If you are a human, maybe, you have been on of the people who has been cruel to dogs.
We did sufficient damage to the dogs in Diwali, and then we followed it up with Halloween. Those scared, whimpering dogs, who had been hiding under beds and behind curtains, took a call to emerge, finally, after the fireworks had settled down.
Enzo, the handsome retriever, in fact, complained to me a lot, in long, gibberish dog-sentences about what he had gone through. He framed long, articulate sentences and looked at me with his sad, brown eyes. I could not follow anything he was trying to say, but I kept saying,
‘I know, I understand what you are going through. Things will get better, I promise’.
It was not that difficult: what I do at a client’s site in my consulting work came in handy.
I don’t get fireworks.
Literally, because, I’d rather pillage on the neighbour’s stuff and metaphorically, because they are so dangerous. To give you an example, Alok launched a rocket on the day before Diwali (Not the NASA variety, the Shivkasi variety) with his bare hands. This is the point where he demonstrates to the children acts of bravery, in contemporary versions of ancient Rajput act of valour.
But, ‘rockets’ in local firework terminology, are whimsical like our politicians. They change courses and retract on will.
This particular rocket set out on its course, and, shortly post launch, decided to return to attack its launcher.
So, we soon saw a plume of bright sparkles and angry hisses chasing our intrepid launcher who was now running around the terrace.
It finally chose to attack the very palm that had launched it. What do you call an ungrateful piece of firework?
The children, watching this episode were petrified, Nikki almost in tears. We chided her for being a sissy. She needs to appreciate these moments and make suitable amnesia-based amendments to them to tell tales of our valour when she grows up.
So, after few days of indiscriminate noise, smoke and mistimed rocket attacks in which we ruined parts of the wall, the curtains and our ego, there was silence again.
The dogs decided to come out of hiding, warily, one careful paw at a time.
Only to be attacked by swarms of little devils in gory war-paint, wielding tridents, swords and brooms yelling ‘Trick or Treat’.
In dog terms, this has been like the unrelenting dark ages, or like a long stay in the Bigg Boss House.
As I write, the dogs have gone into hiding again. Maybe, they will convene an emergency meeting to get back at the inscrutable humans.
Maybe, they’d dress as Santa and attack us on Christmas.