Man and his Dog

My father has never been one to show his affection. In moments of pride and happiness, he'll simply smile or grin. My brother and I have made our peace with this. My mum on the other hand, is one who reaches out, gives great bear hugs and smothers us with kisses. But the most embarrassing of it all is when she insists on talking to us in a voice so strange, at a decibel so unusual, at a time so horribly wrong, that eyes pop right out and jaws simply drop. However, such bouts of her over affection are short lived, and are assumed to occur with the next full moon. Not much more can be said about how my parents choose to shower their affection. Mostly they give us money and shower it. Other times they buy us cell phones and clothes. Sometimes my mother is over affectionate and cooks a nice meal. I also like it when dad lets us drive his car. These are usually times when mum and dad complain the least, and all seems well in our household.

I wish the same could be said about my dog. Money, cars and clothes don't impress her much. That dog wants the real thing. She wants the hugs, the kisses. She needs the patronizing, the baby talking. She pines for these. I have never been able to understand that dog. I don't know what dogs want. My dog doesn't let me be friends with other dogs. She bares her teeth and growls when she sees me chatting with one. I can never have a pleasant person-to-mutt conversation because she sniffs me out in a minute. Our relationship is not what it used to be. It's no longer a throw-and-fetch thing with us. The constant attention she craves and her incessant demands have taken its toll on me. Not to mention the lying, the sneaking around, and her indignant eyes.

My face is drawn and my clothes hang loose. I have lost all appetite and my dog refuses to bark at me. But this is not about me. Nor is this about my dog and me. And, no this is not about my brother and my dog. And, while we're on the subject, this is not about my mum and dog either.

This, my friends, is about a relationship so rare, a friendship so beautiful, a love so true, that the word affection tries hard to fit in. I shall no longer speak in tongues and now reveal all.

This is about my father and the mutt. My dog lives for my dad. Okay she really lives for my brother alone. But poor dad, I suspect, has begun to live only for her.

As one would expect, mum absolutely dotes on the dog, but dad has never before been so expressive of his lou for anyone. He gushes and rushes with praise for her. He takes her on walks, on secret routes, so that the common stray may not follow. He adores and prides her. Again, my brother and I have made our peace with this. But, we haven't been able to get over the former stiff upper lip turning into a misty eyed, fawning little girl. The deep baritone hath gone. In it's place now resounds a girly giggle and saccharine sweet speech. Yes, the army dad has brought shame to the bristling mustache club. His once stoic face now melts with many loving emotions at the sight of that dog. He is hurt when she ignores him and indulgently gives into all her doggy tantrums. I cannot say this enough- Dad lous that dog.

I cannot tell you what exactly are that dog's feelings towards dad. I know she loves him, but then she does love all of us. One must remember that my dog is needy, clingy and a bit of a sentimental mutt. She needs her hugs, kisses, and loud loving greetings every time one of us walks past her, comes out of the bathroom, and when our eyes suddenly meet across a not so crowded room. She cannot go two minutes without someone calling her "baby", "sweetie" or "bad dog". She wants all the patting and petting that she can muster from all of us. My dog is crazy. My dad is crazy about my dog. My dog is crazy about my brother. My mother and I are crazy that no one's crazy about us. We are making our peace with this.