Furry friends #Cherishedblogfest
I’m just back from the mountains and I’ve left my head and my heart there which means it’s exceedingly difficult to wrap my thoughts around anything. I’m writing this blog post with my kidneys. Let’s see how it turns out.
What do I cherish? Back to that difficult question. The answer is – not things – cameras, clothes, books and earrings – although I love those to bits too.
Cherish furry friends
What I really cherish are pets. My furry friends with their unconditional love, their only need a cuddle on a comfortable couch – with air conditioning of course, since it’s Summertime in Delhi.
Furry friends can be dogs
I started life as a dog person and if the tales of my parents are true I’d run fearlessly up to dogs twice my size to strike up a friendship. To this day I can’t pass a dog on the road without greeting it with word or look or pat.
I’ve always had a dog – since I was four years old. Or two, or three or twenty dogs. When my own babies grew up a little, we rescued puppies covered with tar or those that had wandered too far from their mothers. Invariably the underdog was scooped up off the road and made part of the family.
My children grew up curled around dogs, learned to remove ticks, recognise scabies, swim with dogs and respect their moods. They learned the hard lesson of death when an adored canine member of the family grew too old or had an accident and died. They learned about sickness by nursing dogs and the miraculous experience of ongoing life through the birthing of puppies. Oversexed dogs on heat answered quite naturally the eternally awkward questions of curious children. We progressed quite spontaneously to, ‘And does that happen to humans too?’
Furry friends can be cats
And then one day I went for a walk and chatted with a kitten. Just walking along on the road with great purpose, her tail held high like a flag. On the way back stopping to exchange pleasantries again, she walked up my arm, sat on my shoulder and wouldn’t budge. I took her home to the house with twenty dogs where everyone berated me for my stupidity. But Sylvia stayed.
Shortly after that I moved as my marriage broke up. I had to leave the twenty dogs behind, because I couldn’t look after them as well as myself. I left Sylvia too but within a week she’d moved with me because noone could keep her safe from the dogs. While she was with me she’d demand snuggles on the sofa which was lovely. What I liked less were here gifts – headless mice and nightmares from which she’d awaken yowling. I’d leap out of bed screaming louder than her, groping for a light terrified out of my mind.
Syliva left after a year. She found a man, had kittens, left them with me and went in search of more men, forgetting to return home.
Eventually I rescued Daisy from a house with dogs that traumatised her so extensively she’d perch on the highest bookshelf of the house.
Daisy has lived with me for the last ten years as my cherished pet of the present moment.
She’s Persian. She’s a Zen cat who looks like a puff of smoke floating around the house in a wispy fashion. Often when you look for her she can’t be seen, you just sense where she is because like transparent blue coils of smoke she’s been known to disappear. Just until she wants to be seen again when she’ll materialise stretching, yawning and surprised at my panic.
This post is an entry in the 2016 Cherished Blogfest.
You can visit other participants in the Cherished Blogfest here.