Three Black Spots

Sibling Rivalry

When Ayesha was born, we were ruled by the firm commonsense of Dr Spock. A clear mind, a warm heart, and a steady hand were all that were needed to bring up healthy children. Love them, they’ll love you back, and all will be well with the world.

My how the world has changed. When Ayesha had her second baby – a lovely daughter called Ava, the big issue was sibling rivalry. How would Kieran – her 3 year old son react? How to make sure that he would not feel supplanted in everyone’s affections. Hugs and kisses alone would not do the job. Telling him that he now had a little baby sister to look after would not be adequate. Something more had to be done.

The solution could only have been devised by Toys R Us, or Fischer Price. All the books, web sites, and mother clusters had the same wisdom to offer. Every visitor would come to see the new baby bearing gifts. So, Ayesha had to stock up on gifts for Kieran, and hide them away in the kitchen. Every time that Ava got a gift, Kieran got one too. We were all enlisted in the conspiracy, and Kieran made out like a bandit.

When we got Yoda, Ayesha was 22 years old, a senior in college and about to graduate. She had been used to a sibling free, sharing free life, with the attendant pleasures and pains of flying solo as our only child.

The first sign of trouble post-Yoda was a conversation which ended with the words ‘ Just remember, he’s only a dog’. I have completely forgotten the context, but we were probably sharing our baby-sitter or dog bow angst. And if truth be told, we do have a way of going on about such things.

We come at Yoda from different ends of the telescope. For us, he is another child. For Ayesha he is a beloved pet. She is fond of him, but she has a husband, two children and a cat of her own. Her life is about bigger things.

‘That rat dog is not going to mess up my house. I don’t want Kieran playing with his poop’. And so Yoda was banished to Ayesha’s kitchen when we went to visit, and Jayanand sat with him to keep him company. Archy would also sidle up to Yoda, and the three of them probably had more fun than us.

More recently Ayesha found a creative solution to keep her home free of Yoda’s leavings. She got the most humungous child gates, so Yoda is corralled in her new big kitchen, and cannot roam the house at will. We all sit around the dining table sharing the space with him, so he wont feel alone or left out.

Even when his movements are being curtailed, he is still calling the shots. If Yoda were ever sent to prison, he would soon have a plasma TV and his own mini bar, and be running a numbers racket from his cell. Aryan nation watch out, Yoda is here.

Yoda plays his part as ‘uncle’ with great gusto. The first time Kieran came to our home, Yoda stood guard at the foot of his bed. He put on the stern face of the Beefeaters outside Buckingham Palace, and would not crack a smile or budge. If we put him in a red coat and a big furry hat, people would have lined up to get their picture taken with him. He only broke position when Kieran went to sleep, and then it was just to get a drink of water and bound right back. He does the same with Ava. I am sure that he will fulfil his avuncular duty and take them to Friday night movies when they are older.

All is well now, and Ayesha has settled down into a resigned acceptance of Yoda’s role in our lives. Should we have played it differently? Should we have bought Ayesha a squeaky toy or a stuffed animal every time Yoda got one? Should we have got her bagsful of Cheerios when Yoda got his kibble? Should both have been given matching Burberrys?

A parent’s life is full of these ‘what ifs’.

Aligote 86

In the days when I worked in advertising, we were always astounded by the results from blind tests. We used to advertise for Forhans toothpaste, which everyone thought had a peculiar taste. We tried our best to call it distinct, and unique, the way we refer to some women as having personality. They all knew what we meant.

The 800 pound gorilla was Colgate. Test them against each other with all the finery on – the packaging, brand name and imagery, and Colgate had a very distinct minty, fresh flavor. While Forhans tasted like ‘an old people’s toothpaste’. Put them in blind tubes, and suddenly they both tasted more alike.

Recently, we did a blind test at home with white wine. Far more fun than toothpaste, and as fine an excuse as any to get well oiled. Two Indian, one French, one Chilean- all table wines. And voila, the Indian wines came out on top.

Do dogs respond to advertising and brand image? When they sit in front of the TV, are they taking in the jingles? Can they tell when a Boston Market commercial comes on? Do they salivate, as I do when Red Lobster is sizzling on the screen? Or do they just rely on their pure senses to guide them in matters of taste and smell?

Yoda can tell the difference between chicken , beef, veal and pork. He can certainly tell the difference between branded roast chicken and the regular home cooked kind. I don’t think he has seen any Tyson’s commercials recently, so it must be a visceral reaction to its fine taste.

He responds to Tandoori chicken, after the masalas have been washed out. He can recognize his bag of chewy treats being opened, though I am not sure if it is the bag’s color, the distinct sound that it makes as we unzip it , or the aroma.

He also knows when he is being conned. He can detect every attempt to sneak in a pill, or even a powdered pill into his food. We have seen him jeer at us, with a ‘Did you think you could fool me?’ look.

Mina’s mother was the first person to introduce Yoda to alcohol. She was fond of sherry, and used to dip her finger in her glass and offer it to him. Many licks later, her digit was wiped dry, and Yoda went off to a corner with a happy expression on his face.

He has turned his nose away from beer, not without getting a huge dollop of foam on it. And whisky has never held any fascination for him.

Wine is another matter altogether. In Burgundy, he was very attentive, but not particularly impressed by the big names. Corton Charlemagne, Puligny Montrachet, Chablis – he waltzed through the vineyards and cellars quite unmoved. Sniff, sneer and move on.

At the end of our trip we were in the Aligote region. In the Burgundy caste system, Aligote is very low on the totem pole. A light white, it is meant to be drunk very young, and quite often with Kir. We were doing a tasting in the garden of an owner, who very graciously pulled out a whole range of bottles for us. She got into the game of doing a taste test with Yoda. He was unmoved as she offered various recent vintages. Then came the acid test. She pulled out a bottle of 1986 vintage red, just over 20 years old. There was an anxious moment as she checked if it was still drinkable. And, indeed it was. Eminently so. In fact, unreasonably so.

Yoda thought so too. Of all the wines that had been offered to him that morning, this was the one that he lapped up. Two drops, then four, and he would have attacked the whole bottle if Mina had let him.

‘A true connoisseur’ – the highest accolade that the owner of a vineyard can bestow on anyone. Yoda preened, and slumped in the back seat, as we set off for Lyon.

The dog also rises

On the last day of February each year, the Indian Finance Minister stands up in Parliament and presents the Annual Budget for the next financial year. It usually has three parts. The first is a self congratulatory look at the past, to demonstrate how well the economy has done, and what wonderful stewards the Ruling Party have been of the common weal. The second is the presentation of the grand macro economic vision, and the third the actual taxation proposals.

This year, the Finance Minister took time out in his speech to announce benefits to those who love dogs and cats. He reduced the duties on pet food from 30% to 20%. He expected to get a thumping ovation ( our MPs thump their desks). Instead he was drowned by a chorus of boos and cat calls from the opposition who said the hell with dogs, what do you plan to do for the common man? This are normal Parliamentary debating tactics, and not to be taken seriously.

The Speaker of the House chastised the unruly Members and asked if they did not like dogs. The ‘when did you last beat your wife’ moment passed, and the Minister went on to a technical discussion of his VAT proposals. The next morning the newspapers were full of derision about the ‘kutta-billi’ ka budget. The budget for cats and dogs, but it loses something in the translation. I suspect that the Minister will find other ways to play to the galleries in the future.

They say that any country that has a McDonald’s will never go to war. Once the populace has got hooked on Big Macs, or Maharaja Macs as we call them in India, their martial instincts get dulled. There is too much at stake in the status quo, too many Mac-fries-shakes to be consumed.

Its time to expand this concept. Any country that takes its pets seriously will never go to war. Who will feed the cat? Who will take the dog for a walk? What will we do if the groomers all take to the hills? Heaven forbid that Kitty Litter supplies dry up. If the vet gets sent to the front lines, who will clip my dog’s nails? These will be the primary questions on people’s minds, as they contemplate War and Peace.

India’s pet moment has arrived. We have always loved our pets, and cared for them, but today we have pet stores to help us do our jobs better. The chattering classes now have existential debates on the relative virtues of Pedigree and Royal Canin. Frontline and Heartguard trip lightly off people’s tongues. Shampoos and supplements, collars and coats, obedience training and posturepedic doggy beds – these weighty matters pre-occupy us.

We now have Doggy Magazines, grooming salons, dog walkers, and dog runs. I knew that we had arrived when the plastic bag to pick up the dog’s poop became a de riguer part of the pet owner’s kit. I knew that we had arrived when a neighbor of ours breathlessly told us in the elevator that her dogs had won ribbons at the Kennel Club show. ‘ They even beat the Chief Minister’s dog’ was her triumphant cry.

The dog as accessory is beginning to happen, and one day we will have our own home grown Paris Hilton. The status symbol is to have an ‘imported breed’. Pedigree certificates are being framed, for display over the mantelpiece.

There’s no doubt that Yoda was a pioneer in this revolution. I am sure he looks at all this activity around him, and has a ‘been there, done that’ point of view. For over 12 years, he has been leading the way, and winning people over to his ideology, one person at a time, one tail wag, one lick at a time. In the last 12 years India has not been to war – I rest my case. Over the next year, I will do my best to get him an audience with the Finance Minister. I am sure that in ten minutes, he will persuade him to cut Income Taxes by half, and announce a grand retirement plan for every pet owner in India. Shih Tzu owners will also get a red Ferrari.

Stay tuned to the Budget next year, and when the Minister makes his announcements, just remember, you heard it here first.

Poochonomics

Katherine Campbell is my new hero. She punk’d the Bank of Queensland in style. She applied for a secondary card for her cat Messiah. What a lovely name. And, the bank actually issued it. The media frenzy lasted at least half a news cycle.

The story ended with a whimper. The bank apologized, cancelled the cat’s card, and all the Masters of the Universe went back to a feline free world of finance.

Would I have had the courage to take this to the next level? Would I have the nerve to hang the card in an ID pouch around the Yoda’s neck, go shopping and hand over the plastic to be swiped? What a delicious idea – to offer a paw print when presented with the charge slip.

Would I have the chutzpah?

What would the legal status be? The card would be legitimate, and guaranteed by me. The bank that issued the card would obligated to honor it. Could I sue in case an outlet refused to accept the card?

Ever since Ayesha became a lawyer, that is one of the first questions that pops into my head. Whom can I sue? Who has the deepest pockets? Where is the most sympathetic jury likely to be found? Can I find a way to weave ‘If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit’ into my closing arguments?

I am told that members of the Royal Family never ever carry money on their person. It’s all done behind the scenes, by a faithful retainer who either flashes a wad, or brandishes ‘Kohinoor Diamond’ cards. I don’t think they ask for discounts, though I am sure the Royal Warrant entitles them to some free stuff.

I have seen P.Diddy walk into a store, airily pick up a few doodads, and sweep out, leaving his butler to negotiate the payment, and discount. Royalty comes in all forms these days.

I think that pets are like Royalty. They never carry filthy lucre on their person. They are confident that we little people are ready to deal with such details. No muddying their hands with commerce. No bothering with charge slips, statements, minimum payments, and APRs.

One of these days I am sure they will find a way to give the pooch his plastic. It will probably be a microchip on his tail, with a direct debit link to our bank account. We humans will still need to whip out our cards and swipe. All he will do is wag his tail, and kerchunk, the cash register rings, the message travels through the ether, and the next time time I go the ATM, the machine swallows my card as a chorus of bankers sing ‘ Maxed out, Maxed out, He’s very maxed out’.

When spring comes around, young people’s minds turn to love, the 30s crowd do their taxes, and people of a certain age do their Wills. We decided to do them some time ago, and Ayesha sent us the paperwork. A key question was ‘How do you want to provide for Yoda?’ The protocol is that you should specify an amount, so that the pet can be maintained in the style that he has been accustomed to. Hah!

Mina and I sat down to do the numbers. Didn’t get very far, I am sorry to say. There are only two ways to do this. Either trust that the pet will be looked after. Or specify details that when made public will establish you permanently as a Loony Tunes. I do want to be remembered, but not as the pet profligate.

So, does Yoda care about all this? Naah. No plastic for him. No pictures of dead Presidents. For him, the best things in life are free