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Of course in our Muthukur we had street dogs aplenty. These were very proprietary about our streets which were much like the paras in Bengal. Each street was a well-knit community and vied with the others in all matters.
Our Muthukur dogs ought to have been sturdy because there was no power then and much less fridges. So lots of food was left over in each household and since there was this custom that food shouldn't be wasted, the para dogs were invited:
"Chu chu chu..."
and they used to run up wagging their tails. But they were as skinny as we were. Perhaps our veg meals were the reason for it. And maybe the Malthusian law was at work...our dogs bred like rabbits till they reached the survival limit. These dogs belonged to none, so they belonged to everyone.
Once in a while, in the dead of a night, one or the other dog would start howling its heart out. Their baying was frightening to us kids and we would shiver in our sleep.
And then Father would add fuel to the fire...he would announce that there would be a death in the street soon enough....dog baying at night is due to its special power to see the unseen coolies of Yama (the God of Death) busy reconnoitering.
We of course forgot all about it by the morning and got busy...so I never could chase this myth.
There is this hint in Chandogya Upanishad that Yama sends two dogs to do his recce work. They are called Shyama and Shabala (dark and varicolored). So this may be the origin of this howling dog myth.
Whenever I think of a dog, I can't resist recalling the canonical repartee we were taught in our college:
There were these two London newspapers, Sun and Post. They were always at each other's throat. Once the Post called the Sun: 'dog'. And the Sun came back splendidly:
"Our response to our Post is that of every dog to every post"
We had plenty of dog bites...mostly when we kids trampled on them while backing up to catch the ball. But we never heard of the frightening rabies that we learned later. We just reported the matter to Father. And he brought out his favorite bottle of Tincture of Iodine and applied it to the slight wound till we shouted hoarse, and bound it up with a piece of mom's old sari.
And then we were back at play.
In some households there was this custom that the resident father would fetch his leather chappal and hit the wound with it thrice mumbling some mumbo jumbo. He believed that a stroke with a chappal would heal the dog bite. There maybe some sense in this custom.
Our dogs were very fond of leather chappals and they used to hunt for them and if anyone left his chappals outside his home unattended, dogs would drag them and feast on them...the only non-veg item in their menu.
Of course chappals and shoes those days could be cooked and eaten when no other food was available and starvation stared in the face. Charlie Chaplin did it splendidly in his Gold Rush...a supreme feast he cooked for himself and his friend, Big Jim:
Like every animal and bird, dog is also worshipped in Hinduism.
Finally, the word 'dog' has the largest number of meanings in English..no less than 25:
WHEN all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and saddle, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.
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Of course in our Muthukur we had street dogs aplenty. These were very proprietary about our streets which were much like the paras in Bengal. Each street was a well-knit community and vied with the others in all matters.
Our Muthukur dogs ought to have been sturdy because there was no power then and much less fridges. So lots of food was left over in each household and since there was this custom that food shouldn't be wasted, the para dogs were invited:
"Chu chu chu..."
and they used to run up wagging their tails. But they were as skinny as we were. Perhaps our veg meals were the reason for it. And maybe the Malthusian law was at work...our dogs bred like rabbits till they reached the survival limit. These dogs belonged to none, so they belonged to everyone.
Once in a while, in the dead of a night, one or the other dog would start howling its heart out. Their baying was frightening to us kids and we would shiver in our sleep.
And then Father would add fuel to the fire...he would announce that there would be a death in the street soon enough....dog baying at night is due to its special power to see the unseen coolies of Yama (the God of Death) busy reconnoitering.
We of course forgot all about it by the morning and got busy...so I never could chase this myth.
There is this hint in Chandogya Upanishad that Yama sends two dogs to do his recce work. They are called Shyama and Shabala (dark and varicolored). So this may be the origin of this howling dog myth.
Whenever I think of a dog, I can't resist recalling the canonical repartee we were taught in our college:
There were these two London newspapers, Sun and Post. They were always at each other's throat. Once the Post called the Sun: 'dog'. And the Sun came back splendidly:
"Our response to our Post is that of every dog to every post"
We had plenty of dog bites...mostly when we kids trampled on them while backing up to catch the ball. But we never heard of the frightening rabies that we learned later. We just reported the matter to Father. And he brought out his favorite bottle of Tincture of Iodine and applied it to the slight wound till we shouted hoarse, and bound it up with a piece of mom's old sari.
And then we were back at play.
In some households there was this custom that the resident father would fetch his leather chappal and hit the wound with it thrice mumbling some mumbo jumbo. He believed that a stroke with a chappal would heal the dog bite. There maybe some sense in this custom.
Our dogs were very fond of leather chappals and they used to hunt for them and if anyone left his chappals outside his home unattended, dogs would drag them and feast on them...the only non-veg item in their menu.
Of course chappals and shoes those days could be cooked and eaten when no other food was available and starvation stared in the face. Charlie Chaplin did it splendidly in his Gold Rush...a supreme feast he cooked for himself and his friend, Big Jim:
Like every animal and bird, dog is also worshipped in Hinduism.
Dattatreya is always accompanied by His four dogs which symbolize the four vedas:
Finally, the word 'dog' has the largest number of meanings in English..no less than 25:
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/dog
And then this famous line: Every dog his day (today in this blog!)
And then this famous line: Every dog his day (today in this blog!)
...Charles Kingsley
...Posted by Ishani
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