Carry On Canine!

Right from those 'Man's best friend' times to the present 'Ow! Take whatever you want but please don't hurt me!' era, dogs have unanimously established themselves as icons of evolution. They have grown to become rulers of the rayless roads, scavengers of the summer sun, perpetual stars as an embodiment of passionless procrastinating life where all that is demanding is food, sleep and scrutinised security to their area earmarked, by relentlessly barking their larynx off at other innocent four-legged trespassers. Right from my very childhood, dogs have always given me the creeps. Immaterial of their size, age and appearance, dogs have possessed this miraculous capability of terrorizing my glass-like soul, effortlessly generating goosebumps all over my skin and spontaneously sending that chill down my spine, giving me the feeling of suddenly being teleported to the North Pole and made to stand on my toes with the barest minimum of clothing to support my frail figure. Sometimes I get this Gandhian pump to fight the fright, ward off all panic and develop that aura of indifference towards those vicious hounds, yet there still exists that surplus minimum balance of fear that initiates those batteries on my legs to click to life.

Motion is the most uplifting spirit that these mangy curs could ever set their eyes on. They so appreciate motion that they find it a delighful hobby to chase anything that is on the move. Curse my luck, most of the times that 'anything' is me! I'm not striving to humour you, but pups are also spine-chillers to me. The minute I hear any female voice that might remotely resemble this statement "Awww, such darling puppies", I make sure I'm out of the picture in record time. Why, they are so intimitidating that every time I cross a litter of pups, I keep turning back to look if one has followed me, and even if I feel a slight brush on my leg it makes me flinch. Thankfully, it lands up mostly being a stone or an overgrown hedge. If I ever came face to face with a boggart, I swear to Lucifer, it would take the shape of a Scottish greyhound baring its pointed teeth, waiting to pounce on me and tear me to shreds. Brrrr!

The prime reason I should attribute this dreadful horror of mine to would be this incident during my early fourth grade. It was during those glorious pre-adolescent days when all happiness and enjoyment concentrated itself on whizzing by in my gleaming pink bicycle.(Lets face it! Am I to blame if the only cycle I happened to own was bubblegum pink in color? It paid off too. The freckled pony-tailed girl from across the road always wanted to ride it ok!). Those adrenaline packed cycle races refereed by our half-blind watchman with his wet green whistle, the petty quarrels on the finish line, exchanging cycles and comparing each others grandeur and finesse - Memories sure come flooding by. Now during one of my weekend lap practices, I happened to run over the paw of Jiggly or whatever that brown red-eyed hooligan dog was called and in a flash it had gotten up and started chasing me. I cycled fast, fast as in formula fast, trees flying by, with the gush of wind in my face pushing my eight-year old hair back, while the dog continued its heated pursuit. All of a sudden, Bang! No no not a truck, but a round smooth stone laid in the middle of the path trips me and I fall and bruise my knee. Yet it was not the physical pain that traumatised me but that lofty-tailed specimen on my very heels. But the lousy mongrel came closer and closer and eventually ran right past me into the wilderness beyond, making me wonder if I had been born retarded or if I just grew up so!

Yet, the damage had been done, and the fear factor stayed on which is why nowadays even if dogs come expecting compassion, I quietly slink away to safer enclosures and try and reduce the furious beating of my heart. I also strongly believe that Jiggly communicated details of my appearance to every other dog on Earth via some huge global canine broadcasting system, which is why every dog I see hates me or atleast appears to do so. I do understand I make funny weird punching and twisting actions at chained dogs, but that does not mean they should forego their iron-willed attachment to their beloved humans should they! I still keep my fingers crossed and wait for that one epic day when the actual bonding happens between me and a mutt. Until then, Cyonophobia will continue to haunt my sensitive soul and only time can tell.

-Supermur.