This is a magical story about my lost dog.
I have three mongrel
dogs, around 18 months old. Two brothers came straight from their mother to us
when they were a month old. As pups, they looked like huskies with their blonde
coats. The third, Prince, a month or two older, had survived the harsh street
life of Madras. My cook found him and brought him to us. He has a faint resemblance
to an Alsatian’s colouring but with a very curly tail. He fitted in but his
experiences had scarred him and he would not take a daily walk on the road. The
gate could remain wide open and he would not put a foot outside. He was
frightened of the street. A handsome dog
wearing a red collar with a nametag attached
On September 18th
night, my stupid watchman left the gate open. Prince and one brother, chasing a
cat, raced up the 50-metre earthen lane that leads to my house. Moments later
came thunder, lightning and heavy rains. The brother raced back, Prince
vanished into the storm. Dog experts tell us that the first 48 hours are vital
in finding a lost dog. It hasn’t gone far.
After that the odds mount – a month is ‘forget it you’ll never see it
again. He’s moved too far searching for his home.’
I searched for him, whistling and calling, but he was nowhere
in sight. The next day, Maureen, my staff and I walked the streets looking for
him. Two days later, my gardener saw him half down my road by a teashop and
tried to catch him. Too frightened, Prince ran. It turned out he had been
hiding first in a building site and then down a lane. It was raining again but we searched all the
roads and lanes. Like every road, we
have our share of street dogs, always in the same spot, looking well fed. No Prince. I created a poster with his
photograph and offered a generous reward for the finder. These were distributed
throughout the neighbourhood and stuck on walls. A woman called, she’d seen him
at 4 am nearby. Maureen and I went out at four the next day, walked and called.
Then someone said he was seen at night and we walked at nights. He had vanished
again. The Hindu newspaper, in its pet’s
page, had him with his photo as a missing dog. Two weeks later, the paper ran
it again. A local paper also ran a story of him, with his photo. He was also on
two Face book sites. I must add that people do respond and call in but this
time – silence. No one had seen him.
Two good friends, Angelika, a German woman living in the city,
and Kiran who had German contacts, suggested we consult a dog psychic living in
Germany. A German dog psychic!! And living 10,000 miles away! As two weeks had
passed since his sighting, I would try anything. I knew the odds were stacking
up against us finding him. I Googled ‘dog psychic’ and found a few in America,
and very expensive. Germany was closer, for what that was worth. The psychic
needed his photo, our photos, staff photos and shots of our house, the lane.
Obediently, we sent them off. Three days later, she emailed in German
(translated for us). She wrote that he was very frightened and desperate. That
stressed us further as we knew he hated the streets. She continued that ‘Prince
showed me that he was hiding under a blue tarpaulin in a building site.’ She
added that it was near us. There are
seven building sites on my road alone, and we visited every one. In one, there
was a blue tarpaulin but he wasn’t under it. How on earth, sitting in Germany
did she see that through his eyes? How are they ‘talking’? She speaks German,
possibly English, he has a dog’s grasp of English, Tamil and Telugu!
A week later, in the evening, the ironing man (we send
our clothes out to be ironed) just down the road, called saying Prince had just
run past him very fast. I raced over. He and another man gave chase on their
scooters but lost him when he turned a corner. Everyone now searched up and
down roads, lane, houses. Again, he had vanished. We left our gate wide open24x7
and at night placed a couple of his toys – my chewed Nike tennis shoe, a
plastic ball – in the hope that passing by he’d recognise his toys. No further
word from the psychic.
It was now four weeks. I escalated and had 15,000
flyers printed up and slipped into two major newspapers distributed in my area.
Surely, someone would see him now. I did get a call and went to the place but
none had seen him in that area.
It was nearing five weeks and we felt desperate for
Prince, frightened, alone, hungry, thirsty. Was he alive? Kiran called the pyshic to tell her Prince was
still lost. A day later, the psychic emailed Angelika and we got the translation
in the evening: he is still alive, lost, frightened, and confused. Searching
for food a human had thrown a stone at him. (I felt almost ill). She wrote on: ‘He’s
showing me an arc or arch, a house with outside stairs leading to the roof, a
muddy field, a dirt road, a broken wall,
an old house, a sloping road. It could be on the edge of town. I told him to
stay where he is as Maureen and Tim will find you. Don’t move away.’ It was
confusing.
The nearest arch, the grand kind soldiers march under,
is five miles away. Too far. At dawn, we are out on our hunt. Not far is, not
an arch, but a pillar, a possibility. We scour the area but there are no old
houses or broken walls nor stairs. Later, we cruise and I spot a metal arch
over a school entrance and nearby a broken wall, with a muddy area behind it.
We walk all around calling and whistling. Not a response. For five weeks, I’ve
been stressed, and cannot work in my worry for him. It sounds hopeless.
In the evening, after our daily walk, we get a SMS on
Maureen’s dying phone from a friend, Devika. We’re in a mobile store trying to
revive it. The psychic’s mail had been forwarded to Devika, an animal lover. Devika
writes that there are some old houses and lanes near the local telephone
exchange. That is about a mile away, along very busy, noisy, chaotic roads. It’s
a zigzag route too. We drive over, park and see a muddy lane beside the exchange.
We walk down it, calling and whistling, the lane curves sharply to a dead end.
But, at the end, is an old house with an outside
STAIRCASE leading up to the roof. We
hurry into the muddy compound, calling and whistling. No Prince. The watchmen
on the lane, shake their heads when I show them his photograph. When we get
back to the road, we stop and stare. Right opposite, there is a splendid ARCH
spanning the entrance to an apartment block.
We check with that watchman and an autorickshaw
driver. They are helpful but, no, they haven’t seen the dog.
Next to this grand arch entrance is a dark lane about
100 yards long. We walk down, calling, whistling. At the end is an old house, a
half broken wall. The watchman there says he hasn’t seen any dog. We walk back
up, feeling more depressed, calling and whistling. Parallel to this lane is another
dark one, just as long. We turn into it.
I am a few feet ahead, Maureen’s behind. She says:
‘There’s a dog here.’
I turn. There is a bundle of something at her feet. It’s
silent; its tail flickers. The light is so bad, it’s only a shape and I bend down.
It’s a muddy colour. Prince has a darker coat. But it
looks like him. The dog has a collar and hanging from it is a glitter of metal.
I scoop him up. It is PRINCE. His tail now a windshield wiper. It is my
happiest moment when he rests his tired head against my shoulder and nuzzles my
neck, and then nuzzles Maureen as we hug and kiss him. I know he is as happy to
have heard our calls and my whistle.
He had come in from behind us, so it meant he was down
that first lane and followed my calls. He had been missing 37 days. Though
we’re holding him, we can’t believe we have found him. He looks as dazed, all
three thinking we’re dreaming.
I carry him to the car and when reach home,
the word spreads we’ve found him. He is heartbreakingly thin, very dirty and has
scars on his forehead and cheek that look like dog bites. He had been in a
fight. He had lost two kilograms but someone, somewhere, had given him scraps
of food to keep him alive. He drinks a large bowl of water as if he has not had
a drink for days. He is traumatized,
still afraid though in his home. The two brothers sniff him suspiciously, and
keep their distance. For the five weeks they had a monopoly of our love and
attention and now Prince is back home. Fussed over by us all, fed, washed,
brushed.
That psychic is unbelievable. How did she see through
his eyes? I cannot explain it or even
understand how she does it. I gather she is well known too. She will visit
Chennai in January and we will have her over for a grand meal. We have to see
how Prince reacts to her in person.
