Lucky’s Bob

I see him lying there on his side- frozen and unmoving. So very different from the Lucky I used to know. There is a deathly silence within the small animal clinic on East Coast Road. Even the normally cheerful vines and general shrubbery around the cottage, fail to bring cheer on this particular evening. Bob is nowhere to be found. He has disappeared- I am told that he has gone to the temple in Bukit Merah to pray for Lucky. But I know that the reason he has gone, is to escape from the hideous yet ultimate fact-Lucky is no more. Fiona’s sobs from within, echoed through the clinic’s waiting area and the surgery and recuperation room behind. I put my arm around her, but I can offer no comfort. The pain that one experiences on losing a loved one-human or animal-is intense. The wound is almost physical in nature. It runs deep, take time to heal and always leaves a scar.

Fiona’s tears flow unhindered. She bares her heart-her feelings for Lucky even as she is surrounded by us- mere strangers. For where there is loss, the presence of a stranger does not matter. The heart aches anyhow-irrespective of the ambient environment. I move over to the other side of the table and see the little collie-mix lying peacefully, eyes half closed, jaw shut tight, his wisps of brown and white hair moving in the breeze. The monsoon season has arrived in Singapore, and it has been raining all day. There has been a definite chill in the air-so uncharacteristic of the Singapore heat and humidity. But the shivers I feel running up and down my spine cannot be attributed to the deviation from tropical climate. It is the chill brought on by death. More so, the cold that hits you, with the sudden death of someone close to you.

Fiona keeps running her hand through his soft hair and over his round little head. Anshul dada stands aside in humble silence as Sushil fondles Lucky’s tail- that soft fluff of a tail so used to furious wagging accompanied with enthusiastic barking. Well almost barking. Lucky didn’t have a voice box when Bob rescued him. He was an abandoned dog (he had some skin issues, which Bob cured completely as time went by) and his voice box had been surgically removed-we believe it was done by his previous owners who may have found his barking too much to take. I never ever heard Lucky bark, but by George! He would try his best. We used to sit in our balcony and watch the kids go crazy in the grass or at the poolside. And Lucky would be there- going round and round in crazy circles with the kids- wheezing away to glory, trying his best to bark. I remember we could never help smiling to ourselves, watching the kids get so accustomed to Lucky’s mirth and zest for life. He was their pal and now he is gone.

I stroke his head and touch his teeny black nose. His nose is rubbery to the touch, but still wet and cold, just like it used to be when he was alive. Such a shy fellow he was, with us adults. He used to be so scared of committing himself to us totally, but we kept trying. What used to strike us most was his absolute devotion to Bob. Wherever Bob went, Lucky would be somewhere at his feet. Bob never needed a leash for him.

I hold Lucky’s paws and feel the 13-year old pads on his paws. In a flash I recollect the first time Bob brought him to our house, after he had rescued him, almost a year back. Lucky was sick, recovering from some skin and stomach issues, but Bob was taking good care of him, just like he does for all his other animals. Bob had said, “I can’t keep him with me, I have so many cats-I’ll try and find him a home soon.” That “soon” never came and Lucky became Bob’s own. The two were inseparable.

When Lucky got sick the last time and had to be sent in for a massive 5-hr surgery (vets found cancerous masses in his intestine, in his pancreas and stones in his gall bladder and kidney), Bob, Sushil, Fiona and I stood near the elevator talking about Lucky. We talked about what a wonderful dog he was and Fiona regaled us with stories of Lucky’s insane jealous streak and how she had been sleeping on the sofa lately coz Lucky would monopolize her side of the bed and refuse to give it up! “Sometimes, we mock hug and Lucky brings the house down with his growling and wheeze-barking!” Bob said. He had just been to the Gurudwara praying for Lucky’s speedy recovery from the surgery and had come to know from one of the priests that Lucky would be re-incarnated as a human in his next life. Such was Bob’s love for a dog, who had made a solid place in his heart. We kept boosting his morale, but the tough guy is such a softie, we could see him breaking down. I remember a poignant thing he said one day to us. I said, “Lucky is really ‘lucky’ to have found you Bob, you have given him such a good life.” To this Bob replied, “I’m the lucky one-what he has given me is priceless.”

Lucky began recuperating well from the surgery, but after frolicking for a couple of days, he developed a high temperature. His tired 13-year old body couldn’t handle it and he finally left his mortal cage this evening.

As I sit here and watch Sushil and Fiona mourning his insensate body, Bob prays hard in the temple for Lucky’s peaceful journey upwards. The tears well up in my eyes and a lump grows in my throat- I realize just how special this dog was and how many lives he touched ever so briefly and ever so deeply. The transportation is here and Lucky will be moved to the main hospital tonight, where he will be cremated with all dignity. Tomorrow his ashes will be handed over to the two humans who doted on him and will always feel his absence. As Fiona kisses Lucky goodbye and Sushil pays his last respects, I turn to look at him one last time. "Finally peaceful"-is what comes to mind. I stroke his head, kiss him goodbye and steer Fiona out of the room into an empty night.

As far as I can tell, Lucky and Bob were not just dog and master, they were two souls, instantly attracted to each other and acknowledged by both. There was a joy in their togetherness, which I see in Sushil and Kishmish. I have very rarely come across that kind of bonding between an animal and a human. But I’m sure there are plenty of such beautiful animal-human relationships in the world-happy in their own little lives.

I do know one thing. Lucky wasn’t Bob’s dog. Bob was Lucky’s human. He had wrapped Bob around his tiny little paws and in that one short year, he loved Bob for a lifetime. Lucky’s Bob. Bob's Lucky. Lucky Lucky Bob. Lucky Lucky "Lucky".

------Shreyasi Majumdar.

Wild in the Cage

I dont yet know whether it is a He or a She.So let me call it simply that - It. It came to me one afternoon one month back, at 3 PM, scrawggly, dehydrated and miniscule.Hardly had any feather on its body. A Security guard from the neighbouring building with a wide grin that kids have when they visit a zoo for the first time, rang my bell. When I opened the door, here he was, with that grin, holding a squawky fledgling in his palms.Before I could say Zap he had pushed it onto my hands.He said he found it in the middle of the road and decided to bring him to me, where he heard all animals come when they have nowhere to go. ( Why people think my home is a sanctuary, I have no idea) .

So in it came.Fro its yellow long beak I knew it to be a Mynah baby. And from my past experience in the hospital I knew it wouldnt make it without its mother.But I had to give it a try. So I measured it from beak to tail, weighed it counted its feathers-it was easy, he had only a few. Then I made a call to our Surgeon. He told me to feed him water with tomato juice with a syringe since he was obviuosly de hyrdrated and make a paste of mixed grain flour and start hand feeding it if he survived the next few hours. Which I was very doubtful about.

But Providence had some other plans for us and the It- after a drink from the syringe simply lifted its head and sqwaked a strong sqwak. Next came the paste food every 2 hours, with new plumage growing all over.Then came the solid food and a new name from my husband-he named him Pahlwan, a satire for its lean body. His abrupt tries to fly and crash land graduated to long flights from one room to the other.He is succesfully demolishing all the spiders and insects in my home which have had made it a safe haven for themselves for all these years. I ignore it thing NATURE!! He has shown a distinct will to survive, he has distinct preferences for food and habits.I knew all animals have a character of their own, but didnt know a bird of this size also did.Surprisingly, he has befriended our pet cat Maurani who we had feared would make mince meat out of him.Not that she likes him much, but now she simply tolerates him when he sits on her back and pecks her, even she knows the Never-say-Die attitude of the bird is something to reckon with.

Now Pahlwan has been checked by 2 eminent surgeons and given a clean chit to be set free in a months time. Every morning he is placed on the bedroom window sill to get accustomed to the outside, the cries and flights of passing birds and of course predators.Every morning we hope he will respond to the calls of other mynahs and at least try to fly away. He does respond, with different types of sounds, and then he turns inward and flies onto the safest places he has known since he openbed his eyes, our shoulders.

The Wilkdlife Dept has been duly intimated of the presence of this So-called wildlife in our home.Endeavours to help him take his flight back home will be on,from our side. Only he has to decide whether he will fly outwards to a risky natural life or inwards into our homes and heart where he already is.And a sickening apprehension of emptyness and void this 7 inch bird with his lively approach to life will leave in us, if he ever does leave us to find his own place in Nature where he belongs.

----- Shakuntala Majumdar (smitten with pahlwan)