We had taken Yoda to a party on a terrace in the holiday season in Bombay. Things had not started well. Roshan, well meaning only in her own mind, had berated Mina for ‘dragging the poor little dog around’. Her body language said ‘people who did not know how to care for their pets, should not be allowed to have one’ and she came very close to suggesting that she would report us to the SPCA for animal cruelty. Mina was not amused.
Fortunately a crisis was averted. A gaggle of young women who had spotted Yoda in his bag did the usual pounce and flounce and whipped out their camera phones. Soon Yoda’s picture was traveling in the ether.
And that’s how we met Meera. She was the proud mother of Muffy, a Shih Tzu that she had got from Russia. We were invited over for dinner, so that dogs and their parents could meet each other and see if there was any chemistry.
Muffy had been traumatized by an incident in the playground where she was walked every morning. Another dog had attacked her, bit her, and terrorized her. Muffy had changed from a happy, vibrant dog into this quivering mass of fear. Her signature greeting was to bark, and keep barking and charging at people, till she was sent away with the servants to another part of the house.
We walked in, unaware of this, and Muffy began her barking routine. Yoda leapt back into Mina’s arms, and stayed there, all the while wagging his tail. He then jumped off, approached Muffy, and did his little dance of friendship. Muffy kept at it, and actually raised her decibel levels. I stood there arms at the ready, poised to pick up Yoda at the first signs of trouble.
But Yoda was fearless that day. He was on a mission, to make friends with Muffy, and nothing could deter him. He was careful not to invade her space, and yet kept sending out his positive vibes. ‘C’mon, let’s be friends. Let’s play together. Look, I’ve got some treats we can share. C’est moi. I’m not going to attack you’.
It took over half an hour, and taxed Meera’s patience to the limit. She was embarrassed and offered to have Muffy sent away. Mina was insistent that all would be well, and that we should sit back and enjoy the South African wine that was being poured. Alcohol kept all our nerves from fraying. The servants stood at the door, waiting to see this soap opera reach its conclusion. Blood and gore seemed on the menu.
And then Muffy settled down. She sat down in her corner, looked at everyone, and immersed herself in the doggy treats that Mina had brought. Yoda began a delicate set of overtures, two steps forward, one step back. ‘Incrementalism’, ‘ surging’, ‘mission creep’, call it what you will, Yoda was inching forward.
The jazz was cool, the wine was smooth, the finger foods kept rolling in, and our attention wavered. The next thing we knew, Yoda had gone off into Meera’s bedroom, marked some territory, and the two dogs were now sitting side by side, communing. Every once so often Muffy would growl, but it was soft, gentle and with her tail wagging. She did not want to completely give up her gangsta persona.
They are soul mates now. Muffy came out of her shell and re-discovered her essential doggy-ness. Yoda gets very excited when we tell him that we are going to see Muffy. She comes out to greet us at the elevator, every time we visit. We know that the welcome is for Yoda, and we are just there for the ride. Muffy still barks, but more just for the fun of it.
They now do a Bollywood routine, and chase each other around the house. No barking, no aggression, just lots of affection and sheer joie de vivre. All it needs is a few potted plants, a gentle rain shower, bhangra pop pulsating in the background, and Muffy in a diaphanous clingy wet sari for the picture to be complete.
They say that having a pet keeps you from feeling depressed and lonely. They say that pets are now part of therapy programs in hospitals. They say that children who read to their pets do better, than ones who read alone, or aloud to themselves.
No, this is not a Kumbaya moment. But I might just take Yoda one of these days to the border with Pakistan. Peace prize anyone?
Jan 01, 2009 | | Book
Glenn was a Wall Street type who discovered a new calling sometime in the mid nineties. He has good friends, so one Sunday morning we woke up to see a full page article in the New York Times about his latest business venture – a new Dog Grooming Service called the Dog Wash. Appropriately it was located in McDougal Street, close to the Washington Square Hotel of Dylan and Baez fame. So, off we went to the Village, Yoda in hand.
The Dog Wash was in a basement, set up with stalls and shower heads with long, highly flexible pipes. There was a hook on the wall for you to tether your dog to, and you were free to hose down your own pooch. It was all very industrial, and production line, and totally in keeping with the name. He also had a young team of groomers who would, for a special price natch, do it for you. Barbara was our favorite, and she would always work on Yoda at the front table, as a showpiece for all prospective Dog Wash users.
It soon became a once a month routine. We would drop off Yoda, cruise the Village, walk past Grey’s Papaya , resist the temptation to eat the world’s best hot dog, or get parts of our bodies pierced. We would have lunch, take in all the latest T shirts in the head shops, and leather gear in the S and M stores. We would return, laid back and mellow, to a gloriously puffed out well trimmed dog.
Years passed, and then we discovered Le Chien on the Upper East Side. Lisa the owner is the classic New York type, reed thin, with high heels and a great attitude. She had built a shrine to her dear departed Yorkie and the centerpiece is a Page Six mention of her passing. Eric who runs the front office always took pains to tell us that he used to be the Night Manager in a trendy boutique hotel downtown, before he got here. We all need our back story to dress up our front story.
Rosie is Yoda’s favorite groomer of all times. She is a short, lively bundle of energy, enthusiastic about her work, and with great fondness for Yoda. She always makes herself available except on Friday mornings in the summer when the Hamptons bound dogs all have to be groomed, and RIGHT NOW! The chopper is waiting.
Rosie has a wonderful bedside manner. She comes bounding up from her warren in the basement, grabs Yoda in her hands, and asks ‘ What look do you want for Yoda today?’ The options are simple – extra long for the winter, and slightly short, ‘but no puppy cut’ for the summer. Rosie does this little ballet routine as she asks – I’ll trim his feet, do his beard, clean up his privates, and clip his nails- okay?
Way back, when Yoda was not well, we had got him an extreme puppy cut. He came out of the salon aware that something major had happened, but unsure how to react to it. We were a little gob smacked when we saw him. Where had all the hair gone? Our dog looked like he had lost some serious weight. We could see his torso, and the outline of his ribcage. He still had a lot of hair on his head, and looked like a pom pom on a stick. The only good thing that came out of this was that we could clearly see his legs and their stance – paws flayed out, just like a ballerina in the second position. Tres elegant, even if hairless.
We burst out laughing, and Yoda was destroyed. It took him a long time to forgive us, but even more important, to recover his poise and jauntiness. Since then, we have learned. It doesn’t matter what he looks like, he’s always Fabulous.
Rosie needs at least four hours to get Yoda cut, shampooed, dried out, combed and ready. So, Rosie mornings are museum mornings for us. The Met, the Goog, the Whitney and the Frick - uptown head shops of a different kind. We return to pick up Yoda, a little high minded, and with the sanctimonious air of people who have ‘done something to improve themselves’.
All that goes out of the window, the moment Rosie brings Yoda up. He is ecstatic and does his dance of joy. Mina is reaching into her wallet to pay. I am trying to curb his enthusiasm, all the time maintaining a line of patter with Lisa and Eric. Rosie eagerly awaits our approval. Mina does her bit, and hands Rosie her little white envelope.
We leave in a chorus of admiration. All the other customers at La Chien are renewed in their desire to get a new dog, or bring their old one in for a tune up. Yoda marches out confident that he has done his bit for canine commerce that day. We are freed from our museum haze.
The pooch has trumped Picasso once again.
Jan 01, 2009 | | Book
