My Pet Story: Life of a street dog

Being a stray is hard. All a street dog wants is food, shelter and some affection. Photo: 123rf.com

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I am Moti – you may call me a street dog, stray dog, pariah ... it doesn’t matter to me anymore because in the end I will still remain a street dog.

Want to have a peep into my daily life? Well, here’s my story...

I begin my day every morning around 6am when I am kicked and shooed away by the sweepers.

At times, stones are thrown at me or a stick poked into my bony body, reminding me that night is over and day beckons me ...I shake myself and come out of my dreamy night and begin searching for titbits. Usually I manage to find some stale bread, and if lucky, a half-eaten chicken or mutton bones ... but it never comes easily as I have to compete with many other neighbourhood dogs. Many a times, I get bitten and hurt in the process of grabbing a bite ... but that’s life for us street dogs – we have to grab the scraps before someone else takes them.

Not all days are bad; some days, if I am lucky, I come across a kind and gentle family which feeds me milk and biscuits. Some even pat me on my head and say loving words while I thank them with a wagging tail. But there are days too when I am shouted at, and have stones thrown at me, abused and chased by kids – and I have to run for my life.

What makes me wonder is the amount of food people throw away without a second thought of feeding us with it.

Man’s anger or hatred towards us is something I have never been able to understand. There are homes which house dogs that are just like me. They are given good food, water, milk, etc. And they are cared for, loved, hugged and played with. On the other hand, we are chased away from the street because the so-called purebreds are on their way. What humans fail to see is that in the end we are all the same, just different breeds, so why this big hue and cry?

The most difficult times are during cold, wet days when we have to cuddle against one another for warmth while our well-placed brothers and sisters wear clothes and are inside warm rooms, fully sated, and with a bed and blanket.

Then, on hot days, we have to search for water – and often have to drink from dirty drains or from puddles outside hotels and restaurants. We have to take shelter from the heat and the rain under the cars. Meanwhile our well-to-do friends are comfortable in nice, air-conditioned rooms or cars. They go for walks with a nice shiny collar and leash. If we tried coming close to them, we are shooed away. It bewilders me that so-called dog lovers can shower so much love and affection on their purebred pets but not us. Why be mean to us? We are not asking to be taken into their homes but can’t we just lie or sleep outside their homes and be given a meal a day? Is it too much to ask for?

In the end, I must admit, my life in the street toughens me and prepares me to face all hardships in life – it makes me a fighter. At least I get to run carefree with my friends, play with them, run after and bark at moving cars at times, etc – these break the monotony of my life.

I don’t mind being reborn as a dog in my next life ... but can God be just a little bit partial and give me a better life to live. Can I have the taste of both lives: one outside on the streets and one inside a nice home where I am surrounded with warmth, love and happiness. Well, it seems like a dream for many of us but you never know ...