Which is why I respect Puppy. Puppy could have been the master of this house. He could have been the Greatest Watchdog ever. He could be growly, gruffy and A Person in Authority. But Puppy knows his mind. He has no illusions about himself. He will not do anything just because mamma wants him to. He will think if I suggest something, his head cocked to one side, his eyes bright and lively with questions. If something does not suit him, he will not think twice about walking back to his mat and curling up on it for his forty winks. Yes, forty, for he is four-years-old.
For example, Puppy does not think he is ‘Youth’. Sometimes, for old times’ sake, I hold a hoop with a biscuit on the other side, and exhort, “Jump Puppy, jump!” Then he looks at me, censure in his deep brown eyes, saying, “Mamma, I am not six months anymore. Give me a break. I will not jump through a hoop, even for a biscuit!”
Then there is the time, when mamma in her infinite wisdom, thinks that Puppy ought to do the social rounds. Take a walk with mamma and a bag of bread, so that lesser dogs can have their day. Suggest it to him, and he growls. “Puppu can do it, not me,” he tells me, “Quit it mamma! I hate that common street dog down the road! He fights with me every time I go on a walk. I am not giving him any bread! You do it if you want to!” That’s honesty for you.
But mamma never learns her lesson, as Puppy knows. Again, her infinite wisdom comes to play as a TV channel walks in, attempting to do a pet story. Mamma, it appears, has arranged for it. There is a dumb interviewer making silly noises intended to attract Puppy but has the opposite effect. He bounds upstairs into the balcony and stands with his paws on the rails, watching the crows noisily circle the nearby tree. Now that’s interesting.
Mamma intervenes, hoping Puppy will see reason. Puppy only looks at me ruefully saying, “Come on Mamma, that’s really too much work.” He pads up the stairs to his jute mat and curls up on it, as the TV anchor, cameraman and producer look on. He then opens one eye. “Mamma,” he says, “I think you should consider interviewing that common street dog instead. He may have plenty to say.”
He then shuts the eye and settles down to snooze.
Puppy has the plot. Pappu still has not.
