Obituary

During the night of 21 July, 2026, I lost my pet, a dog that answered to the name of Buster. He lived to a ripe old age (in “dog” years), for when I returned from Oman late in 2011, he was there. I’m going to say that he lived a good life, for he had his bowl of food every day for all those years, and over the last ten, a packet of biscuits, too. Buster was enthusiastic about food, and because he was a decent, dignified dog, he accepted his daily quota of biscuits with a look that said: I deserve this”.

He was not one of your fancy dogs, though most people mistook him for pedigree. I’m sure he didn’t bother about caste, for he believed (I’m assuming) that all dogs, even all animals, were created equal. He liked what he liked and barked vigorously at everything else. He was friendly enough, though, except if you were a snake or a bandicoot. You must have known (if you haven’t yet, you’re too naive, dear Reader) that these two creatures come in human form too, and he was adept at sniffing out both varieties. He’d twirl the natural variety around, holding on to them in the middle, and only gave up his dance of death when he was certain. He was not taught, he had no precedent, but he had what so many animals lack—instinct.

He had, therefore, by and large, a good life. You may not agree with me because of the sorry-looking mongrels you see on every street in India. All those apologies for dogs live, have lived, and will continue to live the proverbial “dog’s life”, but not my Buster. He was not your stupid “ society” dog either, cuddled in the grasp of some society lady. He liked female company and perhaps rued the fact that he met and knew so few.

Way back in the previous century, when I was still an examiner for Pre-University and undergraduate students of the University of Madras, they used to have easy questions on specific lines of poetry and prose. These were known as ERCs, and were probably meant to guarantee an easy pass. One of those I will always remember. The passage read: “ The dog, to gain its private ends,/Went mad and bit the man.” One student (and I firmly believe it was a girl) provided this answer. She wrote: “The dog bit the man’s private end”! Where did she get that from? Was she a random victim of “flashing”—a purely male prerogative? Your guess may not be better than mine, for I actually awarded full marks for the innovative answer.

I am reminded of another poem, which goes: “ Early or late, they stoop to fate”… Which made me think further: “Where have all the dead dogs gone,/Long time asking”? And what about other, less-cared-for animals and birds? And finally, what about chickens? I know they serve two purposes, especially for non- vegetarians. But, tell me honestly, how many chickens have you seen that have gone on to become old cocks? I haven’t, but I was witness to the wringing of a cock’s neck. We enjoyed the curry a little later.

If “All things must pass”, you must also realise that “Life goes on/ Within you and without you”.

Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.