By our serene home in Southern India, street dogs roam. With quivering noses and jaunty ribs, the dogs lie in ditches and prowl for food. What’s a naïve Indian-American dog lover to do? Feed the street dogs, naturally. While my ego inflated at my altruism, the dogs were feeding me life lessons as I fed them chicken tikka masala:
1. Want memories? Take risks.
The local villagers will warn you with frantic gestures not to touch the dogs. The diseases! The dirt! (They’re correct, of course. Those are wild dogs! Don’t touch them! Don’t be like me!) Did I listen? Nope! I’m American! I risked gobs of grotty illnesses to care for puppies. Now, I have a library of furry memories. (And I’m rabies-free!)
2. Slow and steady wins the hearts of dogs.
When I first spied a golden haired puppy stroll around our acreage, I rushed to greet it. The poor puppy dashed away in fright. So, during my next sighting, I left rice a few feet away and watched from inside. The puppy, whom I had now named Neel, tip-toed his tiny body and lapped up the cooking. Each day I coaxed Neel closer, sipping a healthy dose of patience. After a week, he snuggled nearer when I stroked his ears, and charged to the door every time I hasted back inside. (He even made it one time. Spent a full seven seconds chilling on the tiles before my aunt saw and shrieked.)
3. Survival of the fittest is a load of doggy dung.
There’s only so much leftover biryani to go around. Do I feed the rowdy rascals chewing up our shoes or do I feed the defenseless lone puppy Neel? Neel, naturally, I’m not a monster. Street dogs, however, can be. After feeding only Neel and scaring away other menaces, the street dogs plotted. On a dusty afternoon, I heard a strangled cry. Neel’s cry. Five or six other dogs surrounded him, one filthy beast with jaws around Neel’s neck. I seized a stick and waved it till the big cowardly mutts streaked off. So, survival of the fittest? Not as long as I’m around.
4. Their Safety > Your Pleasure.
Neel couldn’t live on our property any longer. The other ruffians would return when we left. So I marched to our neighbors, Neel shivering in a box. The neighbors promised to find a home with no dogs, with no threats. As I transferred Neel to their car, he bounded out. The neighbors tried to reach him, but he was too quick and too afraid. I tried instead. When I call his name, Neel peered back at me, wagged his tail, and scampered to my arms. He was happy to be with me, but I had to put him back in the box. I had to watch him be driven way. I had to say goodbye. I don’t know where Neel is, but I know he is safe.
The street dogs I fed gained a happy belly. As for me, I gained a happy recollection. I had little to offer to India, but India bestowed me with a trove of wagging treasures.
Don’t imagine Asia as a collection of third-world countries needing your help. Don’t even imagine the street dogs as such. Asia is a masterpiece and deserves your admiration, not your pity.
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