Edited by: Rishika Agarwal
These days, I spend most of my time standing by the door, where I stand, hope and wait. I don’t know when she will be here or where she is going . The constant uncertainty gnaws at my canine heart. Each time the door creaks open, and it’s not her who walks in, my tail instinctively droops between my legs.
Allow me to introduce myself properly: I am the alpha of this pack, the one they all dote on. They feed me, play with me, take me on walks, and then I sleep, which, to be honest, is quite a good life. However, the enigma of Riti bewilders me the most. In our tightly-knit pack, everyone serves a distinct purpose. There’s the provider, whom they call Mom, the walker, referred to as Dad, and the one who spoils me endlessly—Ria. But Riti? She possesses a knack for picking me up at the most random times, provoking me, and then skillfully avoiding my playful nips before ignoring me. That’s the extent of our interactions.
I used to frequent her room because of its cool air. Mom and Dad would switch off the cold breeze halfway through the night, and their bed isn’t nearly as comfortable. Mornings would start with Dad summoning me for my early stroll, but after that, I’d sneak back into her room. She often responded with squeals and squirms when I nudged her awake with gentle licks or settled atop her leg. Then, she’d either cuddle with me or lightly reprimand me, depending on her mood, before drifting back to slumber.
But in the days leading up to her abrupt departure, her behavior took an unusual turn. Instead of her typical moodiness and isolation, she started spending more of her time with Mom and Dad, eating more than usual. At times, tears welled up in her eyes, and she’d clutch me tightly. I was thoroughly perplexed, especially when she began packing her belongings into bags larger than me. Multiple bags, to be precise.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the now-empty cupboard would be my new abode.
Then, one fateful day, she loaded all those large bags, stepped across the threshold, and just left our home. I didn’t like it when any member of our pack departed, but I somehow held onto the belief that she’d return soon enough.
Except, she didn’t. What puzzled me even more was how the rest of the pack didn’t seem to be panicking. Why weren’t they anxious? WHERE WAS SHE? Why did everyone behave as if everything were normal?
My instincts urged me to consider the possibility that she might have found another pack, or worse, another dog. I often caught the scent of the enemy on them, and when they returned from outings, I’d leap at them, barking in protest.
Sadly, they didn’t pay any heed to my warnings.
In the days before her departure, my ears detected unfamiliar syllables uttered within the house — “Ashoka.” I couldn’t decipher its meaning. It wasn’t a command, a type of food, or a name. Perhaps it had something to do with her whereabouts.
Whenever I’m saddened, I have a peculiar habit of losing interest in food and becoming whiny. So, that’s precisely what I did. I threw canine tantrums.
One day, after I had spent hours despondently stationed by the door, I had drifted into slumber from a mixture of excitement and exhaustion. The doorbell’s chime woke me, and I rushed to greet our guest. They were surely here to visit me.
Yet, there was something distinct about the smell. I sniffed again, and the scent… it seemed familiar. Riti?
I leaped up, nearly toppling her with my enthusiasm. She squealed and scooped me up into her arms, her face radiating joy as I showered her with my affectionate licks.
Those two days she spent at home were sheer bliss. The entire pack showered her with attention, and I, well, I snuggled with her. Gradually but surely, I began to feel a sense of normalcy again.
However, at the end of those two days, she departed once more.It took me a while to realize that this was a recurring cycle.
———————-
These days, I spend most of my time standing by the door, where I stand, hope and wait. I don’t know when she will be here or where she is going. The constant uncertainty gnaws at my canine heart. Each time the door creaks open, and it’s not her who walks in, my tail instinctively droops between my legs.
But every few days, she does return home. She stays briefly, and I cherish those moments. I sniff her, shower her with affection, snuggle with her, and pester her until she takes me on our cherished walks. She appears tired, but she doesn’t lose her smile.
I have a suspicion that she comes home just for me.
No matter where this Ashoka may be, it can’t keep Riti away from Bubbles.