Pets have come to mean so much in our lives. They teach you unconditional love and bring so much joy, more than we are entitled. Sometimes, they complete you as a missing puzzle piece. I remember the first time I held Scooby in my arms. He was a 45-day old fat fluffball. I knew he was trouble the minute I laid eyes on him, trouble I didn't mind accepting with wide open arms.
Getting Scooby was an impulsive decision. We took in Scooby from a family whose retriever had a litter of six puppies.
The first two months were a rollercoaster ride. We would take turns to stay up and look after the tiny tot — he was the adventurous kind. You would find him behind the couch, under the bed, inside a carton, and where not. Then came the worst — teething issues! They might look tiny and cute but nobody warns you about the damage it can do. Six months and a lot of furniture later, we still had our limbs intact. That's when I realised, being a dog-parent is a task you’re not prepared for.
They say life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all. This is when we encountered our first nightmare. Scooby was just 7 months old when we noticed some heat boils on him. We rushed him to the vet immediately, not hoping for the worst. The boy had developed some sort of skin infection and was advised not to socialise with the other dogs or be taken out for walks during the day. The heat would just make it worse, the vet said. He was prescribed medication, tablets as big as your thumb. Imagine being under house rest with no social life and having medicines pushed down your throat? But we did not give up or break down. We stood strong for the boy because we knew he would fight this one, no doubt. And he did! Against all odds, he recovered.
But just when you think things are working out, life throws you another curveball. Scooby recently sprained his leg severely and could not run or walk properly. The vet (who is now an acquaintance, thanks to the weekly visits) assured us that he would be back to normal, provided he is under complete bed-rest for 2 months. That means no strolls in the park, no road trips, no playing fetch with his favourite Shraay hooman. Nothing that could hurt his leg, otherwise the damage could be permanent. At this point, I figured vet visits are going to be a regular thing and Cubbon Park would be a faint memory. But it’s been a month since the incident and he’s getting there, slowly.
Scooby is not just a dog, he is family. He’s our baby. He is close to my mother as he spends most of the day with her. She is his master and I’m his bud, his best bud. He never takes me seriously but that’s okay. As long as he is always there by the door, ready to jump on me.