A dog's life

Congo was a remarkably friendly and wonderful dog.  I was always, always, struck by the absolute lack of any meanness in him.  And always, always, he was happy to see us and to be with us.  If only we humans could have his attitude.

"Was" because Congo died more than a decade ago.  His heath problems began to show up when he simply could not even climb a couple of steps of the staircase.  He could not walk for long.  He started curling up like the proverbial sick dog.

The vet examined him. The verdict was in.  Congo had an enlarged heart that was slowly weakening.  The fellow literally and metaphorically had a big heart.  The vet didn't think Congo had more than a few months left, unless we were willing to spend a whole lot of money on a few options.

Over the weeks, Congo seemed more and more tired.  Sometimes he did not even walk up to welcome me when I came home; instead, he continued to sit in his basket and waited for me to go to him.

At one point, I asked the vet when I would know what the time will be to ease Congo's troubles and put him down.  I still remember the vet's words: "You will know."

About six months after the diagnosis, it was clear that Congo had suffered enough.  A different vet, who made house calls only for the terminally ill pets, came home to administer the euthanizing drugs.  It was a traumatic for us, but a peaceful end for him.

Congo died at home, with his loved ones.  A privilege that we do not extend to the human kind.  Rarely ever do suffering humans get such good deaths.

David Goodall could not get such an option for himself in his home country of Australia.  The 104-year old had to travel to Switzerland in order to get help for his life to end.

On the eve of his death, David Goodall, 104, Australian scientist, father, grandfather and right-to-die advocate, was asked if he had any moments of hesitation, “even fleeting ones.”
“No, none whatever,” Mr. Goodall said in a strong voice. “I no longer want to continue life, and I’m happy to have a chance tomorrow to end it.”

It is a shame that he had to do this in an alien territory.  Far, far away from Australia.

He expressed gratitude to the Swiss and regret at having to leave home for Switzerland, the only country that offers assisted-dying services to foreigners if the person assisting does not benefit from the person’s death. (Only 40 Australians are known to have made the journey, according to Exit International, because of the length of the flight and the cost of the trip.)
“I am very appreciative of the hospitality of the Swiss Federation and the ability that one has here to come to an end gracefully,” Mr. Goodall said, adding, “I greatly regret that Australia is behind Switzerland in this move.”

Even when the person is 104, and wants to call it quits, society does not extend him the treatment that Congo was legally eligible for and which he received.  Some day we will change the way we think about good death.  Soon, I hope.

Lend me your ear

Back in India, when we were kids, towards the end of one school year, a puppy wandered into our compound and made himself home there.  We kids loved the sight of a puppy, of course.  The traditional, and orthodox, household we were, the puppy had to remain outside.  Mother gave him food and he was happy.  Once, when she gave him something to eat, the fellow--as small as he was--scratched the dirt and tried to bury the food for later, which amused me to no extent.

A few days later, it was time for us kids to head to grandma's village for the summer break.  We packed the bags into the car, which my parents sold soon after the oil shock of the early 1970s.  The car started rolling out of the compound on to the road.  The puppy darted after. The car picked up speed, and the puppy tried to keep up but could not.  It was an emotional moment.

When we returned to get back to school, there was no puppy.  The gut-wrenching emotion is why I remember that even after all these years.

Much later in life, here in America, life was with dogs at home.  There was no doubt about which of the two was the awesomely lovable fellow--he seemed to lack even one mean muscle in his small body.  As awesome as he was, I always regretted that the owners of his mother had docked his tail even when he was a mere few weeks old pup.

I do not understand the fascination with docking dogs' tails or cropping their ears.  How awful!  Dog breeders and owners continue with this cruelty because, well, there is no real law against it, even though the animal health professionals oppose these practices:

The American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA) and the Canadian Veterinary Medical Association (CVMA) oppose these procedures, with the AVMA stating that these procedures "are not medically indicated nor of benefit to the patient," and "these procedures cause pain and distress, and, as with all surgical procedures, are accompanied by inherent risks of anesthesia, blood loss, and infection."  

At least some countries are sensible enough: "cosmetic tail-docking is banned throughout Australia and in numerous parts of Europe."  Here in the US?

As of 2014, only two states, Maryland and Pennsylvania, have any restrictions on tail-docking, focusing on the dog’s age at the time of surgery and the use of anesthesia. Only nine states regulate ear cropping. 

You don't even had to have enjoyed the company of a dog for you to visualize a happy dog wagging its tail, right?  But, when its tail is docked?

Numerous studies find that tails are (gasp) useful and meaningful in dog-dog communication (more formally known as intraspecific communication, or communication between members of the same species). Even Charles Darwin recognized that tail up has a different meaning than tail down, and dogs attend to long tails better than short ones. The side of the body that a tail wags can even be informative to another dog: a dog seen wagging more to his right-side would be perceived more positively than a dog wagging more to his left. A stump is less informative. 

Imagine doing anything similar to a fellow human!  Animal rights is not merely about killing them for food or for sport.  Animal rights extend to such aspects too.

Since 2008, the American Veterinary Medical Association has encouraged “the elimination of ear cropping and tail docking from breed standards.” Who is going to stand with them?

It is a mad, mad, mad, world!

Even dogs' lives have improved in India!

When I was about eight or nine years old, a puppy strayed into our yard.  Perhaps a six-month old pup.  It ate whatever was thrown out, and seemed to have decided that our yard was his place in life.

One day, when mom gave him--well, tossed to him--something to eat, I remember watching with utmost fascination this puppy seriously digging a hole in the ground, burying this food scrap, and then covering it up.  My first puppy love it was, I suppose :)

In a couple of days, however, it was time for us to travel to Sengottai and Patatmadai for the annual holidays.  That is what we did most summers--we went to grandmas' homes.  We had to board the train at vriddhachalam, which, during my childhood days, felt like a gazillion miles away from Neyveli.

As we started driving, the puppy followed us.  Initially, with the car slowly inching out through the gate and then onto the road, he had no problems keeping up with us.  Then, as the car started accelerating, the pup started racing as fast as he could.  Soon, he fell behind, and was gone from view in no time at all.

For a family that didn't have animals as pets, those couple of days we were a family with a dog.  Every once in a while, during that summer break, I wondered whether the puppy would be waiting for us when we returned.  Of course, that was not the story.

Years later, in the US, I have had dogs at home, but my memory of this first dog has not gotten erased. 

Now, decades after that--almost four decades after that accidental puppy interaction--here I am walking around in some really, really, traditional and old parts of Tamil Nadu.  While stray dogs are everywhere, the kids seem to far too busy with their own lives to even bother the sleeping dogs. 

And then I see this, in an absolutely traditional home in an old street in an old small town of Srivaikuntam:

The door was ajar, and there was a dog happily sitting there watching the comings and goings.  He didn't even bother when I stopped there for a few seconds to take a photo.

If in such a small town, in a traditional part of that town, a dog gets this kind of a treatment, then I can only think that India has changed a lot. For the better.