A certain gloom and paranoia has shadowed him. Our regular walks are not the same anymore. His senses are highly attentive when in the open. He fears that a BMC (Bombay Municipality Corporation) official will either sterilize him or kill him; mistaking him to be a stray.

This sorry situation seems to bring the best in him. When I throw the ball on the wall, expecting him to run behind it and grab it in his mouth, he waits for it to rebound and then grab it, completely surprising me. He’s scared that the ball might take him out of my sight and in the zone of danger.

Whenever I watch TV in my room, he comes in kicking a football; pauses, gives me a sad-sorry look and continues to play with the ball. I stare. I stare at him. Who is more intelligent? Isn’t Man the most intelligent of all living creatures?
Tweego never questions. I think he believes questioning is for journalists. No wonder he dislikes TV and the newspapers.
What good are questions anyway. It hasn’t and doesn’t solve the purpose.

Tweego has quickly adapted to his situation and moved on. I no longer feel sorry for him, I feel sorry for myself.

Wishing you a very Happy Christmas.

There is something in that look of his when he relieves himself. It’s a question he’s asking me. And each day he ventures into a new area.
On certain days it’s at the municipal plantations on roads, other days it’s on a heap of litter, sometimes the “nalla” (drain). It was today that I deciphered this dog language.

He chose the side of a wall, splattered with spit. Spit of paan (beetle leaf) and paan masala (chewable tobacco).
But today was different. Instead of one question, he had two!
I read the first,
“What’s taking you so long?”
But the second shook me off my feet.
“I am a dog, what’s your excuse?”