A Satanic Son of a……!

“I want a baby.”

“OK. But only if it’s a boy.”

”You archetypal Indian male! Why do you want a boy? What’s wrong with a girl? They are gentle, loyal, affectionate, kind, home loving….”

“And they get pregnant,” was the rude interruption. “And then what are you going to do with the babies? Drown them? They’ll be half breeds!”

“You have a point,” I muttered thoughtfully.

And so we brought home our baby boy – a tiny bundle of fur. (Gotcha!)

How did we get him? 

Tres simple – we headed for our neighbour’s landing, where our local bitch had just whelped. After surveying the wee pups, we noticed one little one curled up pathetically, while the rest tore at their mother’s teats, and taking pity on the vulnerable fellow, decided to give him a fighting chance at life by adopting him. It was only later – much later – that it dawned upon us that the reason why he was separate and (contentedly) sleeping was that he had already had his fill while the others had waited for him!!

In keeping with the correct order of events, we then proceeded to take our darling delight to the paediatrician (read Veterinarian) for a check-up. Along the way, the sole topic of conversation (read Argument) was the name we would be bestowing on our bundle of joy – with no successful conclusion. And so we trooped in dispiritedly to present our happily snoozing charmer to the doc, who took one look at him and exclaimed, “So, what has this shaitan (it translates as “Satan/imp/mischievous one”) been up to?” And that was it. Lightning struck. We looked at each other, nodded and said, “Shaitan it is.”

Thus it was that our nameless wonder came home with a name.

 

And, boy, did he live upto to it!!

Let me illustrate…..

One summer’s day we were strolling around our orchard and decided to move outward, beyond the confines of our boundary wall. Lolloping alongside us was our young man, delightedly sniffing every bush along the way and exploring each stone as if things had taken a dramatic turn between then and the 5 mins ago when he had last checked them out. Strolling along thus, we arrived at the flat area near by, where the horses, sheep and cows graze peacefully, in idyllic splendour.

True to the natural instincts of one bred to nature, our young man decided to ‘decorate’ the beautiful landscape with a personal contribution of his own. So, in a manner befitting his species, he took up the ludicrous position that accompanies every such offering, while his long, pointed face adopted a look at once comical and blissful, with his eyes practically crossing and his tongue hanging out.

Well,  no sooner had Mr Mischief got into a state of readiness, than we noticed a rather strange occurrence – three cows that happened to be grazing nearby suddenly started taking a rather unhealthy interest in the whole proceedings. They stopped grazing abruptly and closely scrutinized the ongoings of our hairy offspring…and no sooner had he adopted the pose described above, than they made a beeline for him, with an ever increasing velocity! Their combined intention was crystal clear….gore the son-of-a-gun while the opportunity offered itself so opportunely!

You can well imagine our state of combined alarm and complete perplexity at this unexpected turn of events – until we had a look at our ‘victim’s’ face. If ever there was a look that said,” Come on guys…don’t you have a sense of humour? So what if I nipped at your ankles each time I passed by? A dog’s got to do what a dog’s got to do. Nothing personal in it. Seriously? You’re going to gore a man when he’s down..er..um…otherwise engaged? Hey there..how about some fair play? Really? No sense of humour…at all? Sooo incensed? Hey! Aren’t cows supposed to be peace loving creatures? No? You sure about this?” and with a supreme effort, our villainous child hopped up in the nick of time and fled the unwanted advances of the fast approaching bovines!!

Another occasion……

Now, one of the sources of entertainment for our furry lad, was a sock ball (quite literally a ball made out of socks stuffed into another sock!) that he would chase and recover. Often, the said missile would roll down the mountain, which meant that the intrepid adventurer would have to wind his way down the mountainside to ‘fetch’ it. This was obviously not a great hit with him, but if he wanted to continue playing, he knew he had to do the needful. The wistful look in his eyes told me he was dreaming of a ball that recovered itself.

Well, it was precisely during one of these times when he was daydreaming a ‘what if…’, that a tiny puppy happened to pass by. In an instant the dreamy look was gone, to be replaced by a delighted expression….a distraction had hove into his horizon. Before we could say “Jack Robinson”, our playful ‘pup’ had descended upon the hapless ball of fur and proceeded to jump around him, trying to entice him to play. The only problem was that the baby was way too overwhelmed by this three foot tall monster who evidently had no idea that his prepossessing size was in no way reassuring the little one and, to the contrary, was only serving to add to the mounting hysteria welling up in the tiny tot! Finally, it became too much for the smallie and he made a dive for freedom.

Unfortunately, in his hysterical state, he did not realize that he was heading for the mountain rim and before anyone could do anything to deter his distraught dash, our young one had launched himself headlong over the edge! Naturally, confusion reigned supreme for a few moments as we simultaneously attempted to calm our own over-excited canine while peering down the mountain side to see how the parachutist-without-a- parachute had fared! So you can well imagine our relief when we discovered that the puppy had only descended about 20 feet, was perfectly safe and was already crawling upwards to safety.

We watched the ascent of the minor with bated breath, anxiously following every footstep of his as he plodded his way up the steep incline. As he neared the top, our collective breaths were released in an explosive sigh of relief, and it was with complete delight that we saw his tiny paw stretch towards the rim and he began to haul himself up the last few inches.

And that’s when it happened…..inexplicably, even as junior pulled himself over the rim, he suddenly took flight and as we watched spell bound, he executed a perfect arc that would have earned any gymnast at even the toughest of competitions an immediate perfect score, and landed right back where he had started! We couldn’t believe our eyes! Why on earth had Tiny decided to show his levitational abilities at just that moment?

Our eyes inevitably turned to the spot from where the dot had taken flight, seeking an explanation, and sure enough…we found it. For there, sitting on the very edge, his eyes glued in concentration on the heroically struggling figure, was our very own cherished fluff ball. And what drew our combined stares, was the manner in which our hero was seated….his weight squarely on his haunches which were braced to support his entire body mass so as to allow his front paw freedom of movement. And the stance he had adopted would have put the finest Table Tennis player of the century to shame…..the hand/paw extended at an angle, the wrist limp yet ready to flick in any direction, and a tautness that spoke of a super-high state of readiness to spring into action at just the right moment..

The only problem here, was that our skilled player’s readiness was reserved exclusively for the object of his affections..his dream-cum-true….his self-recovering ball!! I have never seen such an advanced state of concentration in even the keenest of my students! And no sooner would the poor mite make it to the top than our pro, with a mean, devilish look in his eye, would expertly flick him over the side again!!

I will not bore you with the details of how we dissuaded our young visionary to give up his dream. Suffice to say…it was a traumatic experience on all three sides!