When I was small, and my gums itched, and my milk teeth began to break through, I could not resist chewing up anything I could lay my teeth upon – like shoes, slippers, clothes, toothbrushes, furniture. I especially loved my father’s favourite Kolhapuri kapshi chappals which were so soft and yummy.
So my father bought me a chewy bone which, it said on the wrapper, was guaranteed to save everything else.
I don’t know why I did it, maybe by natural instinct, but I secretly buried the bone in a hole I dug below the Mango tree, and I used to dig it out when I thought no one was looking, chew it a bit, and bury it in some other secret place.
One day my inquisitive mother found out, and she dug up the bone when I was sleeping and hid the bone under the pomegranate tree.
When I didn’t find my bone, at first I was confused, maybe it was my neighbour Bruno, but then he was too old for chewy toy bones.
Then I tracked the bone down with my nose, and when I spied my mother giggling and grinning like a Cheshire cat, I knew who the culprit was, it was my mother who had mischievously hidden my bone.
This started the “bone-game”.
First they (the humans – my mother and father) would give me the bone, and after I hid it they would rush out into the garden and dig it out.
Then they would hide the bone (after locking me in the house so I could not see) and if was my turn to find the bone, which I did using my nose and keen sense of smell.
I wondered how they found the bone so fast; till one day I caught them, both my mother and my father, spying crouching behind the hedge when they thought I wasn’t looking and the mystery was solved.
So now I first let them see where I’m hiding the bone, and when they complacently and confidently go inside thinking they know everything, I dig out the bone and hide it some other place which they do not know and then watch the fun as they search in vain.
Then when they give up searching and go inside and my father asks me to get the bone, I run out and get it, for which I earn a titbit.
The way these humans act sometimes, I really wonder who is more intelligent – dogs or humans...?
Here I am sniffing out a bone hidden by my father and mother in my garden [this was taken long back when I was a small girl]. My Human Papa was just beginning to teach me all the vocabulary - the first word he taught me was DuDu [which means Milk in Marathi] - he used to give me a bowl of Milk and keep saying DuDu DuDu while I drank the milk till I finished. I've a large vocabulary now - I listen to the Human Language, but speak my own Doggie language which my Papa understands. I'll tell you more about that later. Now you have a look at my photos and then please read the second part of my childhood story.
WAITING FOR THE NEWSPAPER BOY
|FETCHING THE NEWSPAPER|
The only time he seemed to be all excited and active, and was desperately chasing me all over, was when I had my first chums a few days ago, but he had no chance as my suddenly overprotective father was guarding me like a shadow, never taking me off the leash when I was outdoors. Those were the only few days he totally restricted my freedom, and when I managed to slip away across the fence once, all hell broke loose, and I was located, chased, captured and soundly scolded for the first time. I felt miserable, and sulked, but then my father caressed and baby-talked me and I knew how much he loved and cared for me, and it was all okay.
A SNAP FROM MY CHAPPAL CHEWING DAYS
So he has hidden the bone and I am off to find it…
Till then, Bow Wow…