Gargo

Gargo is a 2 week chapter in our (me and Charlie) life. An innocuous little pup walked into our door, almost dying and freezing to death.  It was convulsive and severely dehydrated, and we felt it wouldn’t live through the night. But force feeding ORS helped. We got some medicines for it. It took 3 pairs of hands to get them down its throat. Thankfully it lived. And it was as grateful as a loyal dog could be. For the next couple of days, it kept trailing us everywhere. We were forced into an ersatz motherhood. We had a crawling 3 months old, that every couple of hours would nudge either one of us available for food, and then rush to crap and pee.  He wouldn’t let us go out of sight and would start jumping the moment he saw us in the corridor. I must admit, it felt nice to have someone waiting for you at the end of the day, and greet you ever with the same excitement, every single day.  When we headed for breakfast, he would crisscross between our feet happy and gay towards the mess.  Then he would get in trouble with the other pups. And we had to rush to rescue. My ears are now tuned to his bark; I would wake up to it even if I were drop dead asleep, I guess.  

When I spent my mornings in my room, he would curl up on the mat and fall asleep, only to get up once a while to get patted or scrubbed.  He would look up at you with the cutest puppy eyes ever, and ask for food, a scrub, or just try to wish away some mischief. He’d just begun teething, and it was fun to watch him gnaw at stuff.

Yesterday we were confronted by a couple of our wingmates regarding the several issues the dog presented. The hygiene of the wing, and the fear it perpetrated being their foremost concerns. Since today evening, Gargo has disappeared. I do not wish to get into conspiracy theories lamenting his disappearance; this post is more about what Gargo made me see.

Gargo presented some pleasant and unpleasant insights about me and the society we live in.

      1) I can befriend a dog:  I should have stated this before. I am not a dog lover. I tread on more neutral grounds. I admire them at a distance, and I would never touch one. But Gargo changed that. It was Charlie who tended him in his worst hours, but while she was away at lab, it kind of fell upon me to look after him. The first time I picked him up was when he was lost in the other block. (Poor thing, kept confusing the blocks, and would inevitably end up in some other block and freak out the girls there.) Before that, my interactions with him revolved around the feeding bowl. I had never picked up a dog before. It was awkward. But he relaxed when he saw me, and just fell calm in my arms. I got him to my room, and then we started talking. I realised my fear for dogs was pretty unjustified, more rooted by the portrayal of dogs as barking, biting creatures. Gargo made me love him in my own awkward uncomfortable way. And he willingly accepted it the way it came. He makes me believe that we can have perfectly functional relationships despite sensing the others imperfections, all you need is love and faith.

      2) The issue of responsibility: “Is this puppy our responsibility?” This question started plaguing me when we realised Gargo wouldn’t leave us. Had we adopted him in some sense? Did I want to sign up for this? It was all fine, feeding him, and patting him every now and then, but I realised I wasn’t ready to own up for him. I wasn’t ready to be held responsible for him and his actions. I would have preferred him being thought of as an entity on its own, and me some source of food that he had discovered. While we enjoyed his love and his pampering, there were times when we craved to just be ourselves, and not have him bother. If truth be told, maybe I am not yet ready to take responsibility for another living being.  Do we all look to run from responsibility, like it’s a weight that suddenly bogs you down? Why does that word feel so negative?
We have a bunch of dogs in our hostel, which now present a distinct split in the junta between those that mind the dogs, and those that don’t. While the latter argue that it is as much of a right of the dogs to live here, the former cite the increasing litter created by them (I do not consider freaking people out a valid point. These dogs are mild mannered and would walk past you without as much as raising a brow at you.) Yes the dogs may live here, but whose responsibility are they? If the dogs were out on the streets, we would expect the municipal council to be responsible for them if they were creating a nuisance. So does it become the responsibility of the hostel, to accept them as residents and treat them as such or should it fall on the latter that fight for their rights? If we were to treat them as residents, whose responsibility is it to inculcate in them, the same sense of hygiene and discipline as their human counterparts?

      

      3) The right to live: When we were confronted by our wingmates, one of the girls said that she had mentioned to “certain” “authorities” about the presence of the dog, and they very callously suggested that if she finds the dog a nuisance, she should find a way to kill the dog. It’s the most gruesome solution I have heard for an issue that could be resolved in several simpler ways. Why do we believe that, as humans, the right to live is our prerogative? Why do our so-called comforts come above others? And to what extent shall we go to preserve them? To defend and protect one’s self is an innate behaviour, but while we try to portray ourselves as a superior species, shouldn’t we be able to overcome these natural instincts and distinguish between real and perceived threats, and act accordingly? We don’t mind the peacock because it chooses a much milder way to express its fear, but an antagonised puppy barking in fear can scare the hell out of us. Are we that ignorant about our surroundings? We read and understand the body language of other humans, shouldn’t we also do the same for other species that share our spaces? Do we have to exterminate everything we perceive as a threat? Does living on some piece of land give us supreme ownership of it? What about the right to live of others who inhabit it, and whose consent we haven’t bothered to take? Can we live in harmony with nature? Can we share our shelters with those whom we have robbed of the same?

      It’s well past midnight, and Gargo has still not found his way back. I sign off here with a hope that no harm has come his way, and he lives a happy pup sheltered in some arms somewhere.