Faithful friends

A dog is often described as man's best friend. In sixties when I was schooling, my father had a pet dog. He was white in colour, agile and alert. Until its death, it did not bite or harm human beings physically. In those days dogs were not kept in kennels but were let loose unless and until they were ferocious. Our dog roamed in our village and thus became popular among the villagers. The children preferred to call him valiyatharayile moothaappa or elder uncle of valiyatharayil (our house name). I liked to compare his roaming to an inspection tour to maintain law and order in the village . But unfortunately he had some times stolen baskets of fresh fish and bowls of cooked rice from the houses of poor fishermen living in huts. When such people complained to my dad. I had seen him scolding his dog and the latter lying down in a prostrating posture before his master wagging its tale as if to apologize for his mistake.

One day a rabbit belonging to an affluent family living in the vicinity of our house was found dead beside its cage. The owner alleged that it was killed by our dog after breaking its cage. I don’t remember how my dad had dealt with their complaint. As far as I was concerned , the incident symbolized an act of heroism performed by our dog for breaking a cage supposed to be invincible . Unfortunately another rabbit of the same person was killed after a couple of days. This time they complained to the village officer. After tough negotiations, my dad had to agree ultimately to their demand to shoot and kill the dog which was of course something unbearable for us especially for my dad. They engaged a person possessing a gun for this mission . He was a bird hunter by profession. Since the dog was very strong and fast, they knew it could not be shot on sight. My dad was therefore even asked to chain his dog. One can imagine my father's dilemma on such an occasion.

I still remember how my dad had called his dog on that inauspicious day and how the latter had bowed his head to be chained in strict obedience though he had never been chained before. I looked at the person who was going to kill my dog. Though he was a thin man in his sixties wearing spectacles and looking tired, he was an executioner in my eyes. My dad tied the other end of the chain to a coconut tree in the adjacent plot of land and people gathered around the tree to witness the event. I became restless and my pulse rate increased. I ran away from our home and stood at a distance whereby I would hear or see nothing. After a few minutes I heard people booing and hissing. When I returned to our house my father told me that as soon as the hunter tried to aim his gun at the dog, it jumped, broke the chain and ran away sparking laughter among the onlookers. We thought that our dog would never return to our house but it did return next night but was tired and scared .

When they came again accompanied by the shooter after one or two days, the dog was sleeping under the jack fruit close to our house. After seeking permission from my father, the man shot at our dog. It screamed in pain and fled without allowing the person to shoot him once gain. We thought that the dog would die while running away and we would never see him again but it was a pleasant surprise to us when he returned home after one or two days limping as he was shot on one of his forelegs. I can still see the wound on his leg in my mind. There were no other wounds or fractures on his body.

Though they approached my dad once again to shoot his dog, the latter never allowed them to touch him telling them it was enough. His wounds soon healed, he resumed its roaming in our village and lived with us a few more years until he died of geriatric ailments.

In 1994 when I was living in Doha as a bachelor, a female cat used to frequent my room. It was a beautiful and healthy cat yellow in colour with black stripes on its body. She began to push her head or rub her body against my leg to show its affection and appreciation and I enjoyed her innocence. Sometimes I inadvertently stepped on its body but what struck me was that it only screamed in pain but never growled or reacted violently as other cats do. Whenever I went to mosque to pray, she used to accompany me up to the mosque and wait until I finish my prayer. If the door of my room was closed when she came and she knew I was in the room she would jump and open the door by pushing its handle. The photo of the cat opening the door in this way is still in our old album. It soon gave birth to five beautiful kittens. After a few months , it disappeared all on a sudden . Its fate might not be different from several cats being hit and crushed by cars on the streets of Doha.

I remember a pious and ascetic Muslim scholar, Alwaye Musliyar by name, who lived in a mosque in the city of Chavakkad whose hobby was feeding cats. He seldom spoke to people. I had watched tens of cats running to him and snatching food from his hand while he fed them smiling and some times speaking to them.

By the father