Shilpi's Pups
There she was, with the most amazing kohl lined hazel eyes, this mangy mongrel, with a protruding rib cage, no amount of food can camouflage.
She, the queen, roams our society buildings with her entourage of males in tow paying homage to have an opportunity to stand with her. The preferred male is at her side. The others stand by salivating, hoping against hope for a chance, at least to be the next chosen one.
She adopted us when my brother-in-law took the tenancy of the villa early last year, feeding her. With the arrival of my sister, the meal times became regular with the standard fixed menu of bread and milk augmented once in a while with titbits of meat.
She started responding to ‘Shilpi’. Soon the children in the society; who once threw stones to drive her away; they patted her as she basked in the sunlight near the swings. One call and she comes bounding to our door step.
While our Shwetambari (cocker spaniel) slept with all her four paws waving in the air, Shilpi is a sentinel outside our house. God forbid, anybody daring to venture within twenty feet of our front door.
Then sometime in October, the rib cage disappeared and the belly grew. As we feared, she was with puppies. Meal times became frequent. She waited outside the door. She stood by the window, looking into the house with those impossibly beautiful eyes; waiting to be served.
The daily grocery list doubled to accommodate her growing appetite. Meanwhile all her faithful followers had deserted her.
Early November she did not turn up. All calls went unheeded. Two days later, with her ribcage once again in sight she returned.
“Where are your puppies?” my niece Karishma asked, as she put a bowl of bread and milk for her. Shilpi was not interested in making a conversation. Gulping down the food, she charged away, even before we could think of following her.
A week went by; her meal times became longer and more frequent. The grocery list increased three fold.
Last Sunday morning I went into the garden. I saw something move in the flower bed. Without my glasses, I could not see very well. I peered down and my heart raced even as I counted seven balls of fur, their eyes still tightly closed. Shilpi made a Houdini like appearance, to ensure that her puppies were not purloined.
What an amazing mother this mangy mongrel is, her puppies as round as she is scrawny, with all hues between black and taupe, three males and four females. We coloured coded them with names.
Male, jet black, pick of the litter Currant (as in black currant)
Male, taupe, fat fur ball Champagne
Male, light taupe, runt of the litter Chicklet (as in chewing gum)
Female, twins, cannot tell them apart Candy and Cocoa
Female, with one white paw Caramel
Female, dark brown Chocolate
They grew each day before our eyes. Their eyes opened, and they were crawling all over our flower beds. We bid our flowers cheerio the day the puppies took residence. Each one had a personality and attitude to rival a Bollywood star.
On one fine sunny day Chocolate made a beeline to Shilpi’s bowl; their little teeth were visible. We fished out a round plate just tall enough for their small snouts to reach in. It was a sight to see all seven feed from it.
Two days later, Currant and Champagne disappeared, both males. Someone had taken them. We prayed and hoped that it would be people who would look after them. We never saw them again.
Sunday morning we bathed the remaining five, and they gleamed in the sunlight, their fur silky soft. By afternoon Chicklet and Chocolate disappeared too. Karishma was furious and teary. We searched high and low for them within the community grounds.
It was an exercise in futility. By evening, they were dumped back. Our joy of having them returned was tinged with worry as Caramel was not feeding. On closer inspection, we found that she had developed gaping wounds in her hind legs. (Neighbours said that they were congenital defects.) Being a Sunday, there was no vet on call. We tried to make her as comfortable as possible.
Monday morning we knew she was not going to make it. We held her close in our arms as she slipped away. That little mite had enriched our life with her spirit and courage. They say, and we believe that souls we love always remain close to us, bound by an invisible silken thread.
It has been raining; we have just retrieved four bedraggled puppies and brought them to shelter, even as I write.
We have four more puppies to look after.
p.s.
A week later: We lost two more puppies, one stolen and other one died, again due to congenital defect. There are two little graves in our garden, Caramel & Candy. We have two puppies to bring up, and one of them has blue eyes and blonde fur, and a raging debate in the society to rename her ‘Aishwarya’!!!
(As I post this, the pups are three months old, nearly as big as Shilpi, a two-pup demolition squad. She and the pups have been vaccinated. Shilpi has been spayed. Thankfully, no more puppies.)
31st December, 3:00 am, all of them came gamboling as my niece returned from home from late night festivities.
31st December, 7:00 am, Chocolate is nowhere to be found, we spent the whole morning searching for her, calling out to her. No sign, we scoured the roads, the outlying fields, no luck. Cocoa was miserable. Her playmate was missing. She refused to eat. No amount of coaxing or meat titbits helped.
31st December, 8:00 pm, it is New Year's Eve. We went out to dinner with making a conscious effort to bring in the New Year with gaiety. However, somewhere at the back of our mind was a lurking sadness.
1st January, 2:30 am; we returned home hoping against hope that Chocolate had returned. We scanned all her favourite places. No luck.
1st January, 7:00 am; I go to the window, draw back the curtains, there is a brown patch on the green grass, I squint, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I call out ... Chocki... she comes bounding on all four. Chocki is home, what a wonderful start to the New Year.
ps my angst is with people who think puppies are toys. They take them without a second thought. Then they realise the commitment involved, with food and shelter. They dump them. Not that I am complaining where Chocolate is concerned.
March: with mixed feelings, I write this, Chocki has been adopted.....
