. He would stand at the gate every morning when I left to college as though he was going to shed tears. I loved home, I loved coming back home. I love the way Vicky waits for me everyday and welcomes me home. He jumped on me (I have fallen down sometimes), the happiness in him is clearly communicated with the things he did when he saw me- barked, jumped around, broke pots in the garden and follow me for the rest of the day.

TODAY…
He still snores; I am so used to it that I just cannot sleep without the sound. He still eats a lot but he eats his food only if I am around. He still hasn’t barked at anyone, he hasn’t harmed a fly, I have never seen him angry, I have never heard him growl.
I wonder if this is what is called blessing in disguise, he is the most understanding friend I ever had, have and will ever have. He can sense my sorrow, I play with him when I am sad…I fool around with him always but if I am unwell or just heartbroken he lets me have his toys and deliberately loses. And if I am crying- he somehow senses it from wherever he is and comes running to me and licks my face and my neck. It tickles me and most often I start laughing.
Every time, before the day of my exam results, he falls ill. He recovers as soon as my results are out. My fear and my feelings seem to be reciprocated by his actions.

They say that a year old dog is like a seven year old kid. Guess Vicky must be around 18 years now. I put out my fury on him, I have indignantly yelled at him many times, I have beaten him, I have scared the sh** out of him by doing sadistic things. Yet, he has never considered running away from home, leaving me and finding another owner who was prettier and kinder. No matter what I do to him, he religiously follows me and does anything to keep me happy. Maybe he is uxorious but I love the way he is.

I trouble him a lot, I dress him up, I decorate his paws with mehendi and he just seems to enjoy it all. What is startling is that when someone else dresses him up, he hates it and pulls it off. He doesn’t like traditional food like sambar and rasam but when I cook, he sits beside the kitchen counter and demands for whatever I’m cooking and eats it. I hate myself for who I am, I hate myself for being human, bet no one could be as loving and caring as he is.
He smells like a baby- partly diaper, partly Johnson baby and partly Horlicks. I cannot bring myself to stay anywhere without that mushy smell. The place where I stay feels like home only when I see bits of dog-hair flying in the air and tickling my nose. I don’t feel like eating if he is not sitting and salivating in front of me. I don’t feel like I had bath if he doesn’t lick water off my leg when I walk out of the bathroom. I cannot study if I don’t see him sitting at the foot of my table utterly bored and wondering how to get me to play.
He loves playing the fool with my things, he pulls my pillow from under my head and wakes me up, he runs away carrying my clothes when I am having bath, he doesn’t let me drink milk- he keeps asking for it, he doesn’t let me bend down and wear my shoes as he licks my ears, he manages to wet his paw and imprint my clothes with it right when I am at the gate ready to leave to college. It would appear to you as though he is a brat and desperately needs a trainer. But, I surely know that it is just his way of seeking my attention and saying “don’t go” when I’m about to say “good-bye”.

Maybe he is my best friend, maybe this is friendship.
Actually, its more- its true love.
Yes, true and unconditional love. Love you vicksy…