'K'hronicles of Kaloo-I: B & B!

I don't exactly remember when and why Kaloo walked into my life but I distinctly remember how she walked (very confidently) into my household and claimed the second armchair on my veranda. I had been vaguely aware that there was this black, rather scrawny, still-not-adult female dog hovering around my home in Shillong, but I had really not paid it much attention. But when she took to running beside the car and prancing around us when we alighted, I was compelled to give her a name. The name that came to my head was 'Kaloo', firstly, because she was quite black and secondly and rather selfishly, I  thought that by naming her with such a 'street' kind of a name, there would be nothing personal between her and me, no compulsions of any kind of commitment, either on me or on her.  So Kaloo she remained and soon the name was picked up by the children in the neighbourhood, and one often heard a child's eager voice calling out 'Kaaalooo' as she passed by my house. And our relationship remained stagnant, limited to some tail wagging by Kaloo when I occasionally called out to her to say 'hi'.

     Then the bone- chilling, soul-numbing Shillong winter descended upon on us. There is this culture of lighting fireplaces in Shillong and though initially I was hesitant of adopting the practice, being scared of both my dogs getting poisoned by carbon monoxide and of my bedroom going up in flames, I soon realised that a bustling fireplace was the best way to beat Shillong's cruel winter. There is something very soothing, very comforting about the warm orange flames dancing in your hearth and though the fireplace is an ancient method of creating warmth, it is very very effective. If it weren't for the perils of  green house gas emissions and the depletion of forest cover, the fireplace would have been the best way to beat the winter even in places like Delhi , Shimla and the Punjab. Anyways, back to Kaloo. Each evening, as I emerged from the cocoon of a bedroom warmed by the gay fireplace , I was greeted by the sight of Kaloo lying curled up outside my kitchen door, contracted by the cold. So, one evening I let her in and offered her the second armchair of my veranda, the other being the sole property of my Labrador, Kuttush. Kaloo sniffed at the armchair's cushion and then after a friendly sniff of Kuttush, sailed on to the armchair with leap that would have shamed Nadia Comaneci with its perfection. Our relationship thus moved up a notch.

Kuttush who is like the Buddha, someone who bears malice to none and firmly believes in living and letting others live in peace, showed no objection. Next morning, at the unearthly hour of four am, I was awakened by persuasive mewlings from the veranda. Kaloo wanted to be let out to answer nature's call. So I opened the door and she pranced happily out into the crisp Shillong dawn. She returned in the evening and duly claimed her place on the second armchair. And so the routine for the next two years was set. Kaloo had come to stay.

Thus, every evening Kaloo would retire to my armchair to spend the night. And, early morning, she would be up at four without fail and could be seen roaming the streets of the neighbourhood with her coterie of neighbourhood street dogs (she was undoubtedly top dog there). She was extremely dominating, in fact a bully, and I had often seen her chasing male dogs three times her size who ran from her with tails tucked beneath their legs. Seeing her bully other dogs, I was a little apprehensive of her behaviour towards Kuttush, but I needn't have worried. She was her on her best behaviour with him so much so that Other Half would comment, "Kaloo's in love with Kuttush".

She was surprisingly gentle with human beings especially children and often I saw her trotting like a good little girl beside school children attending the school opposite my home. Sometimes she would wait at the corner for our car and as we drew abreast, she would run alongside, tail wagging. She would be back in the evening after all her gallivanting and dutifully take up her seat on the second armchair. Often, when I had guests for dinner, on spotting her dark shape lying curled up in the armchair, I would be asked, 'Oh you have got a new dog ?" and  I had to explain to them: "No, no, she just spends the night at my place, she leaves in the morning, she is not really mine". Once, on hearing my explanation, a friend humorously remarked, "Bed and Breakfast, eh?" The description was so apt that it stuck and I would now answer queries from curious friends about Kaloo's presence in my armchair with, "Its her B & B !"