A privileged life

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

The most popular male in the community I live in is Litchi. No; he is not a new neighbour nor is he the Zumba instructor who comes in twice a week. Litchi is a dog. Of unknown breed and pedigree, to me at least, but I would not be surprised if it turns out that he was sired by a king.

Because any mention of Litchi on our WhatsApp group evokes the highest number of character certifications and votes anyone has garnered. Like ever! To quote, he is ‘a darling’, ‘the gentlest, kindest, most non-reactive creature’, ‘a gentle and loving baby’ and ‘a beautiful soul’.

I can’t recollect a time when any human being, living or dead, evoked as much passionate support from the ladies of our community as did Litchi when his habit of walking around without a leash was put under the spotlight.

The outpouring of affection and praise for him warmed my heart and made me feel very amenable towards him. With that sort of approval rating, I knew he would be a shoo-in for the post of Permanent President of our Society. I thought to nominate him but thankfully, I reconsidered the wisdom of my suggestion.

Given that Litchi had grabbed more than his fair share of love and tolerance that people earmark for their neighbours, I expected that my unsolicited remark would earn me considerably less than my due. And possibly even a few brickbats. I would probably be condemned as an uncaring savage.

In the face of the strong advocacy that even the snakes, rats and scorpions around us generate, best not to make Litchi the butt of any joke, however feeble it might have been in the first place. Litchi, of course, was a dog, a species that ranked much higher on the food chain, even in my eyes than our reptilian and rodent cohabitants. I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance if I took him on.