Rocket

Stray dogs are not necessarily my favorite animals. Actually I am quite uncomfortable around any sort of animal, wild or domesticated. Like, I absolutely detest cats. I think they are wily, crafty and sly beings who are always up to some tantrum or the other.

There is this sad looking black dog in front of my office which had a pup a couple of months back. As is true with the little ones of all species, the puppy was excruciatingly cute. A small bundle of black and white, a tiny snout with a brilliant pink nose, a pointy tail wagging all the time and a milky paunch. My office colleagues readily adopted the tiny vermin feeding it tit-bits at all times. Sometimes it was a biscuit or a loaf or something else. And as is true with all adopted creatures, the dog was also given a name: Rocket.

Now Rocket played with my friends all the time. Any chance that the guys would get to escape to the smoking zone; they would sneak out and play with Rocket. Rocket could be seen rolling on the road at the direction of someone’s shoe, or run up to another if he whistled. Soon he acquired different skills and my friends were more than eager to show off which trick was taught to Rocket by whom, and how well he had learnt it.

It is quite amusing to watch this entire teacher-student role play taking place in front of you as the guys take pride in each trick Rocket can master as their personal achievement.

Rocket has grown up now. He is not a bundle of fat but a teeth-baring, rib-displaying gangly thing. It is still up to the tricks but now it has to fend for himself. The sad looking black mother of his does not find food for him any longer. Rocket has fallen in the Darwinian cycle of survival wherein he needs to beat five other dogs on the road for everything.

My colleagues still patronize him with scraps and leftovers but the grown-up dog’s tummy is not satisfied by such paltry offerings.

Today Rocket killed a pigeon. A thriving, cheerful pigeon was thrashed and life squashed out of him within a matter of minutes. Rocket thereafter cunningly moved the lifeless being from the road to a sidewalk with the feathers strewn all over the road. The sensibilities of most of the erstwhile patronizers of Rocket were deeply hurt. One felt nauseous and threatened a reprimand and another said he can’t play with the little bugger any longer.