The street dog was terribly scraggy even by street dog standards. She was all skin and bones, except for her hugely bulging udders. It was clear that she had recently had a litter and, after feeding those demanding puppies, her emaciated body could not do any better.
I had passed them a minute before reaching a roadside tea shop. The pups were all over her, literally draining her of whatever good remained in her body. For the sake of survival she should have shooed them away but it was a lesson in sacrificing motherhood to see her lovingly lick the pups.
After a time, I presume, when the pups had drained her udders, she stood before me with a pleading look in her eyes, “Can you make that two and not the usual one biscuit, please; I have so many mouths to feed.” I, of course, obliged. In that unique dog gesture, she lifted a front paw and half folded her leg to say thank you.
As I relished my regular two glasses of morning tea, the dog stood by while customers came and went. Some threw the crumbs of a biscuit or two, some shooed her away. She took the good and bad with stoicism, as if saying, “Can’t afford to have an ego; I need all the nourishment I can get.”
Then I saw a replay of a scene I had seen earlier. A middle-aged maidservant — in a hurry, as all of them are when they go to work early morning — walked fast but couldn’t make much progress because there were four street dogs jumping around her and shaking their tails.
Once a little far from the tea shop, away from staring eyes, she did what I had seen her do earlier, took out two packets of biscuits and gave them to the dogs, who wolfed them down. Obviously, they knew her and would come and encircle her as soon as she alighted from the bus. And she would not carry out her daily routine until she was away from staring eyes.
Earlier, one day, when I was passing her as she had the dogs jumping around her, I could not help but tell her, “They know you so well. You should name them.” But my attempt to be friendly had an unexpected effect. She was embarrassed at her love for the dogs being found out. As soon as the biscuits were gone, she almost ran away.
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Why be embarrassed about loving street dogs, I wondered. But then I realised, she must have thought it was presumptuous for a person with her station in life to indulge in the hobby of distributing biscuits to street dogs, which costs money. A maidservant could not act like a bhadralok.
If powerful class distinction among humans wither away when it comes to loving animals, animals are a rather different lot.
On a recent visit to Sikkim, at the far end of a beautiful hanging bridge fording a gorge between densely wooded hills, stood a little restaurant. We ordered tea and snacks. While the order was being prepared, I went out and strolled around the courtyard.
And there I found, lazily half reclined, as beautiful and large a mountain dog as I have ever seen. He was neither friendly nor hostile, only immersed in himself. I went into the restaurant and asked the young girl at the counter if the dog was their pet. She proudly said yes. After taking her permission, I bought two packets of glucose biscuits to feed the dog (it was a big dog, you see) and walked out.
I put a biscuit on the ground before him. At first, he seemed not to react all. Then, without first seeking to smell and assess the food, as most dogs would (such was his supreme self-confidence), he stretched out his neck with minimal movement, ate the biscuit and went back to his half-reclining posture. There was no sign of emotion, not even a twitch of the tail, not to speak of a full wag or two.
Partially reassured, I put a second biscuit down and then a third. This went on like a play in slow motion until not one but both the packets were finished. Any other dog would have by now got up and made a gesture of happiness, if not gratefulness, some body language which said thank you. But not this beautiful big dog with such a regal demeanour. His attitude was, “I know who I am. I am not surprised you have fallen in love with me at first sight. If you wish to feed me some biscuits, I will oblige. But royalty does not bend a foreleg to say thank you, not to speak of doing something as plebeian as wagging the tail.”
After we left, I kept thinking about the dog and the strays I had fed biscuits near the tea shop at Kolkata. I also remembered the maidservant, who would surreptitiously feed them. Two golden rules came to my mind. Humans may have a hierarchy but the love of animals is a great leveller. The creator has, however, constructed a hierarchy among animals, which all animals respect. So a city stray will genuflect before a biscuit giver but a noble stately mountain dog will be pleased to have your biscuit and simply go back to his semi-sleep.
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