I watched the recent video of a dog being thrown from a building that went viral. I was shocked. I forwarded it, and duly and quickly signed the petition my daughter drafted and forwarded via email.
All the media attention by concerned citizens prompted quick action. Bhadra was rescued, treated and is safe. It is, indeed, heartening to know that we still live in a world where the heart beats in the right rhythm, and there are, in fact, many people ready to adopt Bhadra.
There is a breed of dog in Australia called the Dingo. These dogs are the pride of their owners. Their origin traces back to India and they are Pye dogs like Bhadra, which we see on the streets. While the Australians value this breed extremely, we see them as too common. It might seem crazy, but I would liken this to us Indians, too. Until the Americans discovered that Indians made great CEOs, we ourselves did not realise it. That we are intelligent people came to the fore only after Indians began cracking the exams abroad easily.
The Indian Pye is a valuable breed. They are very interactive and can judge the intent of a stranger just by their posture. Here is an instance. We had adopted a Pye dog years ago. We lost her last year on Ganesh Chaturthi; but she lived till the ripe age of 13. She was beautiful, auburn, and we called her Pixie. We also have a pug; his name is Winston.
One night we were walking the dogs – Winston was on a leigh while Pixie, the confident girl, frolicked freely as she like to be untethered. She was of a good size and very intelligent, while Winston is a small dog. She always kept a watch on Winston. For one, she did not trust him and both would always mark their territories. However, Pixie also knew that he could be kidnapped.
It was 10.30 pm that night, when we noticed a suspicious-looking stranger. Even as the thought crossed our minds, and even before we whispered our fears, between my daughter and I, Pixie was already on guard. She cautiously fell a few a steps behind. The stranger was approaching us from behind. Instinctively, my daughter and I turned back to notice was a longish object in his hand.
Fearing it could be a knife, we hastened our speed and started walking back home, trying not to give away the fact that we were now scared. That’s when Pixie got into action. She bounced towards the stranger barking who ran away shrieking for life. She came bounding back to us, while still hurling warning threats in his direction, lest he returned.
It was then that I noticed Winston, lost unto his moorings, taking in the aromas of the road, planning his next territory markings while Pixie exuded business, guarding us and frolicking in brave abandon. We miss her. Love you, Pixie!
