He’s tall for his age, just the right shade of dark and oh-so-very handsome. Plus, he’s taken. So lay off. He’s mine. Not, the veritable prince charming, but my dog – Hugo Nawab Baxter.
He's been named after Victor Hugo of the Les Miserables fame. But for all the literary value he intones he might have just been named after the local perfume brand. But I must agree, he does have a taste for literature. Especially, if it is hard bound, expensive and chewable. Trust me, I’ve learnt it the hard way.
How did this enigma end up in my family’s orderly lives? Just a month back, we were your ordinary peace-loving, pest-free and very much dog-less family. But there was something amiss. The missing something was a creature we could fondle, love, pet and treat with much love and care – a dog. Ours has been a dog family as far back as I could recollect. We’ve had the typical Pomeranian, a pair of impish black Labradors, a bratty golden Labrador, a grandpa Bull-dog, a shaggy Lhasa Apso and what not.
So, in my aim to get ourselves one of those man’s best friends, I just happened to go ‘like’ an animal shelter’s picture on Facebook. (And texted the number given. Kept frantically calling up. Went to the shelter on the same day. Stalked whoever’s number was provided.) And ended up with Hugo in my lap in an auto headed back home.
All dog-lovers can identify with the sloppy symptoms of being dog-struck. The world suddenly loses all significance. Owning chappals, earphones, telephone wires, pillows, furniture and all those materialistic/chewable things mean nothing. All of a sudden, guests who don’t like dogs are as unwelcome as the fleas. Being covered in dog-hair becomes the latest style statement. Vet visits leave one with a certain distaste when the Doc pricks the poor babies. But the dog-biscuits (strictly for the dogs) make up for the forgettable shots.
After a month of Hugo-ness and crazy tug of wars involving disputes over property rights (he imagines all things within his reach to belong to him, which necessarily might not really be true), life suddenly smells better. That first time I met him, I scratched him and he even scratched me back. It was definitely love at first sniff.
He's been named after Victor Hugo of the Les Miserables fame. But for all the literary value he intones he might have just been named after the local perfume brand. But I must agree, he does have a taste for literature. Especially, if it is hard bound, expensive and chewable. Trust me, I’ve learnt it the hard way.
How did this enigma end up in my family’s orderly lives? Just a month back, we were your ordinary peace-loving, pest-free and very much dog-less family. But there was something amiss. The missing something was a creature we could fondle, love, pet and treat with much love and care – a dog. Ours has been a dog family as far back as I could recollect. We’ve had the typical Pomeranian, a pair of impish black Labradors, a bratty golden Labrador, a grandpa Bull-dog, a shaggy Lhasa Apso and what not.
So, in my aim to get ourselves one of those man’s best friends, I just happened to go ‘like’ an animal shelter’s picture on Facebook. (And texted the number given. Kept frantically calling up. Went to the shelter on the same day. Stalked whoever’s number was provided.) And ended up with Hugo in my lap in an auto headed back home.
All dog-lovers can identify with the sloppy symptoms of being dog-struck. The world suddenly loses all significance. Owning chappals, earphones, telephone wires, pillows, furniture and all those materialistic/chewable things mean nothing. All of a sudden, guests who don’t like dogs are as unwelcome as the fleas. Being covered in dog-hair becomes the latest style statement. Vet visits leave one with a certain distaste when the Doc pricks the poor babies. But the dog-biscuits (strictly for the dogs) make up for the forgettable shots.
After a month of Hugo-ness and crazy tug of wars involving disputes over property rights (he imagines all things within his reach to belong to him, which necessarily might not really be true), life suddenly smells better. That first time I met him, I scratched him and he even scratched me back. It was definitely love at first sniff.
1 comment:
Victor Hugo sounds like a blast and not at all Miserable. Keep him away from plastic wrap because when he'll need help when he's tryinfg to pass it. Have you ever heard the story of Knirps whose master was the illustrious Prussian field marshal, Erich von Manstein?
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