Tom passed away on Wednesday, the 15th of November.
Tom was our pet dog, who lived a grand long life of 14 and a half years. But no amount time with a loved one seems enough, does it!
I am yet to believe it. It just doesn't register. I feel he's sitting in one of the other rooms, and I can almost sometimes hear the tap-tap sound of his paws which could be heard when he walked on the tiled floors. This mischievous little pet of ours had forced many habits for us over the course of his life, which now, we are finding hard to let go of...
For instance, we would never leave the main door of our house open even for a few seconds, because our adventurous explorer always wanted to sneak out and explore the neighbourhood without the constraints of a leash and a human trying to control him. As I once said to my sister, we don't walk Tom, he walks us.
Another habit we developed was to remember to feed him before we ate our meals, otherwise his puppy eyes would fill you with such guilt and regret that you would curse yourself for delaying his food!
And if we were eating one of his favourite foods, his sparkling black eyes would come and beg for it, even if he had already eaten. Then be it paneer or an apple or strawberry ice cream (his favourite), or egg or milk, he would simply sit and stare at you, until you could ignore him no longer and had to oblige his innocent face.
But he often used this innocent face of his to his advantage, too. Just like a little child, if you would find him sitting very quietly and being extra affectionate to you, you could be more than a hundred percent sure that some mischief had been done. But beneath the innocent face, lay a very mischievous dog who would jump on the beds and the sofas he was forbidden to go on, as soon as we left the house! How do we know he did that? Because sometimes he would not hear the unlocking of the door and forget to jump back in time, thus getting a good round of scolding.
He was the one who would scratch on the door of my room with his paws if it was locked, requesting - no, demanding! - to be let in. And when I opened the door, his look of disdain would make me wonder if he thought of the room as his; so how could I dare to lock it.
There are a countless stories of him that I could go on about. Tom has been one of the most integral parts of my life. He made me realize my identity as a pet-owner, as an animal lover. He came into our lives when I was 11, and a large part of childhood years was spent with him. While I liked to think of him as my younger sibling, I am sure he thought of me as a kid who doesn't know anything.
He taught me a lot of things. It may seem funny how a dog can give life-lessons. But now I think about it, and I realize he did.
I would often talk to him about my troubles. And no, it would not elicit an affectionate nudge from him as one would expect, but a stare and an expression that said, "Get over it, already!". Yes, my little cute dog was all about tough love. If he could talk, he would probably tell me to stop thinking so much about what others think of me, and focus on enjoying my life. Because that is what he did everyday, all his life. He looked out for himself before he looked out for us. We used to joke about how selfish he is, but , isn't this actually how we are supposed to live? Unless we are mentally and physically fit and happy ourselves, how can we ever expect to spread happiness and cheer and love to those around us!
He taught me to adapt quickly to all new situations. In 14 years of his life, Tom had lived in 3 cities, and in 6 different houses and locations. But never, did he exhibit any discomfort at any new place. In fact, he would always be super excited, sniffing and 'marking his territory' and looking around happily. Maybe he was a traveller and an explorer at heart, if that's even possible in dogs....
Tom wasn't just a pet to us. He was something much, much more. In the last one month he had lost much of the mobility of his hind legs and thus wasn't able to walk down the stairs from our 3rd floor house. I would carry him outside so he could walk a little, but he would wiggle out of my arms as soon as we would reach downstairs, even before we reached the small green patch where he would walk. He didn't want to cause any extra troubles, probably.
Even in the very last days of his life, he didn't want to be an inconvenience. (As if he could ever be!) He was throwing up twice or thrice a day, and not eating anything. It was an alarming situation, and obviously, he didn't have any energy to even move his head, much less move himself around. Yet, he would gingerly get up whenever he had to vomit, and do it on some papers we had spread just for this purpose. Just so cleaning up was a bit easier, my old fragile pet summoned all his energy.
The last day of his life, he was exceptionally restless. We were worried, but we thought it's probably because he is unwell. He was whimpering all day, which stopped only when someone would sit beside him. He was trying to tell us... and maybe we did understand, but were just in denial.
In the evening, I was sitting near him in my room. He was just as restless, and his eyes would flick to the door when my parents passed by. Maybe I had an inkling so I called them both, and we spent some time sitting with our dear lovely pet. We tried to feed him milk, but he wouldn't have more than 1 spoonful of his favourite food. But something is better than nothing, we thought! He also relaxed a bit when we were sitting, giving us the illusion that he was feeling better.
But of course, it wasn't so. Just an hour later, when somehow none of us was in the same room as him, my mother heard a yelp, and asked me to check on him. I went, and my little friend was once again throwing up, this time on his bed, on himself. He had no energy left, and I think I just knew, that something is terribly wrong here. I called my father, who held him and tried to put him in an upright position because he was unable to get up. But then and there, in my father's arms, he went away, bidding us all the final goodbye. In his last and final moments, he called out to us, and that I think was the ultimate expression of his love.
Now, our house seems empty. We don't know what to do with his leash and his bowl and his coat and his other accessories. We are struggling to deal with the loss of someone who had become an intrinsic part of our lives for the past 14 years. Dealing with the loss of a pet is just as bad, if not worse than the loss of a family member. We are all grieving in our own way: me by fooling myself into thinking that he's still here, my mother by wanting to get another dog looking exactly like Tom (who we will of course, again name Tom), my father quietly and privately while sharing his old pictures with us, and my sister by imagining how happy and healthy he must be in dog heaven.
Hope you are indeed enjoying your afterlife, little baby.
Tom was our pet dog, who lived a grand long life of 14 and a half years. But no amount time with a loved one seems enough, does it!
I am yet to believe it. It just doesn't register. I feel he's sitting in one of the other rooms, and I can almost sometimes hear the tap-tap sound of his paws which could be heard when he walked on the tiled floors. This mischievous little pet of ours had forced many habits for us over the course of his life, which now, we are finding hard to let go of...
For instance, we would never leave the main door of our house open even for a few seconds, because our adventurous explorer always wanted to sneak out and explore the neighbourhood without the constraints of a leash and a human trying to control him. As I once said to my sister, we don't walk Tom, he walks us.
Another habit we developed was to remember to feed him before we ate our meals, otherwise his puppy eyes would fill you with such guilt and regret that you would curse yourself for delaying his food!
And if we were eating one of his favourite foods, his sparkling black eyes would come and beg for it, even if he had already eaten. Then be it paneer or an apple or strawberry ice cream (his favourite), or egg or milk, he would simply sit and stare at you, until you could ignore him no longer and had to oblige his innocent face.
But he often used this innocent face of his to his advantage, too. Just like a little child, if you would find him sitting very quietly and being extra affectionate to you, you could be more than a hundred percent sure that some mischief had been done. But beneath the innocent face, lay a very mischievous dog who would jump on the beds and the sofas he was forbidden to go on, as soon as we left the house! How do we know he did that? Because sometimes he would not hear the unlocking of the door and forget to jump back in time, thus getting a good round of scolding.
He was the one who would scratch on the door of my room with his paws if it was locked, requesting - no, demanding! - to be let in. And when I opened the door, his look of disdain would make me wonder if he thought of the room as his; so how could I dare to lock it.
There are a countless stories of him that I could go on about. Tom has been one of the most integral parts of my life. He made me realize my identity as a pet-owner, as an animal lover. He came into our lives when I was 11, and a large part of childhood years was spent with him. While I liked to think of him as my younger sibling, I am sure he thought of me as a kid who doesn't know anything.
He taught me a lot of things. It may seem funny how a dog can give life-lessons. But now I think about it, and I realize he did.
I would often talk to him about my troubles. And no, it would not elicit an affectionate nudge from him as one would expect, but a stare and an expression that said, "Get over it, already!". Yes, my little cute dog was all about tough love. If he could talk, he would probably tell me to stop thinking so much about what others think of me, and focus on enjoying my life. Because that is what he did everyday, all his life. He looked out for himself before he looked out for us. We used to joke about how selfish he is, but , isn't this actually how we are supposed to live? Unless we are mentally and physically fit and happy ourselves, how can we ever expect to spread happiness and cheer and love to those around us!
He taught me to adapt quickly to all new situations. In 14 years of his life, Tom had lived in 3 cities, and in 6 different houses and locations. But never, did he exhibit any discomfort at any new place. In fact, he would always be super excited, sniffing and 'marking his territory' and looking around happily. Maybe he was a traveller and an explorer at heart, if that's even possible in dogs....
Tom wasn't just a pet to us. He was something much, much more. In the last one month he had lost much of the mobility of his hind legs and thus wasn't able to walk down the stairs from our 3rd floor house. I would carry him outside so he could walk a little, but he would wiggle out of my arms as soon as we would reach downstairs, even before we reached the small green patch where he would walk. He didn't want to cause any extra troubles, probably.
Even in the very last days of his life, he didn't want to be an inconvenience. (As if he could ever be!) He was throwing up twice or thrice a day, and not eating anything. It was an alarming situation, and obviously, he didn't have any energy to even move his head, much less move himself around. Yet, he would gingerly get up whenever he had to vomit, and do it on some papers we had spread just for this purpose. Just so cleaning up was a bit easier, my old fragile pet summoned all his energy.
The last day of his life, he was exceptionally restless. We were worried, but we thought it's probably because he is unwell. He was whimpering all day, which stopped only when someone would sit beside him. He was trying to tell us... and maybe we did understand, but were just in denial.
In the evening, I was sitting near him in my room. He was just as restless, and his eyes would flick to the door when my parents passed by. Maybe I had an inkling so I called them both, and we spent some time sitting with our dear lovely pet. We tried to feed him milk, but he wouldn't have more than 1 spoonful of his favourite food. But something is better than nothing, we thought! He also relaxed a bit when we were sitting, giving us the illusion that he was feeling better.
But of course, it wasn't so. Just an hour later, when somehow none of us was in the same room as him, my mother heard a yelp, and asked me to check on him. I went, and my little friend was once again throwing up, this time on his bed, on himself. He had no energy left, and I think I just knew, that something is terribly wrong here. I called my father, who held him and tried to put him in an upright position because he was unable to get up. But then and there, in my father's arms, he went away, bidding us all the final goodbye. In his last and final moments, he called out to us, and that I think was the ultimate expression of his love.
Now, our house seems empty. We don't know what to do with his leash and his bowl and his coat and his other accessories. We are struggling to deal with the loss of someone who had become an intrinsic part of our lives for the past 14 years. Dealing with the loss of a pet is just as bad, if not worse than the loss of a family member. We are all grieving in our own way: me by fooling myself into thinking that he's still here, my mother by wanting to get another dog looking exactly like Tom (who we will of course, again name Tom), my father quietly and privately while sharing his old pictures with us, and my sister by imagining how happy and healthy he must be in dog heaven.
Hope you are indeed enjoying your afterlife, little baby.
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| I'm cute and I know it! |