Learning to love doggy style

We live in different tenses, my dog and I. Cleo bounds around in the only one she knows, the present, while I meander in the past as we circle endlessly around the garden. The Earth and her satellite treating a patch of grass as the centre of their solar system.

There are dogs who have been trained to do all sorts of tricks. Like the infamous Pidi who once took over Rahul Gandhi’s Twitter handle, declaring that he was the mastermind who tweeted for him. In the accompanying video, the super dog was seen doing namaste and balancing a biscuit on his nose. This was not a dog that ate the master’s homework but instead did the homework for him.

Cleo doesn’t believe in playing jester. To raise her paw for a delicate handshake is beneath her. Instead, she has trained me to play fetch. I throw a ball, she grabs it and then chews on it, waiting for me to walk over and pick it up.

A decade has passed in much the same way. Throwing balls, setting out bowls of food, occasionally dropping fleas into a kerosene-filled steel cup when she brings along blood-sucking playmates. Ticks may repel some people, but for me, they bring along a wave of nostalgia. My memories, leached of colour like the photographs I have left of that period, consist of sitting on a flight of stairs, my grandmother oiling my hair while my hands are busy, picking out fleas from the furry creature lying by my feet. Cleo’s predecessor, Caesar, like his human counterpart, was a legend, albeit only in my household. On a stormy day, a cousin was lazing in a hammock. Caesar barked repeatedly and began grabbing the macrame knots with his teeth. Fed up, the little boy scurried out, moments before a coconut tree collapsed onto the hammock.

Regardless of whether Caesar could sense a threat or he just didn’t like pesky kids, dogs in our household have been treated with reverence ever since. Cleo, in comparison, has not achieved any notable feats. Aside from being named in a complaint for trying to bite a neighbour while leashed to a tree, so she could dry off in the sun after her bath. At which point, I was almost tempted to file a counter case against the neighbour for violating my dog’s personal nasal space by regularly stinking of methi theplas.

Despite Cleo’s lack of accomplishments, I feel a deep affection for her. A rare sense of contentment when I pat her on the head or brush her fur. This is not an unrequited emotion, according to scientists.

Researchers at Azabu University studied the role of oxytocin, the hormone responsible for bonding between humans, especially between mothers and babies. When asked to gaze into each other’s eyes, dogs experienced a 130% rise in oxytocin levels, and owners a 300% increase.

We can still use objective reasoning over why our canine companions love us. Humans do provide food, shelter and protection but it doesn’t explain why we are so attached to our pets as well. Perhaps it is as simple as what the fox tells the Little Prince in the eponymous book, “I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”

We take another circle and I throw her a withered coconut. She chases it and clamping it between her jaws she lays down on the grass. While Cleo has clearly not learnt any tricks from me, I learn many just by watching her. Seeing her bound up to the people she loves, I am trying to let my guard down. There is an openness in our pets that we deny ourselves with our walls and defence mechanisms. A dog will see you and jump up and wag his tail, slobber all over your face. He doesn’t stop to think, but does this person really like me? Will I be taken advantage of if I show him an abundance of affection?

When I spot her now flipping over onto her back, her belly facing the sky, living in the moment as prescribed by ancient religious tenets and new-age gurus, I want to emulate her. Use only my eyes, nose and ears while abandoning the reasoning brain. Lie flat on the grass, without worrying about dirt, time and propriety, till buoyant bubbles of joy fill up all my crevices and cavities and burst in my chest.

I call out her name and she dashes towards me with a crow’s carcass in her mouth instead of the coconut. I hold up her face wanting to reprimand her but as I look into her eyes, the colour of molasses and roasted cacao, I feel a sudden surge of emotion. It becomes clearer, the reason why we unzip secret compartments of our heart in order to carefully tuck these creatures inside.

It is the way our dogs look at us. It doesn’t matter if we are adolescents or grandmothers, comely or plain, hilarious or terrible bores. Their gaze is a place without judgement. Dogs, with their paws, tails and snouts, remind us that we are never more human than when we, like them, love unconditionally.

I pat her on the head and we continue taking our circles. A pair of two-legged and four-legged creatures who have managed to tame each other.