Bambi, Chops and Wag: How three dogs trained a family

Ranjit Lal

Description

Bambi, Chops and Wag: A madcap story of how three dogs trained a family is a first-person account of author Ranjit Lal's love for his three pet dogs and how the family cared for the two Boxers and a Labrador. A book for everyone from age 10 to 100, this is a fun, easy-to-read book that will keep the readers hooked to their antics, and their different personalities. At times funny and at times touching the core of your heart, this book celebrates the family's commitment to the three adorable dogs: Bambi, Chops and Wag.

Sujets

• Young Adult
• Pets
• Relationships
• Dog
• Coming of age
• Relationship
• Pet
• Dogs
• Family
• Love

Informations

• Publié par: Roli Books
• Date de parution: 01 juillet 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788174368669
• Langue: English

Extrait

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Lotus Collection

© Ranjit Lal, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher.

First published in 2013

The Lotus Collection An imprint of Roli Books Pvt. M-75, Greater Kailash II Market, New Delhi 110 048 Phone: ++91 (011) 4068 2000 Fax: ++91 (011) 2921 7185 E-mail: [e-mail] Website: www.rolibooks.com Also at Bengaluru, Chennai, & Mumbai

Layout: Sanjeev Mathpal Production: Shaji Sahadevan Cover art & design: Priya Kuriyan

ISBN: 978-81-7436-940-6

To the memory of my father, whose favourite was Bambi, who chased Chops around the dining table yelling ‘chor pakdo!’ and who shuffled into the garden to scatter flowers on the hoodlum’s grave.

Contents
The Great Boxer Rebellion
First Pup
Running Wild
How’s Bambi?
Bholenath from Punjabi Bagh
Chasing Slippers and Girlfriends
Hoodlum From Hapur
Growly Dog
Walks, Runs, Fetches, Catches and Barks and Barks and Barks
Last Growl
Next Dog?
About the Author

1
The Great Boxer Rebellion
My parents, my two sisters Meena (then 20) and Mala (12) and I (17) were holidaying in Mahabaleshwar, a hill-station near Bombay in the winter of 1972, walking around the lake, when the conversation turned to dogs. If – and this was a very, very BIG if – we were to keep a dog, what breed would we choose? Alas, several breeds got terribly maligned in the ensuing discussion.
‘Not Pomeranians,’ was the unanimous verdict. ‘They’re so yappy and snappy and look more like cats than dogs. Yipyap, yipyap, yipyap all the time!’
‘And certainly not those Silky Sydney things! More like rodents than dogs!’
‘And they only eat chicken mince…’
‘Dachshunds are out, too. Poor sausage dogs! When they get fat they look like caterpillars!’
‘Gross!’

‘How about Poodles?’
‘You can’t be serious! They have to be taken to the hairdresser every month!’
‘What about Alsatians? They’re proper dogs. Keep an Alsatian and no on will dare come near you. Can you imagine an Alsatian walking by your side? Wow!’
‘But they’re supposed to be one-person dogs. And they need firm handling when they’re pups.’ Instinctively we knew we would be unable to ‘firmly handle’ any dog, even a Chihuahua, forget about an Alsatian. More likely they would ‘firmly handle’ us.
‘What about Dobermans, then? They’re excellent guard dogs and used by the police!’
‘But treacherous!’ we agreed, denouncing poor Dobermans forever. ‘There are so many stories about Dobermans turning on their owners. No thanks. We can’t have one of those.’
‘Golden Retrievers are really beautiful…’
‘But they have so much hair. Can you imagine giving them a bath? You’ll have to dry them off with a hair dryer and brush out their tangles three times a day. (We all turned to look at Mala who had very curly hair and had a tough daily battle untangling the knots.) And they need to be kept in air-conditioned rooms.’
‘I suppose you’ll have to do the same for Cocker Spaniels. You have to pin their ears over their heads when they eat.’
‘And that Kim is such a foolish fellow. Always tries to climb up on my leg.’ (Kim was a golden cocker that lived in our building in Bombay.)
‘But they are a convenient size. Especially for flats.’
‘I think big dogs are better.’
‘How about Labradors, then? They’re supposed to be very intelligent.’
‘And stubborn!’
Somehow Labradors didn’t strike a chord with us.
‘Boxers! They’re perfect! They have such sweet, worried-looking faces and big soulful eyes. And they have all those wrinkles. They look ferocious but are such softies. Like Cherokee…’
‘I don’t think he’s a proper Boxer. But remember how he chased that cat? With Mrs T charging after him screaming “Sherokeeee! Get back here!” and going all purple in the face! It was so funny!’ Mrs T was a formidable Englishwoman who lived in our building and who had confiscated several cricket balls from my friends and me, with which, needless to add, we had broken several windows.
‘They probably need a lot of exercise. They’re so athletic.’
‘But they don’t have hair so will be easy to look after.’
At this time, not for a moment did we consider the possibility of acquiring a ‘pie’ dog; all we knew was that we loved the way Boxers looked and wanted one.
The conversation lapsed into wistful silence and probably went on to other subjects.
Unknown to us, a seed was sown… It lay dormant until the following March. Then our immediate neighbours in Bombay acquired a Boxer pup, which their driver, (who often brought her to the garden) called ‘Lechmi’ (Lakshmi). Envious inquiries revealed that there was still one pup in the litter that needed a good home. And suddenly there was a Boxer Rebellion brewing in our own house, which came to the boil at the dining table one Sunday at lunchtime.
‘You know, the Dhars have got a new Boxer pup…’
‘She’s really very sweet…’
‘She’s called Lechmi and plays in the garden downstairs every morning…’
‘They say that there’s one last pup still left… Lakshmi’s sister.’
‘We’ve never had a dog…’
‘No family is complete without a dog.’
‘You don’t know what you’ve deprived us of, by not letting us keep a dog.’
‘We’re willing to forgo all pocket money and birthday presents this year and next…’
‘We don’t want any birthday presents if we cannot have the pup…’
‘We’re not hungry…’
Parental defenses went up at once, like umbrellas in a sudden thundershower.
‘How can we keep a puppy? Who’s going to look after it while you all are at school and college and gallivanting about town?’
‘It’s only in the morning that we’re out. We’re back home by lunch… And someone is always at home anyway, so it won’t be left alone or anything like that.’
‘We don’t think it’s such a good idea. It will be a lot of work. Besides if it’s a female she’ll come in heat and have puppies and we don’t want to get into all that.’
‘They say it’s better to keep a female rather than a male as your first dog. They’re gentler and easier to handle.’
‘It’ll be too much work. When she falls ill you’ll have to take her to the vet…’
‘We’ll do all the work. We’ll take her to the vet and for walks and feed her and exercise her and brush her.’
‘Oh yes! We know what that means.’
But faced with three united, mutinous faces, the first cracks in the defense appeared.
‘How much do they want for the pup?’
Whoops. We found out. The prospect got bleaker.
‘Umm… only six hundred rupees.’ (Probably worth three years’ pocket money and birthday presents combined at that time.)
‘Six hundred rupees?’
‘She’s very pedigreed.’
‘But six hundred rupees for a puppy ?’
Grim-faced we went back and spoke with the Dhars – who knew (and got back to) the owners. The scenario remained pretty dismal.
‘They’re willing to give her to us for only five hundred and fifty…’
‘A bargain.’
‘But we have to tell them quickly or she’ll be gone.’
‘By this evening.’
Our combined wealth at that time totalled around four hundred rupees.
‘If you can make up the rest, we’ll forgo birthday presents and pocket money until it’s recovered…’
And so, on April Fools Day, 1973, while Neil Diamond sang ‘Song Sung Blue’, Bambi made her appearance at our home, trembling and tremulous, and blessed the floor with her first tiny puddle. She was about six weeks old and smaller (the smallest of the litter) but prettier (we thought) than Lakshmi, with a more worry lines on her face and neat white socks on her paws, and a white map on her chest. She fitted comfortably in the hand and weighed just 5 lbs. I don’t remember now what other names we considered, but ‘Bambi’ seemed to suit her best, as she seemed timid and graceful as a deer and it didn’t matter that the original Walt Disney ‘Bambi’ was a he. A few days later we received her official pedigree papers from the Kennel Club of India and were completely blown away.
‘Will you just look at this!’ Meena said, shaking her head in wonder and then dissolved into giggles. ‘Her official name is Plucky Pandora, her sire was called Honest Iago (more giggles) and her mother was called Sabrina.’ She looked at Bambi. ‘Sweetie dog, do you know who your daddy was? But look – there’s a Brutus Von Tootus too – he must have been an honourable