I love dogs. I mean, I love all animals, (of course with the exception of a weasel or a skunk or a slimy millipede) as much as any man (or woman, as in this case) possibly can. I like them, I choo-choo them (all the time), I pat them (occasionally) and I respect them (ever since a Labrador tried to pit his jaws against my thigh muscles). That’s more important I feel, for respect has a longer shelf life and stands one notch higher than mere love.

 

I allow them to follow me around. I make eye contact and that inspires certain quaint, unanalysed feelings in me. I discover those stirrings are not bad at all. I mean, its good to be looked at, even if by a dog. For one, he is looking up to me and secondly I can detect respect in his eyes too, for me I presume. I quite like this unconditional respect. For a change he is not judging me and pronouncing me mentally challenged. Not unless he belongs to the snobbish, idle wife of a rich businessman or others of her ‘elite’ page 3 species. In that case, the likes of me better stay away if they want to be spared the ‘evaluated and found uninteresting’ look from Lhasa Apsos, German Spinxes and Pomerians peering haughtily from lazy pampered laps.

 

But, I am sorry to say, that I fail the test where all-encompassing love towards animals is concerned. Somewhere along the way I draw the line- a thick furrowed, several times overwritten ‘Laxmanrekha’ of sorts when it comes to feeling and expressing those complex feelings for our best quadruped friends.

 

For example, I would never allow one to climb onto bed and get under the blanket with me. And certainly never kiss him on the cheek or muzzle or wherever. I know that the PFAs, the Petas and the Maneka Gandhis of this world would skin me if they could (had it not been cruelty to animals) or at least denounce and ostracise me for this discrimination. But that’s the fact. I would never kiss a dog, though dogs are no worse than the frogs some women habitually kiss and more in their quest for that elusive Prince Charming. But dogs like being kissed and climbing under blankets with PYTs. Who wouldn’t? After all, dog is a man’s best friend.

 

With these bits of dog psychology and other dog facts whirling in my mind I hit Chennai with some confidence that camouflages a lot of apprehension. No, no, its not my virgin Chennai visit or my Madrasi aunt but her companions who are causing me this anxiety attack. Aunt, Uncle and Dear Cousin have taken in (literally with open arms) not one, not two but a total of three dogs. But call them dogs at your own risk, do that and you have had it. They are individuals with distinct identities and personae and they have names too. Kuru, Baito and Lily, no less. Kuru reminds me of the Kuru dynasty (Kauravas, the bad guys), Baito, probably with a history of biting or being bitten or both and Lily, a silly frivolous girl name. Not Tiger or Rambo or Rousseau. But names nonetheless, fit even to be bestowed on lower middle-class humans. And why not, dogs are no less.

 

The three, KBL, have got me totally wound up. I am not sure I can come up with what’s expected of me versus KBL. Aunt, Uncle and cousin love KBL (actually, the entire species) a LOT, perhaps, I suspect, more than each other. And I am expected to do the same. Which actually means a lot of lip kissing, getting together under the blanket, cuddling, feeding, not raising your voice while addressing them even if they appear to be taking your passport apart and using only your sweetest tone as in conversation with the boss.

 

KBL for their part, are actually nice people, not especially demanding such preferential treatment but somehow seem to have got used to it. As far as pedigree is concerned, those facts are unknown as they have been picked up at different times from various streets. They are the wild variety, no blue blood. Certainly not the type any society mom would be seen dead holding in a lifestyle magazine. But they are clean, disease-free, have nice shiny coats and look very satisfied with life. They live on the first floor of an exclusive de-luxe apartment complex towards Meenambakam.

 

The entire family is happy to have me. They smother me with hugs and kisses no different from those they bestow on KBL. I am overwhelmed. There is a LOT of love in the air. KBL look on lazily and not altogether disapprovingly at this overflowing display of affection to even others than themselves. Things quieten and there are exchange of news, views, facts, stories and what have you accompanied by refreshments. KBL partake in all this, taking in a spicy goodie and spicier gossip with equal elan. We all sit on the floor; can’t have KBL developing inferiority complex. They climb on to warm human laps. Dear cousin, in a rare generous mood asks me if I would like to hold Baito. I struggle to control the instant ‘no! no!’ that is my first response. But I have decided on a diplomatic approach. So I say, ‘Oh! I would love to, but I’m so dirty. I don’t want to spoil his glossy coat. I would like to wash first’. That satisfies cousin. She approves my awareness of dog hygiene.

 

Its time for bed. We discuss sleeping arrangements and I offer to take the guest bedroom. They all object. Uncle would have none of it. It seems he sleeps in there with Lily,the love of his life, and wouldn’t contemplate any alternative. He had taken her in when she was a little pup, hungry, wet and abandoned at his doorstep on a muggy Kolkata afternoon. He had seen her and she had conquered him. Her victory was complete after her all-night vigils during his last attack. Uncle, despite repeated reminders from his weakening heart wouldn’t rest until Lily was fully fed, happy, safe and comfortable. Every minor yelp from her gave him angina. So sleep with her he would. He didn’t trust even his wife and daughter with Lily.

 

That left another two bedrooms, three persons, two dogs and a maid. After much permutation and combination (on their part) and fruitless haggling (on my part) we reached a consensus that I had to agree to or risk looking like non-dog lover. Which equals dog hater, which equals life hater, which equals most detestable person on earth. Being labelled persona non grata in Chennai at 11 in the night might not be lot of fun, so I said yes to sleeping with a dog.

 

King Kuru, maid-of-honour Dear Cousin and maid-in-waiting, myself are assigned the master bedroom. Cousin insists on having the King between us, but I somehow manage to dissuade her.

“I am so tired, I might crush him in my sleep. Its not safe for him to be in the middle".  Finally cousin goes in between.

 

But Kuru is well trained. He sleeps like a baby keeping his arms, legs and tail to himself. Cousin doesn’t let me sleep though. She has lots of dog tales that need relating and dog love that needs propagating. I yawn liberally through the night amidst dog, dog and more dog talk. How good they are, how emotional, how loyal and how much better than humans, blah, blah, blah ….. And all these in hushed undertones. Can’t afford to wake the King up. But hey! I need my beauty sleep too.

 

Thank God for the pleasure of shopping otherwise I am not sure I could have survived the rest of my trip. Our missions (for missions they are) to Nalli, Pothys, Spencer Plaza and Murugan Idli shop gave me much needed breaks from KBL though I was never spared their super-canine achievements. Incidentally, no shopping was complete without purchases for the trio. But no eatables there for King Kuru. It seems the guy has recently been diagnosed with high cholesterol. All play and no work, I guess. That’s what happens of leading a playboy existence.

 

I am more than thankful as my trip ends. I wonder what will happen to the eager son-in-law in waiting. Where would he fit in all this? Will KBL be part of the dowry or is he to be the ‘ghar jamai’?  Can’t see Dear Cousin being separated from the King. I am especially curious about the sleeping arrangements. Does the vasectomised King get to witness the fireworks?

 

On a contemplative note I move on. The family looks on approvingly as I air-kiss a collective KBL muzzle. The dogs want to lick my face. I decide to give that ritual a miss. My relatives implore me to stay some more. They see me as a natural. I guess I have passed the dog test.