the person (a dog thinks) you are

the person (a dog thinks) you are 

Assuming he was not run over by a speeding truck the previous night, he wakes up at day break and stretching himself trots off . No Morning ablution,  No brushing of teeth or Pooja.

His inbuilt instincts guides him like a GPS to the tea shop  a kilometre away where  he always succeeds  in  enticing  a compassionate soul by standing before him with baleful eyes  and wagging tail. And sure enough, a piece of Bun or a biscuit is tossed at him.

Having staved off early morning hunger pangs the stray Goes on a recce to the far end of the locality & thereafter takes a peaceful siesta on a  sand dump  by the roadside. When a dozen noisy mongrels arrive, the protagonist knows it will be lunch time shortly.

Before leaving the warm sand he doesn’t forget to socialize with the group:  Diving  & bouncing  around the sand, tumbling over one another , squealing  and howling.  The   prancing stops abruptly and the gang scampers away. 

For lunch, the stray   will seek out a non-vegetarian hotel preferably,in the crowded  mutton market lane  behind the vegetable market  where   chicken or mutton scraps are usually thrown  out in the open or into a cylindrical Concrete ring  acting as garbage bin.  The stray is assured of a good meal. Of course, he has to use all his fighting skills & survival instincts to outsmart rag pickers, tramps and members of his own kind   who arrive in hordes to grab  some rich nutrition.

Thanks to the municipality, there are any number of drinking water fountains and puddles from leaky pipes available in the vicinity.

After a clash with other mongrels , which our hero regularly wins, he  enjoys the  drink and occasionally a shower if he feels inclined . Thereafter he wanders  around the city’s localities  till late evening.

At  night , the dog arrives at one of the late night mobile kitchen (Biryani vans)  parked on the footpath at  strategic points. Before   they  close  shop around midnight  the remaining unsold food is emptied on  the   road side. While  rival  mongrel gangs are busy snarling and scratching each other, our stray makes the most of the situation &  gobbles as much as he can.

The water used to clean the large vessels and  the van forms a puddle of  what  can be loosely termed as  the Dog`s equivalent of  beer. And our  tipsy hits the sack …God knows where. .Tomorrow will be another day, unless some sozzled truck driver prefers to use his favorite ”right” of way   

 

I have never cared to observe   how a Dog (a stray at that) leads its life earlier  . But, Now …….  I shudder at the thought.

In retrospect …this looks  similar to  my grind  : Appealing to public administrators & flunkies  for trivial clearances , wrangling over petty procedural issues, terms & inevitable  “peace” agreement & doing chores that I detest, for that occasional  show  of empathy  to  get on the  good side of the clan  (read spouse).

 am I having a Dog`s life? …..Or am I ?