The Power of a Dog
What a 10-pound, 6-inch high Mini Dachshund taught me that no one else could.
“Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
The animals are happy and content there, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind…”
One of my fondest memories growing up was waking up on my birthday every year to a puppy lying by my bed. My grandfather, himself an avid animal lover, wanted me to have a pet of my own. He felt it helped a child learn responsibility and understand what unconditional love meant. Unfortunately, my mother, an animal lover herself, at the time felt I wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. At end of the day the puppy would be sent back to my grandfather who would return it to where he got it from.
While it seemed sad and unfair at the time, I now look back and thank my mother for what she did. I was too young to take care of a puppy and didn’t understand the seriousness of looking after another life.
Through the years I tried to prove my sense of responsibility to her. Along with my middle sister, I rescued an injured Budgerigar (aptly named Budgie) who we nursed back to health. She never flew again and ended up like Treasure Island’s Captain Flint — always seen on my sisters shoulder or mine. After Budgie came a string of rescued strays — injured puppies, kittens and more birds. For a little while, I had even dog-napped my neighbor's dog who was being ill-treated by them.
As I grew up, eventually my two sisters left home to study in the US. My insistence on getting a dog increased once they left — after all, being the youngest child, I had never been alone and needed company. My mother now more confident or just frustrated with my pleas, finally gave in.
Thus started a year long search for the perfect one. Every month my grandfather would take me to visit a new litter of puppies. However, something was amiss. I could never make up my mind no matter how cute the puppy was. Finally my middle sister returned home and took matters into her hands.
On one of our visits to a dog breeder, my sister ended up picking out the puppy she thought would fit best in our household. The breeder specialized in miniature dachshunds. On entering his house we were greeted by 4 yapping puppies and 8 barking dogs. I could not get over how tiny they were. My reaction at the time — “Mom, I can’t be seen taking one of these on a walk, they make me look like a giant!”
One puppy among all was extremely bold — a cute little baby girl. While the others looked at us curiously, she came up, smelled us, gave my sister a lick and then ran circles around the room with a red rag in her mouth. My sister instantly fell in love with her and despite my protests about her size, we ended up getting her home. I look back on the protests with amusement now, because her coming home changed me and changed our home forever.
On the ride back, due to a lack of space in the car, she ended up on my lap. Whether it was the ride home on my lap or the fact that for the next few days I wouldn’t let her out of my sight, something triggered in her the fact that she was mine and I was hers.
Out of the last 15 years, I’ve been away from home for nearly 10. It was my mother who the dogs really belonged to and who really belonged to the dogs. She was with my dogs all the time and their real care taker. My mother would be the one sitting up with them through the nights when they were ill, nursing them back to health.
She religiously took them to the park to play when we couldn’t or weren’t around. She was the one who took care of their vaccinations, meals and visits to the vet. She made sure they were covered at night before going to bed and that they were up in the morning in time for their walk.
Despite all of this, the moment I would return and enter home, the little one’s entire purpose was how to be around me constantly. Just sitting next to me seemed to be her Shangri-la.
For the first few days we named her Tipsy, a name that stuck with my grandparents. However, a few days later my sister came up with the name Tootsie, after the Tootsie Roll candy. Tootsie it was.
For me Tootsie was never a dog — she was my baby, my child. From waking up with me at 3 am as I prepared for an exam, to following me into the toilet when I went to shower, to sitting patiently in the car (in the sweltering heat) while I was at the gym, she was my constant companion and shadow. My sister even taught her how to wake me up. She would place Tootsie near me and whisper “Tootsie uthao” which meant “Tootsie wake him”. Tootsie would then continuously lick my face till I gave in and woke up. Her joy came from being around me and mine from being around her.
Do they wobble to and fro?
If I was at home I needed her next to me, and she needed to be next me. The only times she refused to acknowledge my presence was when she would see my suitcase being packed— the guilt I would feel at leaving her and not being able to explain why I needed to go was worse than any other.
Apart from being epileptic, Tootsie was a dog who rarely fell ill. I never heard her complain if she got injured or was in pain. My nephew (who is possibly the only person who was as fond of her as I was) once dropped a scalding cup of milk on her — her only reaction was to run to me to show me what happened — I never heard her yelp or whine in pain. The only time I would hear her whine was when she wanted to come up on the bed to sleep next to me. As annoying as it was when she did it in the middle of the night, it was one of her endearing characteristics.
In the last 6 months, Tootsie made more trips to the vet than in in the last 15. First she was diagnosed with a tick-borne illness which took a toll on her health and then tumor like lumps started growing all over her body. She was a plucky little dog and a fighter. Every time we thought she wouldn’t make it, she fought back and after a couple of days of getting IV therapy she’d be as sprightly as ever.
We didn’t get a chance to get the tumors tested — one afternoon she vomited post a meal (nothing we thought was life threatening) and within a couple of days she went from being as playful as a puppy to a shadow of her former self, refusing to eat or drink. We found out that her kidneys had failed and despite a few sessions of IV therapy she never regained any amount of energy. Her last few days were difficult for all of us.
It was hard for us to see such a strong little dog suffer so much. Towards the beginning of the end, we hoped she would throw in the towel, but she never did. We finally had to take the hardest decision of them all — putting her to sleep to relieve her of her suffering.
She went as she came, in my arms and I hope that was a small measure of comfort to her.
Every pet owner (especially dog and cat owners) feels their dog is or was the smartest, most loyal and most well behaved. I feel the same way too. We used to always laugh at the fact that Tootsie was more human than dog. However, more than her loyalty, smartness, behavior and ‘human-ness’ it is what she taught me over the last 15 years that I hope to hold onto for the rest of my life.
Lesson 1: Never Give Up
At a young age we detected that Tootsie was epileptic. A bad vet with an equally bad diagnosis put her on medication that we could never wean her off without serious repercussions. Her medication made her drowsy, lethargic and as a result she started putting on a lot of weight.
Before the medication, Tootsie was extremely agile for her size. She would love running outdoors, especially at our local golf course. Her favorite thing to do there was running the length of the longest hole at our local golf course. The hole was about 500 yards and my mother would be at one end and I at the other while Tootsie ran to and fro between us.
Despite the lethargy and weight gain, Tootsie never stopped enjoying her run. She would tire out quickly now though, taking breaks every 100 yards. Every time I thought she was too tired and attempted to carry her to the end she would wriggle out of my arms and start walking towards her goal — always making it to the end proudly and with her head held high.
There are days when I feel too lazy to go to the gym or when I just want to stay in bed and not go to work. On those days I look to her for inspiration and tell myself if she could make it to her goal, so can I!
Lesson 2: Take Pain in Your Stride
Tootsie taught me to take pain in my stride and to never complain unnecessarily. She also taught me to be brave no matter what.
Given her epilepsy, despite her medication, she would get her fits once in a while. Initially she would run to us and make sure we would hold her while she was getting her fit. While we were worried about the days we weren’t around, she never was. She soon figured out a corner in a room where she was most comfortable during a fit and how to handle it herself. Over time she found the need not to alert us at all, only her running into that room letting us. know she was about to have a fit.
In her last few days even though she had no energy to even blink her eyes, she never complained and tried to be brave. I can’t imagine the pain she must have been in, but I never heard her make a fuss. She would always attempt to wag her tail and try to greet me when I would enter the room. One night, when she wanted to be near my mother, she dragged herself out of bed to my mothers bedside and gathered up enough energy to bark in order to wake her up.
As a youngest child, I’ve been used to being pampered and taken care off. However, around Tootsie, I learned the importance of taking care off yourself. Like her, I now try not to bother others with my pain, instead attempt to shower them with love.
Lesson 3: Family is Family
Tootsie had an uncanny ability to tell family and strangers apart. She met my oldest sister for the first time nearly a year after coming home. By then she had grown a reputation for being a biter and a dog who didn’t take well to strangers. People refused to enter our house for fear of ‘the little black dog’.
We took her to the airport with trepidation, thinking that the more time she spends with my sister, the easier it would be for them to get along. In the car Tootsie approached my sister with caution, smelt her all over, seemed to whisper something in her ear and then behaved as though she had known my sister all her life — excited to bits just to see her.
This trait — smelling or seeming to whisper in someones ear, before deciding if they were part of the family — continued with my grandmother, brother-in-laws, my wife and my nieces and nephews. She greeted them all with the same amount of love and passion as she did the rest of us. She never growled or snarled at them, even on meeting them for the first time. She endeared herself to each and every one of them by making them feel special, greeting them all individually and in her own way.
She would run to someone, kiss them all over and begged to be put onto their lap or beside them on the sofa. Once up, she would find a comfortable place to settle down next to them and then turn over for a belly rub. She even managed to convert my once-pet-unfriendly grandmother to a devout fan.
For Tootsie, family was always family. She refused to spend time with anyone else. She figured out where our car was parked and which window she could see it from. While getting into the car anytime we went out, if we looked up, we would see one little head looking down on us. If any of the immediate family wasn’t present, she would find the closest family member, such as my grandmother, and sit with them waiting for us to come home. If no family member was around, she would sit all alone, even if there were other people in the house. When we came home, she seemed to know and the little head would be peering back at us as we parked and got out of the car.
For Tootsie, family was not an important thing. It was everything. She taught me the importance of loving your family unconditionally, accepting everyone despite their faults and that spending as much time as you can with them was the most important thing in the world.
Lesson 4: Be Good at One Thing
We all know how much dogs love playing with balls and frisbees. Initially Tootsie showed no interest in playing with a ball — she loved chewing on discarded socks — they had to have been worn, fresh laundered socks didn’t make the cut — or rocks. Play time consisted of me throwing a rock she found in the garden and her chasing it. When time came to leave, she would carry the stone in her mouth all the way home. If by any chance I hid the rock away on the journey back, she would hound me for hours, till I gave it back to her. Once she even attempted to run back to the garden to look for another rock!
At the time, the Premier League had started to gain popularity in India and a few of my friends started coming over to play football. One day I brought the football to my room and was kicking it around when suddenly Tootsie came out of nowhere and started nudging it around with her nose. The ball was bigger than her, but I found it impossible to get it away from her. For a dog who refused to play with a tennis ball, we were all fascinated by her passion for a football. She would love nudging it around the room with her nose and finally when tired of playing with it, her mission in life would be to tear it to shreds.
I am far from being a decent footballer (or any sportsman for that matter) but with her around, I learned how to dribble the ball and at the least play better with my friends. Thanks to her, I also went through a new football every two months! Through the years, I tried coaxing her to play with other kinds of balls — the only one she took to was a smaller sized football, made for toddlers. But in the event she saw a regular sized football around, the smaller one would be discarded in a heartbeat.
Growing up, I would bore of hobbies extremely quickly. I learned to play cricket followed by golf then tennis and then finally squash. Tootsie taught me the importance of being passionate about one thing and giving it your all, don’t let anything else distract you!
Home is never going to be the same without Tootsie. I’ll always miss the greeting I would get when I entered home, be it after 5 minutes or 5 months — the way she wriggled her body in excitement, her tail going around as fast as a propeller and the high-pitched enthusiastic whines. I’ll miss having her sit on my lap while I ate my meals or worked. I’ll miss her snuggled up next to me or curled up behind me as I watched TV or played the PlayStation. I’ll miss her wet sloppy kisses aimed directly at my lips, particularly when I said “Tootsie, kiss”. I’ll miss catching her sleeping in the sun, no matter how hot it was. I’ll miss hearing the clip-clop of her nails as she paced around my room, especially in the morning to come wake me up. I’ll miss her whining next to my bed wanting to get on because the floor or her bed just wasn’t good enough. I’ll miss everything about her.
I know I will meet her once again. Till then, she will always be in my heart, in my thoughts and a part of me. I look forward to the day I see her once again — young and playful, strong and hearty, before we cross the Rainbow Bridge together.
…The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
The day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. Her bright eyes are intent. Her eager body quivers. Suddenly she begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying her faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.
“Rest in Peace my little one.”
Tootsie
March 14, 2001 — September 9, 2015
