On life and its vagaries

“A heid full of beis” *

with 3 comments


Being a dog is nothing great; in fact it is totally non-great. I know there is a saying among humans:

“Better be born a dog than lowest of a dozen”.

Technically they are right. The lowest gets ordered about all the time.

“Go check this…….”

“Take this to……”

“Switch that off you dolt…..”

“Didn’t I tell you idiot……”

Well, one hears it all the time, there’s children in the house, may be not a full dozen but enough to complicate one’s life.

It’s a hard life, I mean, that of the young ones here.  Yet one which would teach you humility, but what the hell is the use of humility, I wonder, if you can use it nowhere; they say one needs a big ego to live in this world!

May be they are right. But again what is all that to a country dog? It can never strut and march about like a stork. It would be caned………

You see, sayings do not make a dog’s life alright.

Honestly I would have been much better off if these guys hadn’t taken me in. I was sweetly drinking my mammas milk back in those days. There were visions of freedom before me, vistas to explore later. The country- side is a treasure house of incidents and interesting things; I see it sometimes now when I follow one of my weird family out.

But that life is never going to be mine now. A dog has a sense of duty. It can’t run away.  I would like to see the guy who made the dog rules, they are pretty restrictive.

As I said I was having a hell of a good time with my mamma.

Then that devil of a woman drove my mamma away and took me to these people.

“The black one is no good.”

She said, meaning my brother. He was already looking fierce and big.

“He will die off.”

He did die later. Though I never liked him, he came visiting me just before he died, why I can’t say.

I never could understand how these rustic dames know such stuff. I was terribly afraid of the black brother and would not go near mamma when he was drinking his fill.

We were three.  That is very unlike a mongrel bitch, I hear. Mostly they give birth to half a dozen.

But my ma was different.

“She is half bull dog you know.”

The terrible woman would say to her visitors.

But mamma was half native too and had no prudence in selecting her partners. I often wonder who my papa is.

Probably it’s that guy who has so many scars on him, he was fierce once and had licked me dozens of times. Now he is getting old. I had him showing his underside to me recently.

I felt pity for it then. I would not like to be so old and get licked by every upstart like that. When you are young it is easy, you can come back, and you can carry the hatred within you and store it up for future adventures. You can dream about licking your bitterest enemies.

Anyway my victory did not go unnoticed. It greatly delighted the eldest boy in the house.

‘Come, my hero.’ He said and bestowed a rare caress on me.  Such events are uncommon. Mostly they ignore me and kick me about when they feel like it. This is the weirdest of homes. But there is no use in saying it now, one can’t help ones fate, or so says the old woman in the house. So here I am in the craziest of homes.

Anyway they are not as bad as I make them out to be, they are not intelligent, that is! And it is not a sin, being not intelligent.  I don’t take to the intelligent as a rule, they act too superior, too sure of themselves. The airs they give themselves are a little beyond my ken. What do they pride themselves in?

Mostly hot air. You see it rising out of their ears.

But these guys are hilarious. At the least provocation everything goes haywire in this house.

The second kid fell down just now, running around the house, and started crying at the top of his voice. The mistress of the house was into her element right away.

She snatched a piece of rough wood and began chasing after the little devil. It was hurt, that was obvious and was bleeding at the knees. It needed treatment, but she was shouting.

I will kill you monkey; let me get my hands on you for once.

It was a great spectacle, if I was an artist I could have etched it, the child sprinting in front and the mother with loosened hair flying and with a big stick in her hand bounding after him.

I never could understand why she does it but has the sense to make myself scarce when that happens; she is not very particular on whom she lays about when in that mood.  The little one, though not very intelligent as I said, is blessed with a high sense of self preservation and would be running with great determination on his face away from his mother.

The chase would only subside after she gets tired from the hectic hither and thither sprint. The little guy is an adept at changing direction in the middle of the chase and in the technique of subtle evasion, though not big enough to outrun his mother. He has good practice by getting out of the clutches of his elder ones on a daily basis.

She has many idiosyncrasies. The other day she was running all over the neighborhood looking for this same guy. All the while he was sitting astride her hip munching a chocolate. He never uttered a word during the whole of the hunt. Others who came to search for him also did not notice him and the whole hell broke loose.

Then one of the sufficiently sensible helpers found him on the hip of the mother. She had thought that she was carrying his younger child on her all the while.

Why didn’t you say something?

Someone asked him.

Mother beat.

He said. He was afraid that his mother had taken a sudden fancy towards him for all the wrong reasons. He can’t be blamed; there is no logical explanation for her sudden mood changes.  He could not tell what actions of his have caused this wrath. Like me he was also at sea about the working of her mind and decided to save his ass for the time being by keeping quite.

Then there is the girl, she would never utter a single truth in her life. I had seen her playing with her father’s shaving razor and damaging it. Then she put it back. The father, who is the nicest of the whole lot, flew into a terrible rage this time and questioned every one. It was his pops and his pop’s before that and was like a family heirloom. The girl would not utter a single word, if she is the daughter of a woman, as the saying goes.

The blame naturally fell on the boys and they got an awful beating for it.  No wonder they don’t develop any brain cells. Such illogical things are not very conducive to the growth of intellect. They would probably go on wondering why they got beaten for no reason all their lives.

Then there is that little cousin girl of the children, she comes stealthily and eavesdrops on everything the family says. Once the mother of the children found it out, but was not as harsh as she is to her children.

You shouldn’t do that, she admonished.

The girl got up a temper at that and shouted.

So I did, what you going to do about it, should I bend low and salute you now?

Everyone laughed and she ran off, she wouldn’t set foot in the house for the whole of that day; such was her anger at the shoddy treatment.

You see the kind of company I keep. It’s terribly inconveniencing that I can’t laugh like the humans, anyway I howl with delight all the time.

I have many more things to tell you. But a flea has just gotten into my ear. It’s much worse than a bee in the bonnet if you want to know. The moment I remove it I shall be back with the tale of my woes.


* A Head full of bees

Alexander Douglas’s Aeneis, 1513:

‘Quhat bern be thou in bed with heid full of beis?’


3 Responses

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  1. i wonder what my cat would say if she could…nice perspective piece…


    August 21, 2010 at 9:41 pm

  2. Well, it’s unusual. I found myself thinking how glad I am that I don’t know people like that….Then I remembered the neighbours. Oh dear..


    August 23, 2010 at 7:44 pm

    how is everything, friend?
    It is Monday again, I sincerely invite you to join us for a Monday Poetry Potluck party, bring in 1 to 3 poem treats to share!
    You will have 60 hours enjoying the fun.
    Hurry up, the more you share, the happier we are.
    Hope to see you in our party….Last time to link in is Wednesday, 8am!

    love your blog.


    October 4, 2010 at 2:41 am

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