"Money will buy you a pretty good dog, but it won't buy the wag of his tail."
Henry Wheeler Shaw
So you are planning to buy a dog. Ever considered adopting? Give it a thought, and when you are at it, go and check out a few dog shelters as well. I can guarantee that if you are a dog lover, you won’t leave the shelter without losing your heart to one of the residents. The dogs put up for adoption by the numerous shelters are either strays or abandoned. These bundles of joy need a loving family and in return they will give you unconditional love for a life time.( a dog lifetime that is!)
People are often hesitant in adopting a street dog. The reasons for this hesitancy are varied. Some people want or love a particular breed. Like a colleague of mine, who is a strict Alsatian person. For her, a dog means an Alsatian. Then there are others who buy pedigreed dogs more out of a need to show off than a love for the animal. But there is a dog loving population out there who is just ignorant or misinformed about stray dogs. There are a number of myths about this unfortunate population of dogs and this article is an honest attempt to lend a hand to the hard working animal shelters in finding a home for these dogs. Read on and you too can find that perfect pet.
What is a ‘street dog’?
Street dogs, or Indian dogs as some people prefer to call them, are mixed breeds and not pedigreed, which have been developed in the West. They are also known as ‘Pariah dogs’. The phrase pariah dog originally referred to the wild dogs of India, but now it indicates any population of stray dogs who live near human settlements. Street dogs consist of stray or abandoned pets, litter born of a stray, or from unwanted litters dumped by some dog owners.
Myth
Stray dogs have germs and can pass them on to their human companions.
Fact
All dogs, whether strays or pedigreed, carry a variety of germs that can make people sick. It is unlikely, but yes! it can happen. Very young and old people are more likely to get diseases from dogs as they have weak immune systems. This has nothing to do with a dog being a stray and everything to do with hygiene. Just remember what your grandmother told you. ‘Thoroughly wash your hands with running water and soap after contact with dogs.’
The dogs, which are put up for adoption by the animal shelters, are sterilized and immunized, and obviously clean. They are no more likely to give you disease than a pedigreed dog.
Myth
Strays are more prone to falling ill.
Fact
In Fact, strays have much stronger immune systems than most pedigreed dogs. Many pedigreed foreign dogs have developed genetic weaknesses as a result of generations of inbreeding. For example, Alsatians are prone to hip displacement, bulldogs cannot breathe properly, and so on. Strays, on the other hand, are hardy. A life spent in the streets has given them a stronger survival instinct and a rock solid immune system. That is not to say that your stray won’t fall ill. But when compared to a pedigreed dog, it will fight diseases more successfully.
Myth
Strays are wild.
Fact
It is a well known fact that dogs share their DNA with wolves. And yes, most dogs have the wild instinct. But it is hidden deep inside, and seldom comes to the surface. These instincts come to the forth when they are eating or after a bitch gives birth. That’s why all dogs have to be trained. Strays are independent and are used to following their instincts, but with the right amount of love and training, you can change that. Moreover, most of the dogs put up for adoption by animal shelters are abandoned pets, and are thus already housebroken and comfortable with people. As far as street dogs are concerned, most of them have lived in the midst of people all their lives, and are more likely to be afraid of humans. For people who don’t want to adopt grown up strays, there is always the choice of adopting from a stray litter. Most shelters test the temperament of the dogs to ensure that they would make good house pets before putting them up for adoption.
India has a huge population of strays, and however cruel it may sound; I am in no way suggesting adopting them straight from the street. If you do decide to adopt a stray, visit your nearest animal shelter. These dogs need a loving family. By adopting a stray and homeless dog you are not just doing an act of compassion, but are also making a friend for life. These furry friends give us their ‘dogged’ devotion, loyalty, and companionship forever. Yes, it takes time and patience, but what they give us in return cannot be quantified.
Every dog lover knows the feeling of having one of these bundles of joy at home. Any dog, whether stray or pedigreed, makes our world a little better.
Before you decide to adopt or buy a dog for your family, do some research about what kind of dog will suit your lifestyle. And remember looking after a pet is a lot of hard work. It is like taking care of a baby. Adopt a dog only if you are ready to invest your time and money into it.
E B White, in his book, The Care and Training of a Dog says, "A really companionable and indispensable dog is an accident of nature. You can't get it by breeding for it, and you can't buy it with money. It just happens along." And I can tell you from experience that stray dogs make great pets and these accidents of nature are just waiting for you to come and take them home.
As Good As It Gets?
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Papa
It’s been more then 12 years, yet the memories refuse to age.
The man I called ‘Bapi’, my father, lost his battle with cancer. I was 15 when he was diagnosed, too carefree, too happy, to bother about my father’s illness. After all, I KNEW he would get better. He was my father, and things like these happened to others, never to us.
My 15th year was also the year of my first love, the kind of puppy love that blinds one to everything, even a monster called cancer, slowly devouring ones father becomes secondary.
But no love, no infatuation, could prepare me for the silence. To prevent the cancer from spreading, the doctors removed Bapi’s voice box. That booming voice, that melodious voice that sung us our favourite lullabies, was silenced forever. That was the beginning of the end. We were trying, fighting, to keep him alive. But Bapi just gave up and slowly slipped. He was soon bedridden, and could not eat. His food was made into a paste and fed through a pipe that was directly attached to his stomach.
The man who loved talking, singing, even doing that silly ‘duck’ dance, the man, whose love for food was legendary, had been robbed of the very things that made him happy. Even today, when I eat some special Bengali sweet, I remember Bapi’s expression of delight, after having eaten his favourite sweet. I still feel pangs of guilt, when I eat something really delicious, and wish I could go back in time and share this with him.
We knew that it was a losing battle, yet, my sisters, my 11 year old brother and I went to sleep each night, praying for just another day with the man who had struggled all his life, who had lost his father at 1 and started working at 14 to support his widowed mother. Bapi led a life of unfulfilled dreams, yet his love for life was infectious, till cancer came knocking. He would sit with the ‘kabadiwala’ and share a cup of tea; he would pick up stray puppies and buy feeding bottles for them, although his income was too little to even support his large family of 5 children. His pride, his garden, was full of bloom, and it seemed at times that he was trying to fill the garden with colours he longed for in his own life. He could not finish his graduation, but he had knowledge that would have put any graduate today to shame. His newspaper was his window to the world, and an unforgettable image of Bapi sitting in his garden, spectacles perked on his proud long nose, eyes glued to the newspaper…….
Cancer had robbed Bapi of his spirit, yet we wanted him to hang on. It was too soon. He was just 53! But a part of us, the unselfish part of us, prayed for his freedom, freedom from that wrecked his body and soul.
That’s how I felt one day, when I sat beside his skeletal body, filled with bed sores. I was reading my first poem to him. Suddenly I wanted to shout and ask him to listen, to understand, that his daughter, the daughter of a lower middle class man, who hardly had any knowledge of English, had written a poem in that language. I wanted him to feel proud. I needed him to be around, so I could make his life a little better…..
My 3 elder sisters were married, but they, along with my brothers in law, were our pillars of strength. I remember once when all the family was gathered together, Bapi looked at my eldest brother in law and then looked at my younger brother and me. It was his silent request, and it was understood. My Jijju took Bapi’s hand and said “Chaitali and Joy will make it”……
On 27th July 1995, around 9 at night, my mom said that the time had come. My sisters were called, asked to hurry and see their father one last time. One neighbour aunty gave me a copy of the “Gita” and asked me to read it to him. Bapi was sleeping peacefully. Ma gave my brother a sleeping draught, to spare him the pain of seeing Bapi go. All, but my eldest sister, were there when it happened. The tears broke out. I could not understand anything. I put my hand on Bapi’s chest but could not hear anything. Everybody was crying now. I was numb, I couldn’t feel anything. My friend rushed to hug me, yet I didn’t cry. It was just a bad dream…My eldest sister arrived 15 minutes late. She sat beside Bapi and sobbed, whispering, “why couldn’t you wait for 15 minutes”.
The rest of the night passed in a whirl. Morning came, and my brother was gently woken up and fed. They were unable to break it to the 11 year child, how does one tell a 11 year old that his father was no more? I, still in my denial mode, dragged him to where Bapi lay, draped in white. My brother shrieked and ran to a corner; he sat there sobbing….all for 5 minutes, then he grew up, never to shed a tear again. He then sat stone faced besides his father’s body, fanning, to keep the flies away. At that moment I realized what had happened. The flood finally broke. I cried as they carried “Bapi” away. The word “Bapi” had become part of memories now. The emptiness, the knowledge that a person who meant the world to you, the person who brought you your first bicycle, as all your rich friends had one, that person would no longer be there. That special smell, that special touch, it was all gone forever.
Bapi left us with bitter memories of that one year, but he also left a family who have stuck together through the worst storms, He left behind the thirst to make it big. We had to do it; for him. We, his children, his treasure, had made his existence make sense. We had to learn to value life. And we did. We made it, Bapi. I know you must be doing you “duck” dance now…..
The man I called ‘Bapi’, my father, lost his battle with cancer. I was 15 when he was diagnosed, too carefree, too happy, to bother about my father’s illness. After all, I KNEW he would get better. He was my father, and things like these happened to others, never to us.
My 15th year was also the year of my first love, the kind of puppy love that blinds one to everything, even a monster called cancer, slowly devouring ones father becomes secondary.
But no love, no infatuation, could prepare me for the silence. To prevent the cancer from spreading, the doctors removed Bapi’s voice box. That booming voice, that melodious voice that sung us our favourite lullabies, was silenced forever. That was the beginning of the end. We were trying, fighting, to keep him alive. But Bapi just gave up and slowly slipped. He was soon bedridden, and could not eat. His food was made into a paste and fed through a pipe that was directly attached to his stomach.
The man who loved talking, singing, even doing that silly ‘duck’ dance, the man, whose love for food was legendary, had been robbed of the very things that made him happy. Even today, when I eat some special Bengali sweet, I remember Bapi’s expression of delight, after having eaten his favourite sweet. I still feel pangs of guilt, when I eat something really delicious, and wish I could go back in time and share this with him.
We knew that it was a losing battle, yet, my sisters, my 11 year old brother and I went to sleep each night, praying for just another day with the man who had struggled all his life, who had lost his father at 1 and started working at 14 to support his widowed mother. Bapi led a life of unfulfilled dreams, yet his love for life was infectious, till cancer came knocking. He would sit with the ‘kabadiwala’ and share a cup of tea; he would pick up stray puppies and buy feeding bottles for them, although his income was too little to even support his large family of 5 children. His pride, his garden, was full of bloom, and it seemed at times that he was trying to fill the garden with colours he longed for in his own life. He could not finish his graduation, but he had knowledge that would have put any graduate today to shame. His newspaper was his window to the world, and an unforgettable image of Bapi sitting in his garden, spectacles perked on his proud long nose, eyes glued to the newspaper…….
Cancer had robbed Bapi of his spirit, yet we wanted him to hang on. It was too soon. He was just 53! But a part of us, the unselfish part of us, prayed for his freedom, freedom from that wrecked his body and soul.
That’s how I felt one day, when I sat beside his skeletal body, filled with bed sores. I was reading my first poem to him. Suddenly I wanted to shout and ask him to listen, to understand, that his daughter, the daughter of a lower middle class man, who hardly had any knowledge of English, had written a poem in that language. I wanted him to feel proud. I needed him to be around, so I could make his life a little better…..
My 3 elder sisters were married, but they, along with my brothers in law, were our pillars of strength. I remember once when all the family was gathered together, Bapi looked at my eldest brother in law and then looked at my younger brother and me. It was his silent request, and it was understood. My Jijju took Bapi’s hand and said “Chaitali and Joy will make it”……
On 27th July 1995, around 9 at night, my mom said that the time had come. My sisters were called, asked to hurry and see their father one last time. One neighbour aunty gave me a copy of the “Gita” and asked me to read it to him. Bapi was sleeping peacefully. Ma gave my brother a sleeping draught, to spare him the pain of seeing Bapi go. All, but my eldest sister, were there when it happened. The tears broke out. I could not understand anything. I put my hand on Bapi’s chest but could not hear anything. Everybody was crying now. I was numb, I couldn’t feel anything. My friend rushed to hug me, yet I didn’t cry. It was just a bad dream…My eldest sister arrived 15 minutes late. She sat beside Bapi and sobbed, whispering, “why couldn’t you wait for 15 minutes”.
The rest of the night passed in a whirl. Morning came, and my brother was gently woken up and fed. They were unable to break it to the 11 year child, how does one tell a 11 year old that his father was no more? I, still in my denial mode, dragged him to where Bapi lay, draped in white. My brother shrieked and ran to a corner; he sat there sobbing….all for 5 minutes, then he grew up, never to shed a tear again. He then sat stone faced besides his father’s body, fanning, to keep the flies away. At that moment I realized what had happened. The flood finally broke. I cried as they carried “Bapi” away. The word “Bapi” had become part of memories now. The emptiness, the knowledge that a person who meant the world to you, the person who brought you your first bicycle, as all your rich friends had one, that person would no longer be there. That special smell, that special touch, it was all gone forever.
Bapi left us with bitter memories of that one year, but he also left a family who have stuck together through the worst storms, He left behind the thirst to make it big. We had to do it; for him. We, his children, his treasure, had made his existence make sense. We had to learn to value life. And we did. We made it, Bapi. I know you must be doing you “duck” dance now…..
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Dont just survive, Live
Yesterday I was talking with (actually chatting) an old, dear friend. We were together in college and shared some really good moments together. Like me, she was not a person who made a dozen friends. We liked our cozy group, mad, whacky, and so in love with life. We had big dreams, and the one thing that really kept us together was our love for life and laughter. We loved to laugh, and to make others laugh. Nobody could understand the secret behind our-non stop laughter. They did not know our soul. We were simple people, bunking college to watch Dil Chahta Hai, taking off in the peak of summer to watch the Taj Mahal, traveling in a general compartment, filled with smelly people. But nothing could dampen our spirits. When all the other girls were busy preparing for their exams, we were munching on samosas and watching the rain. And lo behold, when the results came in, not only did we pass, but did so with flying colors (did some one say guardian angel?). And the passion for filmmaking! That was our passion. When we had to make projects for our collage (studied media), we always ended up in the same team. Our first film. Well it was a 10 minute short project called “Only You”, about patriotism. Now when we watch it, all the jumps, nasty sound recording, and the tacky production splits me up. But at that time, it was our baby. When our lecturer asked what we would like to change about the film, we said in one voice “NOTHING”. Three years of pure bliss, romance, fun, dreams and above all laughter. But time passes doesn’t it?
We passed out of college. And ‘She disappeared’. No phone calls, no emails. She simply vanished from the face of the earth. The remaining members of the group hung on together. We fought our way through heartache, disillusionment, and depression. We tried to hold onto our dreams, but watched helplessly as they slipped through our fingers. But we did not give up on our dreams. So what if we couldn’t make films. It still could be our hobby, the one love, so we planned. Saving money, hiring cameras, making that dream film. That dream is still alive. One day, yes one day, we will do it.
Than she came back into our lives. My life mostly. It was like old times, we laughed. And than we went back to our lives. Today she is in Bangalore, working for a big bank. I am working as a freelance writer. All four of us live in 4 different cities. But I still have that love for life. I still have dreams. I still laugh till my stomach hurts. But she doesn’t. She says she has changed. She says if she becomes the girl she was, her partner wont accept it.
Those are the words I red yesterday. And I cried. I cried for those lost days. I cried for the lost innocence. And I cried because people cant love us for the people we are.
I am still holding on. As I always say, I don’t just want to survive, I want to live. Don’t stop laughing, don’t lose your soul in the mad rush of ambition. Don’t give up on your dreams, no matter how impossible they maybe.
Don’t Just Survive, LIVE!!!!!
We passed out of college. And ‘She disappeared’. No phone calls, no emails. She simply vanished from the face of the earth. The remaining members of the group hung on together. We fought our way through heartache, disillusionment, and depression. We tried to hold onto our dreams, but watched helplessly as they slipped through our fingers. But we did not give up on our dreams. So what if we couldn’t make films. It still could be our hobby, the one love, so we planned. Saving money, hiring cameras, making that dream film. That dream is still alive. One day, yes one day, we will do it.
Than she came back into our lives. My life mostly. It was like old times, we laughed. And than we went back to our lives. Today she is in Bangalore, working for a big bank. I am working as a freelance writer. All four of us live in 4 different cities. But I still have that love for life. I still have dreams. I still laugh till my stomach hurts. But she doesn’t. She says she has changed. She says if she becomes the girl she was, her partner wont accept it.
Those are the words I red yesterday. And I cried. I cried for those lost days. I cried for the lost innocence. And I cried because people cant love us for the people we are.
I am still holding on. As I always say, I don’t just want to survive, I want to live. Don’t stop laughing, don’t lose your soul in the mad rush of ambition. Don’t give up on your dreams, no matter how impossible they maybe.
Don’t Just Survive, LIVE!!!!!
Friday, May 11, 2007
I don't like money, actually, but it quiets my nerves
I still haven’t got my payment. Man I am irritated. Generally my bosses in the US are very prompt with the payment. But this month I have been left in the cold. Everyone else has got their money. I am still dreaming of it. Can t even concentrate on work..isnt that natural? What motivates you, if not money? I have so many things planned. Need to buy gifts for my family who I am visiting after months. But no money yet. Ok. Take a deep breath. Calm down. After all money is not everything right? I don't like money, actually, but it quiets my nerves……
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Why do people change?
Yesterday I was talking with (actually chatting) an old, dear friend. We were together in college and shared some really good moments together. Like me, she was not a person who made a dozen friends. We liked our cozy group, mad, whacky, and so in love with life. We had big dreams, and the one thing that really kept us together was our love for life and laughter. We loved to laugh, and to make others laugh. Nobody could understand the secret behind our-non stop laughter. They did not know our soul. We were simple people, bunking college to watch Dil Chahta Hai, taking off in the peak of summer to watch the Taj Mahal, traveling in a general compartment, filled with smelly people. But nothing could dampen our spirits. When all the other girls were busy preparing for their exams, we were munching on samosas and watching the rain. And lo behold, when the results came in, not only did we pass, but did so with flying colors (did some one say guardian angel?). And the passion for filmmaking! That was our passion. When we had to make projects for our collage (studied media), we always ended up in the same team. Our first film. Well it was a 10 minute short project called “Only You”, about patriotism. Now when we watch it, all the jumps, nasty sound recording, and the tacky production splits me up. But at that time, it was our baby. When our lecturer asked what we would like to change about the film, we said in one voice “NOTHING”. Three years of pure bliss, romance, fun, dreams and above all laughter. But time passes doesn’t it?
We passed out of college. And ‘She disappeared’. No phone calls, no emails. She simply vanished from the face of the earth. The remaining members of the group hung on together. We fought our way through heartache, disillusionment, and depression. We tried to hold onto our dreams, but watched helplessly as they slipped through our fingers. But we did not give up on our dreams. So what if we couldn’t make films. It still could be our hobby, the one love, so we planned. Saving money, hiring cameras, making that dream film. That dream is still alive. One day, yes one day, we will do it.
Than she came back into our lives. My life mostly. It was like old times, we laughed. And than we went back to our lives. Today she is in Bangalore, working for a big bank. I am working as a freelance writer. All four of us live in 4 different cities. But I still have that love for life. I still have dreams. I still laugh till my stomach hurts. But she doesn’t. She says she has changed. She says if she becomes the girl she was, her partner wont accept it.
Those are the words I red yesterday. And I cried. I cried for those lost days. I cried for the lost innocence. And I cried because people cant love us for the people we are.
I am still holding on. As I always say, I don’t just want to survive, I want to live. Don’t stop laughing, don’t lose your soul in the mad rush of ambition. Don’t give up on your dreams, no matter how impossible they maybe.
Don’t Just Survive, LIVE!!!!!
We passed out of college. And ‘She disappeared’. No phone calls, no emails. She simply vanished from the face of the earth. The remaining members of the group hung on together. We fought our way through heartache, disillusionment, and depression. We tried to hold onto our dreams, but watched helplessly as they slipped through our fingers. But we did not give up on our dreams. So what if we couldn’t make films. It still could be our hobby, the one love, so we planned. Saving money, hiring cameras, making that dream film. That dream is still alive. One day, yes one day, we will do it.
Than she came back into our lives. My life mostly. It was like old times, we laughed. And than we went back to our lives. Today she is in Bangalore, working for a big bank. I am working as a freelance writer. All four of us live in 4 different cities. But I still have that love for life. I still have dreams. I still laugh till my stomach hurts. But she doesn’t. She says she has changed. She says if she becomes the girl she was, her partner wont accept it.
Those are the words I red yesterday. And I cried. I cried for those lost days. I cried for the lost innocence. And I cried because people cant love us for the people we are.
I am still holding on. As I always say, I don’t just want to survive, I want to live. Don’t stop laughing, don’t lose your soul in the mad rush of ambition. Don’t give up on your dreams, no matter how impossible they maybe.
Don’t Just Survive, LIVE!!!!!
before i move on...
Well, I already have another blog, but nobody seems to be reading it...so thought maybe i should get a new blog. To read what I wrote before ( i doubt u want to do that), check out this url -- http://phoenix.instablogs.com/.
till later
till later
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