I am just a normal dog - a normal dog who blogs. As the light of my life dims, I decided to share my experiences living in the big city – the city of Bangalore. The city is home to thousands of dogs like me. Some of us live in air-conditioned rooms while others fight it out in the streets – similar to the human race.
My life started in a lane in the busy Whitefield area in an empty piece of land right next to a restaurant. The watchman of the restaurant was a kind-hearted man who took care of us. My mom trusted him. Only he had permissions to fool around with us. My mom knew that we were safe in his hands. Any other hand which came near us was shooed away by my mom’s growl and display of fiery teeth. We also felt comfortable with the watchman. I felt that I was his favorite because I spent the most time in his hands.
The restaurant had visitors of all kinds. Cars of all shapes and sizes rolled in. People who stepped out of them were also of all shapes and sizes. Most of the people had an air of superiority about them. I came to know the reason later in my life - an unassuming piece of paper called “money”. The people who came to the restaurant had lots of it. They looked down or avoided looking at others who had less money. But once in a while, a window glass would roll down and a hand with a piece of the valued paper would emerge for the watchman to grab at. Very rarely, someone would stop and smile as they hand him the money. My first impression of human beings was that they are all the same, yet they are so different. The impression lasted a lifetime.
One afternoon, I heard a lot of commotion on the road next to the restaurant. A car with blood on its tyres came into the restaurant. I did not pay too much attention and went back to playing with my brothers and sisters. That evening, my mom did not come back to us. We cried all night. But still mom not to be seen.
The next morning, the watchman was extra kind to us and gave us a good belly rub. I was happy but I still missed my mom. As days passed, we survived with the food given to us by the watchman. One day, as I was playing as usual, the watchman gently took me in his arms. He gently placed me in the arms of a young boy and before I could realize what had happened, I was inside one of those cars. A gentle hand was caressing my head and I fell asleep. Thus began my life in Bangalore – a life filled with ups and downs but still complete in all ways.
My life started in a lane in the busy Whitefield area in an empty piece of land right next to a restaurant. The watchman of the restaurant was a kind-hearted man who took care of us. My mom trusted him. Only he had permissions to fool around with us. My mom knew that we were safe in his hands. Any other hand which came near us was shooed away by my mom’s growl and display of fiery teeth. We also felt comfortable with the watchman. I felt that I was his favorite because I spent the most time in his hands.
The restaurant had visitors of all kinds. Cars of all shapes and sizes rolled in. People who stepped out of them were also of all shapes and sizes. Most of the people had an air of superiority about them. I came to know the reason later in my life - an unassuming piece of paper called “money”. The people who came to the restaurant had lots of it. They looked down or avoided looking at others who had less money. But once in a while, a window glass would roll down and a hand with a piece of the valued paper would emerge for the watchman to grab at. Very rarely, someone would stop and smile as they hand him the money. My first impression of human beings was that they are all the same, yet they are so different. The impression lasted a lifetime.
One afternoon, I heard a lot of commotion on the road next to the restaurant. A car with blood on its tyres came into the restaurant. I did not pay too much attention and went back to playing with my brothers and sisters. That evening, my mom did not come back to us. We cried all night. But still mom not to be seen.
The next morning, the watchman was extra kind to us and gave us a good belly rub. I was happy but I still missed my mom. As days passed, we survived with the food given to us by the watchman. One day, as I was playing as usual, the watchman gently took me in his arms. He gently placed me in the arms of a young boy and before I could realize what had happened, I was inside one of those cars. A gentle hand was caressing my head and I fell asleep. Thus began my life in Bangalore – a life filled with ups and downs but still complete in all ways.
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