Every Dog Has His Day, Let It Be Our's This Time
There he was, Our Dog, in the lonely corner of his master's house. He seemed very serious and deeply engrossed in something which had stolen colour out of his cheeks. There was something in his manners which suggested that everything was not well with him. Indeed everything was not well. After running throughout his life he had come to that T-point where one road diverged from it, and one continued in the same direction and it was the tough decision, to be taken urgently, which had stolen colour from his cheeks.
Our Dog had not been always like that. Once upon a time he was cheerful, jovial and very friendly, not someone who will hide himself from others in some lonely corner. In the trendiest lingo he was a cool dog with lots of friends- old dogs, race dogs, black dogs ,bull dogs, doggy dog, and few bitches also( of same variety).
Everything went well before the time of their sale came. They were all taken to the market where there were lots of buyers, though only few were rich. There were other markets where only rich buyers came and who had a reputation of treating their purchase very nicely, and giving them the most satisfactory job a dog could get. Deer hunting. But entries to those markets were restricted and given to only few dogs who showed excellent aptitude and intelligence in a hunting test organised for this purpose. Such was the reputation of the customers of this market that all the dogs gaining entry in to this market were groomed for two years to make them fit enough to live with those wealthy customers.
Our Dog tried in that test but failed and so he had no choice but to sit in that ordinary market and wait for some ordinary customer to buy him. Finally his time came and he was purchased by a gaudy and flashy nouveau rich, who was so ornate outside and so dull inside.
Like every other nouveau rich.
Whatever. He was bought for the job of a watchdog on the agreement of few bread slices without any butter or tea, coffee. There was no other way left for him and so he took this monotonous job of watchdog. Life had become a routine and there was no excitement left in it. The un-buttered bread was not in such quantity that it could be saved for future use. The job of a watchdog was smooth, but there was no pace. It only involved swaying the tail after seeing the master or his associate. The worst part was wearing an ID all the time around neck.
Like a dog.
Yes Our Dog was a dog. But ain't a dog has dignity?
Our Dog was always thinking like this, of dignity, challenges, interest and god knows what other things which his colleague dogs had even never imagined. They despised him, for his frustration on such a 'white collared' job and 'beautiful and costly' surrounding. Our Dog, on the other hand abhorred these dumb mouthed morons who so much enjoyed the monotonousity of this fuckingly boring job and who were in such an awe at the ornate master's gaudiness.
'Ya the race dog is right. I am not fit enough to live among such worthless creatures. Its the hunting job which suites me and I am going for it'
But for hunting jobs were available in the rich market, entry for which could be gained only by passing the hunting test. But it would not be possible to train oneself for the hunting test while simultaneously serving that dumb master. He would never allow that to happen, and he had got spies who would report him of anybody training himself for the hunting test.
He desperately wanted entry in to the rich market where he could get a hunting job and secure a lifetime of buttered bread along with slices of meat, that too in large enough quantity to save,but his current job as a watchdog prevented the training which would be necessary for passing the hunting test and it was this clash of interest which was making our dog worried, stealing colours from his cheek.
He would have to leave his job for that training. But that meant loss of a steady and secure source of food. But it also meant more chances of securing a better source of food, and sometimes few glasses of wine too. It was not only the clash between coarse bread and buttered bread with meat, but it was also between a meek, tail swaying animal and a predator who can rip any one's tail apart.
All dogs are born predator, it is their domestication which make their tails sway. You can train a dog to be vegetarian for years with satisfactory result, but the moment he tastes blood all your training will go down a drain. It is the inborn instinct on which one relies most and it is the same inherent instinct one turns to when he is free from any external factor.
So you better know where our dog is right now.Ya, it's a dog race but let's not forget that every dog has his day. This time, let it be Our Dog.
posted by dumka @ 10:26 AM
9 Comments
