Who Let the Dogs Out?

Do you own a dog? Have you come across an Indian while walking your dog? Do they look at it like it’s an alien and jump ten feet sideways to avoid it, making you wonder if your pup just contracted the plague or rabies as you stepped outside the house, and is now frothing at its mouth? Your scrawny 7 lb mini-chihuahua? Yeah, that’s most Indians I have met too. Infact, I’ve also had to deal with this why-on-earth-do-you-have-that-thing- look; folks searching my face to decode the genetic kink that might’ve caused the deranged thinking that led to this uncivilized cohabitation.

One summer evening, as the sun was setting, I was walking my dogs on a narrow sidewalk. I saw a middle-aged, Indian man jogging towards me; his man-boobs doing an excited jiggle in step with his feet. I expected him to have seen me too. But no, he got inches within us, and then realized there were three animals waiting for him! He jumped so high that his ear buds and feet and sweat went flying into the air. My dogs were utterly frozen with fear. When he finally landed a few feet away, he glared at me like I had let patrol dogs loose on him. My dogs were on leashes. My littlest might have even peed a little.

So, what can I say about why? I suppose I am one of those lucky or unlucky ones (depending on your perspective) to grow up with pets. My mom loved them even though she never grew up with one herself. She always had notorious stories to tell me though, like when she and her big sister, both under ten years old, enacted “Who will Bell the Cat?” by looping their mother’s gold necklace around a stray cat’s neck. When the poor cat panicked, and jumped onto the roof, they had to scramble up there too to retrieve the necklace so they could save their own necks later.

When I was two years old, my mom brought home an Alsatian pup that grew exponentially, and became my “horsey”.  My dad loved him too, but from a distance- petting and cooing and hand-feeding was for the rest of us crazies. He always made sure they were well taken care of though- with vet visits and all. A stream of pets followed in subsequent years. And all this time, I never saw my own friends or extended family freak out around my dogs. Maybe because my parents always crated them when we had people over. And interestingly, my closest friends, while in school, had dogs too.

 So when I came to the USA, and started noticing the obvious paranoia of Indian folks, I was perplexed. Other than the occasional Indian who had had the experience of being bitten by a stray in India, I could not understand their anxiety. I started asking questions, and realized the few who had actually been bitten by strays had to get a zillion anti-rabies injections to their stomach, and in the aftermath had made sure they relayed this information to as many people as possible. In short, according to these unfortunate victims, “All dogs were dangerous”. Well, there is more than an ounce of truth to that when you see it in their context. During my recent visit to India, I saw it firsthand. Some of these un-neutered street dogs had turned rogue and formed gangs, with the alpha dog leading the pack in attacking people riding bicycles and mopeds. I couldn’t understand why they had taken on the role of street mafia; perhaps just to show the world that the mad streets of India belonged as much to them as they belonged to the two-legged psychopaths on their outrageous, gassy transports, or they had simply rediscovered their natural, evolutionary instincts-becoming wild wolves again, and humans on the run looked like prey. Who knows?!

There is also the notion that dogs are dirty. And it’s another hard-to-shake-off fact about strays in India. They eat out of garbage dumps, stomp the litter-strewn streets all day, roll in filth, and sleep under overpasses. They are a tough lot, but sadly they are also smelly, tick and disease-ridden in some cases. And for many Indians, I suppose, this image stays with them no matter how many seas they cross. Even the little, shy, anxiety-ridden American pets appear like monsters waiting to lunge and taste human blood, or give you some incurable canine disease. (Honestly, I’d much rather have a random pet lick my face than a familiar human! My dogs get their teeth cleaned twice a year at the vet’s office. They have a sweet breath throughout the year. Can you imagine your human best friend brushing their teeth only twice a year and having a sweet breath? Yeah, there’s a reason why it’s called “puppy breath”. No one wants to smell yours.

My favorite doggy-aversion incident was when this loud, obnoxious Indian guy I met outside in my yard went on a  rant about the political sign I had stuck in it. Imagine my elation when my husband walked up with our three dogs, and I watched as the fellow’s eyeballs bulged like balloons! In a flash, he butt-scurried the heck outta my way.

I’ve also seen some Indian neighbors, who step outside their front doors, take one look at my little dogs, and step right back inside, like they just forgot something. Once, after turning the corner, I chose to surreptitiously watch one of them. And I realized she was surreptitiously watching me too- through her living room window! I pretended to keep walking, and turned back, just in time to see her step outside with relief- like she had escaped a close call from a looming 18-wheeler.

Anyway, I have to be fair and tell you that I have also met a few Indians who own dogs. Some who, like me, grew up with pets, some who have succumbed to their American-born children’s wishes, and a few who have gotten them to fulfill their own lifelong yearning for a pet; a longing  their Indian parents could never acknowledge. Some have even been brave enough to risk their marriages to adopt a furry, loyal, canine, and watched in delight as their spouses grew to love them (the dogs, I mean). I have also seen some furniture-climbing Indian friends come to accept my dogs as friendly, earthly creatures not on a born-to-bite mission, and a few Indian neighbors who look at my dogs and smile rather than rocket-launch themselves into the grass.

In the end, it’s all about perception. If you’re inclined to alter it, I suppose you’ll find a way, or perhaps time itself inadvertently becomes your canine-friendly counterpart.