dog or doggie?

Back in the day when we still qualified for the "newly-wedded-kuppel" tag, self, A and G were out for a walk. (G is our son by adoption - albeit canine - and is weird enough that he fits right into the family) And I simply LOVE calling out to the two of them, together. It sounds like I'm this sweet, old-fashioned wife who will never take her husband's name. How I love delusions, particularly the delightfully tinkly noise they make when they break.

 

So, we were out for a walk and G was very keen on showing off how he could piddle with one leg raised. The background was that we had just been for a trip to nani's with cows and other dogs (we didn't take them on the trip. Nani had them at home, in case you were wondering). G had made friends with our outsize German Shepherd, Tiger. Of course, when I say made friends, I use the term loosely. Their friendship consisted of G nipping Tiger unmercifully till the poor sod would give up and play with him. My little mutt also corrupted the easy-going, obedient Tiger enough to dig a nice big hole in Nani's lawn when they were both tied up for a bit so that we could breathe. Amongst other lectures that Tiger presumably read to am impressionable G, was one on how to pee.

 

"See here, youngster. Only puppies and lady dogs need to sit and pee. Us tough types, we stand and do it, see? Here's how."

 

The lecture probably worked, since our little fellow decided to give his new skill an airing when we were back in the big city. Unfortunately, he was a little over-enthusiastic and, well, he overbalanced. I was just wiping the helpless tears of laughter from my eyes, (Well, yes, he's my son and he was embarrassed as hell, but what's a woman to do?) when we were accosted by a fellow-walker, who had all manner of questions about G. "Is he real?" (We still get that a lot thanks to the disgustingly cuddly looks G has) "How much for?" "What breed?" Do we ask you questions about your family, Mister?

 

But he made up for all of that when he cleared his throat and asked in what was probably meant to be a genteel manner, "Is it a dog or a doggie?" It took us a while to figure out what it meant. A was quicker on the uptake and responded in a commendably clear voice, "Dog" while I made my escape, pretending that G was pulling on the leash.

 

Cut to about half a dozen years later. I was still in the labour room about an hour after delivering our daughter, cuddling her in an exhausted haze, after a much welcome hot cuppa chai when I realised that I was being spoken to.

 

"You're happy? It's good that you're so happy. Even educated families are not happy when daughters are born. But you can have a second child, no? This is only your first one."

 

Now, I'm not that fussed about whether puppies are dogs or doggies.  I love my puppies. All of them. Even the ones that are six feet tall. But I do get fussed about outright bitches, so it's just as well that she left the room really soon else I was seriously considering throwing something at her and claiming temporary insanity.

bunny thani

 

Once upon a time, (Did you say, when? Oh, about last week, and please don't interrupt the narrative flow, thank you) there was a bunny. It led a fairly blameless life (A world of vice and sin is pretty much a non-option when you are a stuffed toy, unless of course, you live in the pages of an Enid Blyton, where it seemed that toys got upto all kinds of hanky, not to mention panky).

 

So our bunny sat around looking cute, getting his ear chewed meditatively and drooled on a bit, till the Day Of the Chucking Out happened.

 

It was around the time that K had started throwing things at random, presumably to see whether they would make an interesting noise, bounce or do other fun stuff. It was also around the time that we decided to use her pram indoors and trundle her around instead of carrying her all the time.

 

The combination was fairly predictable. It meant a trail of toys, handkerchiefs, cushions and just general stuff being dropped to the accompaniment of happy squeals all over the pram trail in the house with Paranoid Papa yelling at all and sundry to "sterilise that damn stuff - do you have any idea how many germs these things are picking up?" He had a point...

 

But K was obviously ignoring the point and she proceeded to chuck Bunny out of the pram too. Now, Bunny is a much loved toy and like I said, hasn't done anything to deserve being dressed up (badly) like a Kishangarh painting. But Ghunghroo was at hand. And as the song goes, It all started with a broken sibling, in the words of the famous Rudyard Kipling. As older sibling (canine, but sibling nonetheless), he takes it upon himself to be protective and occasionally bullying, which in this instance, meant that he pounced on Mister Bunny and retreated with him to his fortress under the bed. he probably reasoned that either Bunny had gotten chucked because he was harassing K or because it was an accident. Either which way, he felt entitled to make a meal of him. Well-supplied with dog biscuits that he had been hoarding, he was all set to make a long session of it, till I dragged him out and rescued Bunny.

Since appealing to Ghunghroo's finer feelings does not work when he has his teeth into something, I resorted to putting the fear of Bunny into him (for the entirely selfish reason of cutting down on the laundry). And I did this, with deepest apologies to the ghost of the Maharaj of Kishangarh and his muse, who spawned the Kishangarh school of miniature painting with the famous bani thani portrait.

But you have to admit, that Bunny does look quite thani... And it worked. Ghunghroo stared rather apprehensively at the much-bedecked rabbit and well, rabbited out from there.