To Kuttush with Love

Kuttush died yesterday afternoon; Kuttush, my great biscuit coloured Labrador with the proud otter tail who's fur was tinged with gold, as if angels had sprinkled him with sparkles of sunlight. Kuttush was special all right, and his gold flecked fur was more proof that he was from from a place angels and fairies and other such beautiful things come from. Other Half felt this too and often remarked: Kuttush's a saint! He was, but a hedonistic saint, one who loved his comforts: hearty meals of large and frequent proportions, a cool place to splay himself on his back, all four legs in air and gently snore the day away.....He relished all the little pleasures that life has on offer: the library of interesting smells from the fields around our house where he spent hours and hours snooping, sniffing and gallivanting, the cubes of ice a friend always offered him when he went visiting her, the tangle in the hay with the buxom lady Alsatian next door, the Fauji ration potatoes that he filched with impunity from atop the dining table, the never ending adoration from his numerous human female fans... everything. In some ways he was very much like me: fat, lazy and unduly fond of his physical comforts like food and sleep. But in so many ways, he was completely different from me: detached and free of silly emotional attachments. But that does not mean that he was apathetic or indifferent; on the contrary, he was full of fondness for all living creatures around him: from the ill-tempered cow that entered my garden on the sly to the evil stray who had bitten him more than once, Kuttush loved one and all; without exception, without discrimination. He was specially fond of socializing with humans and made it a point to plonk himself, right in the middle of my living room when we had guests over and contribute to the raging debate with the occasional loud and empathetic 'Baoow'. And he was a complete gossip master and the neighborhood snoop, keeping tabs on the comings and goings of all my neighbours. And unlike Mimie or Khushi, my female labs ( both of whom have crossed over) I know Kuttush loved me more than anyone else. I know it as surely as I know that the sun rises in the east. So what was he to me: a child who grew old and frail faster than me yet always remained my child? I can hear him say: Huh! I was never your child, ladki. On the contrary, YOU are my child. Don't remember how you put your head over my side and slept/cried/laughed/confided like little girl to her Mom?
Yes, I was his child, we both were, myself and Other Half for only a parent can give you so much love and so much forgiveness; and take nothing in return, absolutely nothing.
I am crying as I write this and I am trying to stop too, for I know Kuttush would never approve of all this sniffling and sobbing. He would put one paw on my hand and say, Ho ho ladki, kyun roti hai? In this endless journey of birth and life and death, we'll meet again somewhere, pucca. So quit the tears and get on with life. And keep the potatoes ready, girl. Who knows, you might find me just round the corner......