That fellow na is quite a brat. Agreed he’s the typical roadside ruffian. He’s even named – Baburao – to match it. But she’s no less. All fur and mischief, she’s got a pretty face and a temper that flies off the handle when B is around.
Moving their tails almost in unison, the trio (gorgeous mom K, handsome brother T and she) walk - oops march - right through his territory every morning. Striped like a tiger, this skinny, jumpy, loving dude has figured that of the three, she’s the biggest threat to his authority. Which she isn’t! Houdini’s (H) just Barbie in fatigues. Not possible you think? Here’s how I found out:
On every walk that I’ve seen them, when B is around, the three try to rip their wanna be alpha male’s (we shall call him S) arms out. Imagine the kind of arm twisting that goes into it. One man, three big dogs in two hands. Yep, its tough.
Should push come to shove, B has his pack to back him up. H's pack has not been put to test yet. On most days, H has seen S get angry and shoo irritating B away. Perhaps what H figured that her pack, S included will tear into his. But there came an exception to those days. There was this one-day when S wasn’t in the city. So walking duties were handed over to his always-smiling better half R. She got H and bro for their walk that morning.
Now before we go on the walk, I must mention that B loves me a lot. He walks with me up and down the road when I’m alone, doesn’t let any dog come close to me and talks to me about what he’s done since I saw him last. Yes, we actually do have a dialogue. He totally dislikes, abhors and hates me petting any other dog. So much that he gets upsets and growls and prowls displaying his annoyance. I feed him breakfast sometimes and bones on occasion.
That morning, I saw R with H and went quite delightedly their way. I forgot all about the rascalicious B hovering in the background. Before I knew it, H was snarling growling tugging at her leash and B was frothing, lips curled teeth out. And R had after a particularly sharp tug let H loose. There I was, watching B chase H who was running circles around us, leash flying behind her. R was standing quietly watching the crazy dogs and bro T was just ho humming minding his own business.
In that instant, I flipped. I forgot my own “let the dogs sort it out” logic. I forgot the other crucial rule – never get into a dog fight. I turned into H’s protector. And I overlooked the love that B had for me. There I was trying to shoo B while trying to grab H’s leash. After much no no–ing and bad boy ing, I got the leash and handed it over to R, who was as calm as the Budhda. (Wish I was half as calm for all my talk...) In the many seconds that all hell broke loose, I saw B grab H’s posterior and walk away with a tuft of her coat as his trophy.
And I realised that she is really just Barbie in fatigues. Totally Chic-ken.
As for me, I was totally a wuss at that time. I should have let them "sort" it out. Instead, I gave up on walking down B's road. Decided I was mad at him for being what he is - a dog. That was till yesterday when I felt awful, missed having him chatter nineteen to the dozen and took him bread and egg for breakfast.
All references to dogs are truly intentional.
Names have been reduced to alphabets to protect identity