Today, three years back, 29thJune2013, made me a stronger person than what I believed I was. I took 100% charge of a life because I believed that was the right thing to do. Who gave me the authority to do that? Me or the other life that I refer to?
I think (or maybe wish to believe) that it was the other life that made me. Every day for over 3 months, he went thru bouts of pain and I looked after him saying to myself, he will come out. He gave in, at many instances, when he thought he couldn’t fight, but then I wasn’t yet ready to give up on him. And then , he saw the hope in me and he fought back.
endless conversations would happen between Bruno and me while i would sit for hours together cleaning his wounds and removing the maggots. He would lie there, listening to how my day was, who i was angry with and what made me happy. I think i spoke to him so much that he would recognise even my whisper.
He hated bathing. He loved buttermilk. He loved “pandhara loni”. He loved walking into the vet clinic. He hated being put on the vet table. And the biggest of them all, he LOVED his ice cream
The last 10 days or so, i stopped all his medication. He was in pain. The most basic task seemed like a boring chore. He lay there, eating, breathing, but i wasn’t strong enough to let him go. I was being selfish. He was technically my 1st pet. He was more favourite to me than my other one (or so my husband claimed). The last night I spent with him, he kept looking at me, he just would no blink. Here, i was telling people as a canine specialist that your dogs talk to you. And here i was, not listening to what my own pet was telling me. Calling up my vet the next morning is probably the most difficult thing i have done. But then, it had to be done.
The boy lives even today, in the green fields, eating ice cream and darting from one place to other. My two boys, every now and then, get referred to as Bruno. Poor kids, they never knew he was, but Bruno in some way lives in each one of them, coz one LOVES buttermilk and the other loves entering the vet clinic but HATES being on the vet table.
He was put down. I stayed with him till the end. He lies under a beautiful “limba cha zaad” and he LIVES ON.
I know he tried and as someone rightly points it out to me every other day “Atleast you tried”and thats what makes all the difference.
