Pets: Can you live a life within a life?

A tribute to the only dog I’ve ever had. A tale of ups and downs, bounties and sacrifices, and boundless love.

"Love. The reason I dislike that word is that it means too much for me, far more than you can understand." - Leo Tolstoy

September 16. 2018

“Give these to her twice a day, every day for a week." I was perplexed and said softly, “Uh… this is not my puppy, I live in a student hostel and I don’t have it with me every day”. I must’ve been barely audible because the vet was busy shuffling about her medicine cabinet and didn’t bother to reply. So I waited and simply asked, “Will it be alright soon?”

She replied “Street dogs are hardy. She’ll be up and running in no time.”

I had found a tiny, shivering puppy outside my hostel room with fresh wounds all over its body. The vet inspected the pup and said she was perhaps 40 days old and bitten nastily by other big dogs in the street. I brought her back to my hostel and the list of problems in my life had just grown. How can I give medicines to this dog every day, if I can’t have any control over where she’s going to be? I'd had a stressful, sleepless night and my dumb morning brain couldn't process it all, so I left her sleeping in my room and went out.

I’ve always loved dogs, but I’d never had one. I knew nothing about real ownership – what to feed it, how to feed it, what to do about poop, how to just let it be and so on – not ONE thing. So I relied on my girlfriend who owned a dog at home, for advice.

I made some calls and came back in half an hour to find my room… empty. Panik! I ran out into the corridor to look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. I searched my entire hostel, the mess, and the common areas and eventually ran out to the street where it was raining. I was giving up hope, filled with dread that she would not survive the streets again. I picked a side randomly and proceeded to soon find a bandaged black lump trotting away from me on the road. I was both surprised I even found her, and mad that she’d run away this far so quickly. I knew bigger dogs were everywhere on campus, so I ran after her, picked her up and brought her back to my room. Stupid dog killing me already. The day rolled on and my stress levels never dropped. I was too tired at night to plan how to keep her with me so I just said fuck it, I’ll deal with it as it comes. I made her a home from a small cardboard box, wrapped her in my t-shirt, and let her sleep inside. Sleep tight, Coffee.

Her home: this corner of my room

First picture of Coffee :')

Well, of course, she didn’t sleep. She was in a new environment, high on alert and she wanted to escape the room constantly. She went in circles on the floor and as I was watching from my bed, she went to a corner, bent her ass down a bit, and almost in slow motion, as if to taunt me… pooped on the floor. FUCK! I bolted up and got some used papers ready to pick her shit up for the first time. First of many many many many times. The stench of fresh poop filled my room as I realized the enormity of the challenge I’d taken on. What the actual fuck? I cleaned up after her and fed her Pedigree but she wouldn’t eat it. I looked on helplessly and switched off the lights to try to go to bed.

The next few days were horrible. I had classes during the day, so after her escape stunt on the first day, I tried to keep her locked in my room meanwhile. I’d be gone only for 2-3 hours at a time. But I came back to loud squeals from my room and complaints from my neighbour. At night, she would stand at the door, trying to push through it with her snout. For the first two nights, I’d switch off the lights to sleep and she’d cry constantly until I slept on the floor, with her huddled under my right arm. I don’t know if she turned silent out of fear or comfort. Sounds romantic but nuh-uh! I was more scared that I'd wake up with poop in my ears.

The cute parts

The criminal parts

The days rolled on and two things grew steadily – my love for her and the problems she gave me. Every day was filled with drama. I was in the final year of my Bachelors and I had to make grad school applications, prepare for GRE/TOEFL, and focus on my thesis project. On top of all this, I was also leading the hostel dance group for the inter-hostel dance championship. And my biggest problems of the day would be returning to my room to find completely shredded expensive earphones, destroyed spectacles, dirt on my bed, poop in a corner, and complaints from my neighbours. Imagine having a bad day and coming back to a destroyed house.

I'd put her to sleep, lock my room to go for dance practices, and I’d come back at 4 am every night, totally drained. I used to stand in the corridor to see if she is making noises. Silence. I would tiptoe to my door and before I even touched the handle, I’d hear small puppy wails. She’d recognize my scent from inside. Just the fact that she knew me so well warmed my heart, and I’d open the door to find her standing with her snout at the entrance, wagging her tail and crying uncontrollably. I’d burst into euphoric smiles, start blabbering in my pet-owner voice, cuddle up, give her the eggs I brought her, give her a hundred kisses until she calmed down and I’d get ready to sleep. For a few minutes, I’d forget every problem in my life. My love for her was my asylum. And I’d sleep off thinking the night went well in my absence.

Daily routine

Nightly routine

It never did, apparently. One morning after a night of dance practice, I woke up to find my neighbour come furiously up to me and say, “Man if you don’t throw this piece of shit out, I’ll do it myself or I’ll complain to the warden man. What the fuck are you doing? She’s shouting all night man, I can’t sleep.” (We were not allowed to harbour pets in our rooms.) I could sympathize with him but I felt betrayed by the threat and breach of trust. How could he threaten to go to the Warden? How could he not see that I loved the dog and I didn't have much choice? I replied in anger, “I don’t care man, things will get nasty if you do that, so fuck off!” I asked another neighbour who was watching this conversation from afar, if she was indeed very loud. He said she was and even he couldn’t sleep well. Sigh. I looked at Coffee, who was blissfully unaware of the problems she had been causing, in contrast to my mad helplessness. That day when I went out for classes, I opened the door and said, “Fuck off, you stay outside from today”. Both of us were freer.

DP of our Gyra Whatsapp group

Dance room during Gyra practices

From that night on, I decided to take her to my dance practices and keep her there around me. The hostel crew got used to her roaming around in the dance room. She never bothered my roommate anymore, but the damage was done. We had been close friends and roommates for three years, but he stopped talking to me completely. I could either have my dog or my friendship intact. I could patch up with him later, but I couldn't throw her out of my life. Sacrifice is never a necessity for love, but you know you're loving hard when you do it. And pets constantly remind you of the difficulty of making sacrifices.

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One afternoon when I came back from classes, I opened the door and froze. I found her on my bed, muddy and stinking, lying next to an important document she had shredded to pieces. I had one rule for her and it was to never get on my bed and I was already having a bad day then. I don’t even remember what it was she tore to pieces but I can never forget the events that followed.

She craned her head up, met my deathly stare wide-eyed, and turned her head away from me with a guilty expression on her face. I guess all the trouble she had ever given me had flashed in my mind, but honestly, I don’t know... I wasn’t thinking. I was gripped by a fit of rage. I went in and gave her a tight slap as she stood up on my bed and I picked her up, went outside the room, and flung her from the corridor over the parapet wall, onto the ground outside, all in the span of 5 seconds. The very instant she left my arms, I could feel myself filling up with regret, but it was too late. She was already in the air. She fell on the ground and gave a loud painful cry and got up on all fours. I must have stood there for a second, having just thrown her to the ground from waist height (my room was on the ground floor). By the time she was up and walking, I was running the length of the corridor to go around the wall and pick her up. Too late again… She was scared now to come to me, and she started to limp away. I started tearing up. I'm so sorry. I gave up going after her and I sat down and waited for her to come to me. When I reached my hands out to hold her, she closed her eyes and ducked thinking I was going to hit her again. My heart broke. I’m so sorry. I sat there crying, desperately trying to apologize to the poor soul for what I did. But she only knew fear. How could I ever communicate feelings like regret and apology, when the only transactions we could have were showing love and pain through actions? I brought her to my room and sat crying with her for another five minutes apologizing anyway. And then it hit me.

I am a monster.

I sat her down and shrank back on my bed wide-eyed, suddenly paralyzed by shock.

I am a monster.

What have I just done?

I am dangerous.

I need help. I am not normal.

Short temper was, and continues to be, my biggest issue, but I've only lost it with my family or when I am alone. I’ve loved all animals my entire life and for the first time, I had hurt a living thing out of unchecked fury. And I had loved her to the core so it was beyond my senses how I could’ve hurt her like that. I sat still as my self-image crumbled into pieces. Disgust. Shame. Pain. Terror. I was consumed by inexplicable feelings and revelations.

There is a monster in me, and I need to chase it out.

I need therapy.

It took me an hour to collect myself. I gave Coffee her lunch and checked to see if she had suffered any injury. Thankfully, she hadn’t. I had to go back for my next class, but I just sat there with her in silence, stroking her, hoping she’d soon forget what I just did.

She didn’t. In the next few days, whenever I reached my hand out to pet her, she ducked and winced. She’d close her eyes first and then squint at me to see what I’m really coming to do, a constant reminder of the monsters in me. My heart sank every single time. I’m sorry...

It took me days to be able to live with myself, and I never lost it with her again, but I had already hurt both of us. I expected her to run away from me but she accepted me right away. She'd circle my legs and duck every time I extended my arms, but she’d come to me. She’d cuddle up to me and lick my face, as if she understands that mistakes can be made in love.

How is it possible that she seemed to have the empathy I couldn’t dare to have for myself?

How is it that she is the one who was hurt, but her love is what redeems me?

How is it that she kills me and saves me at the same time?

And how does she manage to remind me that I do the same for her?

I’ve always maintained that intimate relationships are like mirrors, and mine with Coffee was no different. I harbour the pain I inflict on her, while she recovers and keeps going. I find a home in the love I provide for her, while she accepts it and keeps going. Pets give you the chance to do something for them. And although it is heartwarming when they show you some love and they are there for you, it is your love for them that makes your life beautiful. Your efforts to provide care and love, are your own reward.

It’s the real reason I feel that people who own pets but avoid responsibilities, who are aloof and there in it for the love they receive, who don’t take care of everything from walking, feeding, and cleaning up, don’t really know the depths of what it could offer you. It offers you a mirror to see who you are at your best and worst and everything in between.

And when the pets are gone, and they always leave you, it destroys you not just for what you no longer receive, but for all that you can no longer do for them.

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“Nitin, can you come back to the hostel? Something has happened to Coffee”.

I had just left the hostel five minutes earlier after feeding Coffee to walk to my dance practice and I turned around when I got this call from my friend. He was calm on the call so I thought she was probably alright. As I neared my hostel, I saw some people standing in a circle on the side of the road and I walked to the group and peered through them. It was twilight, so I squinted to see clearly and then pure shock surged through my veins.

It was her lying next to the pavement. I bent down and tried to wake her up, but she was unconscious. I saw blood on her snout and body, and I froze. I put my hand to her nose. She’s breathing. Most people gathered around were from my hostel and they knew she was my pet. They told me an autorickshaw had hit her while she was trying to cross the road. My friend who had called me was standing there, and I told him I'm taking her to the vet. He immediately said he was coming with me. We got an autowala who would let us take a dog to the hospital and I said, “Just please go, I’ll tell you where to go.”

By this time I was clearly in anguish. The auto ride was a roller coaster. I had her lying on my lap unconscious and she suddenly bawled in pain. My clothes were covered in blood, mud, and poop. She must’ve lost her poop control reflexes from the blow and she was bleeding and shitting all over me. We reached the vet and I apologized to the driver for the mess. He was such a good Samaritan, he said it was fine and told me to focus on getting the dog treated. I rushed her to the vet, who examined her and said “She has a fracture in her leg and a blow to the head, so she has a concussion. She needs to be ‘admitted’ to a pet hospital with more facilities. Please take her there immediately.”

The hospital was on the other side of Mumbai. It was another long and scary auto ride and my friend was there all along helping me. They took her in, examined her, and said something that numbed me. “She’s badly hurt. We’ll give her emergency care but it looks like she won’t live through the night. You cannot stay here, please go and come back in the morning…”

That fateful night at the hospital

I had had her for four months now and I was going to take her home to my family when I graduated. Leaving her on campus was no choice. I had imagined how it would be to have Coffee running around in my house pooping in all the wrong places. How my father might avoid her and the responsibilities, and then start loving it all. How my sister would dote over her. How she’d keep my mother company. How I’d take her out for walks. How she’d keep my home together. That one sentence dissolved these dreams.

The car ride back to campus was long and blurry. I went straight to the dance practice to see my girlfriend. I heard that my team was not happy I wasn’t present, but I was too sad to feel angry. How would they know what this means to me? She had a dog but she was the kind of person who would have understood what I was going through even if she didn’t have one. Her presence was all that mattered to me.

Next day at the hospital wing

The next morning, she and I went back to the hospital. I was silent and nervous throughout until I heard that Coffee is in one of the dog cells in the hospital wing. I was ecstatic to see her but she was distraught. She had a plaster cast on her fractured leg and she was tied to the corner to keep from moving. This time she was in incredible pain and she couldn’t share her burden with me. They said she had to be there for a couple of weeks. I was relieved she was getting treated, there was nothing else I could’ve done for her.

I visited her alone two more times in the next week before I had to leave with my dance group for our competition, and I was happy to have the distraction. We’d be gone for a week and then I could go to the hospital to bring her back. We won the competitions and I’d had such a good time that I forgot about it all until I returned.

I went with three of my wingmates to bring her back to campus on a dry January morning. This time, I went straight to her cell but there was some other dog there. I searched the entire place 3-4 times in vain so I went up to them and asked her where she is. They made me wait for an hour, checked their records, pulled out a card and said, “She died a few days ago.”

“What? She was recovering and seemed alright, what do you mean she died?”

“She succumbed to Diarrhea.”

Silence.

“Well, why am I finding out only now about this?”

“I think we tried calling you”

“No, you didn’t”

“Well, maybe we might have thought it was a street dog without owners”

More silence.

The sudden turn of events rendered me numb. I stayed there for some more time trying to make sure we were talking about the same dog, and I searched the wing once more in vain. I found out that death by Diarrhea was easily preventable. I wasn’t sad or angry, I just felt… empty.

I didn’t cry or speak, I let the emptiness spread inside me. I came back and informed everybody who cared that she was no more. Some people missed her, some sympathized with me, but nobody understood what I felt. Not even me.

Just like that, just as she had entered my world, she had vanished from it. Poof.

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It’s been over four years now. I miss her rarely but intensely. I’ve been wanting a dog again for a very long time and I could easily do it if I lived anywhere permanently. I’ve chosen a life for myself where I expect to be constantly on the move. And I want to be the one to take care of my dog fully because I know what I’d be getting from that. So I am biding my time waiting for the day, and maybe again, the dog will choose me before I choose it. But when I look back at my time with Coffee, I am in awe of the big picture.

In so many ways, my experience of having a pet has been different simply because, unlike most people who have pets at home, I’ve had her in my shoebox of a hostel room and taken care of everything for her at a time when I was really bad at taking care of myself. I’ve lost friends, money, valuable time, and peace of mind for her. She had no toys, no bed and no special care. Pampering her meant one extra egg and cuddles. She never asked for more and I couldn’t have given her more either.

Get someone who looks at you like...

I loved my dog. I set her free. She would’ve been alive if I had kept her locked in my room 'for her own good'. But she was free... She could do whatever she liked, and she soon learned to step out of the hostel too. Ultimately, it's the freedom I gave her that took her away from me forever, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. This was built on love and the feeling of home, not ownership or possession.

Every day brought new challenges but my days looked the same. I’d wake up, let her go out of my room, come back from classes, feed her and go back again in the afternoon. The evenings were my favorite part. As soon as I was at the hostel entrance, even before I called out for her, she would smell my presence. I can never forget the sight of her running to me from around the corner of the building, panting and wagging her tail. I’d bend down to cuddle with her for a few minutes, then be like “Fuck off now while I get you food from the canteen”. I’d buy eggs for her and watch her follow me all the way to my room, all the while trying to jump on me to get to the food. Sit, I’d say and she’d sit, tail wagging, her gaze shifting between me and the eggs in my hand. Hi-five, I’d say and she’d stick out her arm. She’d gobble up the rewards she deserved for her good manners, and then she’d go out again to roll in the dirt with the other hostel dogs.

But every night she would return to my room. To my arms. To sleep.

She would be my refuge and I would be hers.