A SPARK OF VIBRANCY

Family friends came over to our house one day with a surprise for us. No, they didn't bring us candy or trinkets...they came with a puppy! Their bitch, they told us, had littered a month ago and only two of her five pups had survived. They kept one and gave us the other. And that's how we got Bimbo.

An extremely handsome pup, full of energy and mischief, Bimbo got his name from the subject of a song made famous by Jim Reeves. We initially presumed that he would grow into a medium-sized dog. But as a year passed, we realized that he would be only about half a foot tall. Bimbo, we concluded, was a probable mix between a pariah and a Dachshund.

GET SET...GO! Bimbo ready for a sprint

However, regardless of his small stature, he was a power house of sorts. During his younger years, there were no threats he couldn't bolt away from and no crevices he couldn't creep into. In fact, he was particularly good at sniffing and chasing out rodents that scurried into our house from time to time, and hence, doubled up as a cat.

The other side of him was completely contradictory. He was a softie and loved to bask in the attention of children. I vaguely remember how my sister and I used to doll him up sometimes...complete with sun glasses, nail varnish and a scarf around his head. He was also a good playmate and specialized at treasure hunts (bones being the treasure) and hide-and-seek.

His regular excursions outdoors, however, attracted a lot of ticks to his small body. This - coupled with failing eyesight and hearing, and weakness in his limbs - robbed Bimbo from us sooner than we expected. Looking back, I reckon that some of the ailments he developed could have been an offshoot of random breeding, because although he was given to us much after Bingo, he passed away much sooner.

PANDA BOY

LORD OF ALL HE SURVEYS: Bingo in his hay days

With a snow-white coat and symmetrical black patches around his eyes and ears, Bingo looked every bit like a panda bear and lived the lifespan of one too...19 long years! Unable to distinguish his breed - he looked neither like a pariah nor a purebred - my maternal grandfather finally decided that he was a mongrel. Bingo was Papa's cutest dog, and his last one too. 

The most attractive thing about Bingo was his tail...rolled like a coil and perched perfectly on his lower back. He was fairly tall, his legs rather skinny and often coated with the dark grey silt in which he loved to frolic. His eyes were truly a mirror to his soul, because even in his later years with us, they betrayed a glint of mischief through those many clouds of cataract. 

Bingo was one dog who had been there and done ALL that. Be it scouring the hills to chase stray cats or digging up the backyard to hide bones that Papa used to give him from the kitchen, or even lying right in the middle of the road and having motorists negotiate their way around him, there was very little he hadn't done or experienced in his years with us. I remember Papa saying that Bingo cheated death at least twice...once when a coconut plummeted onto his head during a siesta under a coconut tree and next when a drunk biker struck him hard in his hip after skidding on the road one rainy evening.

Unlike your average pet dog, Bingo was a nomad, a free spirit...unwilling to be confined to the four walls of a house or compound wall. He ate and drank at will and would be difficult to trace sometimes, much to Papa's ire. But he was a remarkable watchdog, and could smell a trespasser from a distance even during the darkest of nights. When Bingo barked, we knew we had to be alert.

Papa passed away in 1996 and Bingo, himself entering the winter of his life by then, relied on us for food and shelter, and on May - a British tourist with a passion for dogs - for support. In fact, I think he thought of May as his mother. All he needed was to hear the sharp ring of her bicycle bell every morning as she passed by our house towards the beach, and would dart to her for a treat. May made sure he got all his vaccinations on time and if he was sick, she would treat him gratis. By her own admission, she loved Bingo and cared for him like one of her own.

Eight years after Papa's death, Bingo began fading away. He developed hematoma in both his ears, was having problem hearing, was virtually blind because of his cataract, and became extremely frail too. But I must mention that till his last breath, he was a jewel. He took his medicines without a fuss and tried as hard as he could not to mess the place where we had kept him. Even if he did mess up, the apologetic look in his eyes told us that he didn't mean to.

It was a peaceful evening when Bingo closed those sparkling eyes of his forever. I was 20 at the time and he was nearing 100. But for me, he will be forever 19.

GOLDEN OLDIES

I’ve loved dogs ever since I was a child. Something about them never ceased to fascinate me, and I knew right then that I would share a never-ending romance with them. 

I had two pet dogs to start with. Brownie – a rust coloured pariah – belonged to my paternal grandfather and Blackie – also a pariah – was my maternal grandfather’s. Since my parents’ houses are right beside each other, I had the privilege of enjoying the company of both these canines through my early childhood. 

Brownie was the more laid-back of the two…enjoying a frequent siesta on the cool mud benches in the balcony or even on the sofa in the hall if he fancied it (much to the wrath of my mother). 

Blackie, on the other hand, was the sport…chasing speeding motorcyclists, playing fetch with my uncle, or taking a quick plunge into the creek just across our house. In fact, anytime he was near the creek, he would leap into my uncle’s arms and indicate that he wanted to be launched into the water. 

Once in his water world, it was very hard to persuade him to come onto dry land. And when he finally did decide to do so, he would arrive with mud socks on all of his fours, courtesy the silt lining the banks. Sauntering into the house, his dark brown footprints behind him, Blackie would be oblivious to my granddad’s rants and threats of a spanking. After all, he knew he was the uncrowned king of the home. 

I don’t remember when exactly Brownie and Blackie passed away, but I know that they did in quick succession and on account of a grand old age. And although my memory of them is rather restricted, they were my first loves and my ushers into the fascinating world of dogs.