Three words…
The Password to unlock my laptop.
Three words…
An unwavering denial of what is.
Three words…
A relentless plea for something that can never be.
As I type those three words, Bonnie Come Home, to unlock my laptop and begin my Catharsis, I unlock Pandora’s Box of precious memories.
March 2005. I received a phone call from my Dad, an unusual event indeed, as I worked with an Airline in Dubai at the time, and Dad rarely telephoned me.
“Brandi has a tumour. We may have to put her down.”
Brandi was our beloved Boxer, mate to Spike, our other beloved Boxer. Between the two of them, these gorgeous creatures had filled our lives with a lot of laughter, love and precious memories. Barely a year ago, Brandi had littered nine beautiful puppies.
Although the whole birthing experience and caring for those little ones until they found loving homes was life changing for us all, it was also exhausting, and we’d decided that Spike had better find more spiritual ways to profess his undying love for Brandi! So we did our best to keep the two lovebirds apart twice a year during canine ‘heat’ season.
Dad’s announcement shook me. How could this be?
Luckily I had three days off before my next operational flight, and so I quite literally flew down to Bangalore that very same day.
As I struggled to contain two rambunctious adult Boxers on my lap I examined Brandi.
“She’s gone fat”, I said.
Brandi’s tail wagged
“That’s the tumour”, replied Dad
Brandi’s tail wagged faster.
That evening, the Vet, on examining Brandi, congratulated all of us. Brandi was ecstatic, and I, immensely relieved, returned to Dubai the following day.
One week later, March 25th to be precise, past mid-night found me en route to my apartment after an exhausting flight. My cell-phone beeped intermittently every five minutes with a stream of messages from Dad informing me of Brandi’s delivery status. So far, Brandi had delivered seven healthy ‘tumours’!
And then the messages ceased.
A few hours later the phone rang.
“ Brandi had a still-born. Female.”
I was devastated.
“But I brought her back to life. We’re calling her Born Again!” Dad chuckled into the phone.
Dad, quite pleased with his heroic saviour role, told me that the 7th pup was stillborn. Brandi had tried in vain to revive her. The vet wasn’t available to make a house call as it was a little after 4am. So in desperation Dad had sucked the mucus out of the little thing’s nose, blew several times down her mouth and kept palpating her little chest until suddenly she coughed and whimpered. Brandi immediately took charge and licked the pup until she was completely out of danger.
Brandi had given birth to eight perfect wriggling ‘tumours’, and off course, ‘Born Again’ was rechristened Bonnie!
Bonnie had a mind of her own. My folks told me that from the very onset it appeared as though Bonnie had decided to stay.
One time, a family with young kids dropped in to check out the pups. Bonnie listened attentively as they stated their requirement for a docile pet. She was at her most ferocious that day, snapping and growling at the kids, and with a general anti-social attitude. Although initially attracted by Bonnie’s rich red-brown coat, four white socks, white chest, and beautiful Boxer features, the family hastily picked another more amiable pup.
Another time, a feisty pet with alert guard-dog instincts was the order of the day. Bonnie obliged only herself. She was aloof, pretended to sleep the whole time and was most glaringly not guard-dog material. Sometimes she would hide when people came over to select a pup.
Finally, at six months, Bonnie was the only pup left and we were all secretly delighted, an adorable addition to our canine family.
I managed to wrangle some leave and headed straight home to meet the latest family member. At this stage, Brandi was going through another ‘heat’ season and my folks were determined to prevent the conception of any more ‘tumours’. Keeping Brandi and Spike apart or observing them around the clock was a non-event with a puppy to look after. So Dad obliged Spike with an old pair of shorts.
I got busy filming poor Spike trying his best to mount an uncooperative Brandi. It was a funny sight indeed and worth capturing on film to show my buddies back in Dubai. Spike eventually deciphered that it was the pair of shorts that hampered his progress. He spent the next few minutes trying unsuccessfully to grasp the waistband of the shorts with his teeth and pull them off. Bonnie watched the shenanigans from a distance and wagged her tail vigorously at the laughter that ensued from this hilarious scenario.
And here’s where we discovered Bonnie’s sharp sense of analytical observation and compassion.
Spike hated being laughed at (who doesn’t) and he hated being helpless (again, who doesn’t). No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of that one obstacle that hindered his manhood. Even Brandi found his attempts amusing and that was the last straw; Spike began to whimper piteously. Although we controlled our laughter no one attempted to help him with his ‘situation’.
No one except Bonnie.
I watched in amazement (camera rolling all along) as she crept stealthily towards her Father, very ‘Mission Impossible’ in her movements. Quick as a flash, Bonnie nipped the edge of Spike’s shorts with her baby teeth and yanked them halfway down. Someone managed to salvage the situation before Spike got Biblical with Brandi but we were all stunned at what Bonnie, barely six months old, was capable of. This was one super smart, highly sensitive Puppy.
My Darling Angel, someone once said that our eyes are the windows to our Soul. When I looked into yours, I saw nothing but unconditional love. Thank you for accepting everything that you saw in mine, and loving me still.
The night before I left for Dubai, Bonnie must’ve sensed that something was different, because she wasn’t her usual playful self. She silently observed me with big sorrowful eyes as I chilled with my folks in the living room. Then she silently laid the black and white football I’d bought for her (her first ball and a prized possession already) at my feet and placed a tentative little paw on my shin.
“What is it Bonnie girl? I’ll be back soon”
She scrambled up the sofa and was nestled in my arms before I could blink. And then she did something that will forever be etched on my heart. She placed both front paws on my chest and her eyes completely locked with mine. I don’t know how long she held my gaze. It could’ve been a few seconds, or a few minutes. This was a moment of truth; what I saw in her eyes was written in stone…Bonnie was mine, and I was completely and irrevocably hers!
Precious Puppy, you were sent from Heaven to heal us all.
I wasn’t physically present to witness this amazing miracle but every detail was relayed across to me by my parents.
My dad’s knee had mysteriously swollen up to the size of a football, and no matter what medication or treatment he succumbed to, nothing worked. Bonnie had taken to sitting close to dad as he watched television, and would persistently lick that knee. At first everyone thought it was affection, but it dawned on them that dad’s other normal knee didn’t seem to warrant any affection at all. Neither did anyone else’s knees. This happened almost everyday for a few weeks. One day, when no one was looking, that knee was back to its usual size, and Bonnie moved on to other pursuits. Her medical expertise was no longer needed until the next case!
Over the years, Bonnie proved her mettle in the medical department especially with her siblings from the third and last litter who also made their home with us. Momo and Babe, partners in crime, had all their cuts and bruises attended to by Doctor Bonnie. She took her job very seriously, and not a single sore, infected ear, eye or sinus escaped her diligence.
Even when Cancer found my darling Pup in 2013, it was Bonnie who decided when we should get it treated. She had had these lumps on her back and one on her rump for a few months and the vets consistently told me that as long as they didn’t change in size, colour or sensitivity we were safe, the tumours were benign. By then I had quit my job in Dubai and returned to India. I examined the tumours everyday. Nothing changed. Until Bonnie rubbed her rump against a wall, thus bursting one tumour.
This time the vets didn’t get off so easy. Several scans and blood tests later, cancer was detected. Surgery and a course of Homeopathy ensued. Both were successful and God leased me some more time with my Pup.
Forgive me my Angel for all the promises I broke, for precious Time I gave to someone else, for taking your presence in my Life for granted.
I often wonder how strange it is that Bonnie chose me although I spent lesser physical time with her than the rest of my family. Fleeting vacations during my stint in Dubai. Then a whole year away in the UK where the only time with Bonnie was on Skype. People say that dogs don’t recognize faces or many colours and can’t identify images on a screen.
Bonnie was different. Bonnie was special. Bonnie was highly evolved. The one time I skyped with my folks, Brandi, Momo and Babe (Spike had passed away a few years before) barked excitedly but couldn’t comprehend that my voice was emanating through the laptop. They soon lost interest. I saw how Bonnie, on hearing my voice, stood shock still and stared right at the screen, at me. Then she rushed inside. I was disappointed, thinking that my beloved had forgotten our bond.
How wrong I was and how little did I trust my Pup’s depth of love.
Bonnie, orange and white ball in tow (she had graduated to a new ball after the old one had met its demise at the teething jaws of her siblings), rushed up to the laptop, placed the ball on the key board, gazed right at me on the screen, and barked sharply. Her stumpy tail wagged at a supersonic speed that could’ve propelled her across a mighty ocean. Bonnie loved that ball, more than any other toy I’d bought for the dogs. She knew it was especially for her, and though always generous with her siblings, sometimes to a point of being a martyr, Bonnie never allowed anyone to wrest or bribe this ball away from her. She slept with it, ate with it, played only with it; she always had it in her sight.
Life moved on as it always does. And so did I.
I decided to move to Singapore with my then boyfriend. Bonnie had been Cancer free for almost two years although her weight had now increased, and Arthritis was a painful development. I foolishly reasoned that she was an unusually tall dog and so long as she was active what did a few extra kilos matter. I did however make enquiries about a swimming camp for dogs to help her arthritis. I told her about it and she approved of the plan. Bonnie loved water.
The plan never came to fruition. I was too involved with my own life and ambitions to keep the promises I made. I had to leave and I told her that we’d go swimming when I next came down.
You never let me down. You always save me even through the depth of your own pain. I don’t deserve you for the selfish Human that I am…and yet, even then, you save me.
My next visit to India was and still is a blur.
I nursed a broken heart and broken dreams. My older sister was engaged- to- be- married later that same year, and every available hand was needed for wedding preps. I had to shelf the splintered shards of my Life until Time could be mine again. Every day became a routine that I somehow had to get through with my mask firmly in place.
Bonnie knew. Her eyes would mirror my despair and in them I’d also find compassion and a promise. She never let me out of her sight during this time. Just like her ball, Bonnie kept me close. She’d follow me everywhere.
And when her arthritis exhausted her and she couldn’t follow me anymore, she’d follow me with her eyes.
I think now that perhaps Bonnie, in her infinite wisdom, knew that her Time was short. She always seemed to be anxious about something. In my selfish stupor I assumed she was anxious about me. And perhaps she was, but only because I wasn’t observant enough to realize that Cancer had reared its ugly fatal head.
My sister discovered a lump under Bonnie’s right fore shoulder. The weeks after that are like a bad dream. Numerous uncomfortable trips to the hospital in a pet ambulance, endless medicines, special meals, second opinions that echoed the first, research on the Net for miracle cures, Gastritis due to the medicines, panic attacks, drama and chaos. Bonnie never complained. But I did. In my heart and in my head, I complained.
Ten days before the wedding Bonnie got violently ill and couldn’t support herself upright. She was a very heavy dog and to make matters worse, she refused to do her ‘business’ anywhere but near the coconut tree (short call) at the far end of the garden, and near the rose bush (long call) even further down the garden.
So we took turns dragging Bonnie in an old bedsheet to and fro thrice a day. Our biggest fear was how to leave Bonnie alone at home on the day of the wedding. She couldn’t move to help herself and she was in pain.
“Bonnie, try, please try”, I pleaded.
And she did.
A few days before the wedding the stones in my heart weighed heavier. Sleepless nights nursing Bonnie juggled with wedding chaos and wicked tantrums from Bridezilla snapped me. I didn’t want to be a part of a wedding that required me to smile and be jolly when all I wanted to do was sweep aside the broken bits of heart and die. I couldn’t be strong anymore, even for Bonnie.
So Bonnie decided to be strong for me. She knew what I was going to do.
Bonnie found me standing on a stool underneath the ceiling fan in my room upstairs. I had tied one end of a sheet to it. The other was knotted into a noose. The end of drowning in a deep black hole.
I felt her silent pain as she stared with anguished eyes at me. Ashamed, I cleared all traces of my cowardice and helped Bonnie slowly down the stairs.
“How did you climb up Bonnie?”
In response Bonnie wagged her stumpy tail and licked my hand. Crisis averted. Doctor Bonnie can resume normal cancer-filled life and avoid climbing stairs.
From that day throughout the wedding festivities, Christmas and New Year, Bonnie was in her element. On Babe’s 8th birthday party. Mum and I made party hats for the dogs and we celebrated with cake and biscuits. Bonnie behaved as though it was her birthday. She was determined to live each day like it was the last. She fooled me into thinking that she was getting better.
I resumed my hunt for cancer miracles. Tender coconut water was the latest. Bonnie loved it.
Mum and I bathed her on the 9th of February. Bonnie who always loved a bath made a fuss for the first time ever. I had to coax her outside. She stood, leaning against Mum for as long as she could, and then she hobbled towards the front door.
Did you know my Darling that you were leaving soon? Were you worried that day when I went out that I wouldn’t be back in time to say goodbye? Did you think that I’d given up again?
The next day I had some errands to run, and I left Bonnie for the first time since the wedding day. She seemed alright, and everyone was at home. I must’ve been away for under three hours, but to a dog with Cancer, it must seem like a lifetime.
My heart squeezed hard as I pulled up outside my house in an Autorickshaw. Bonnie was hunched painfully on the doorsteps, sorrowful gaze fixed on the gate. She didn’t wag her tail when she saw me but seemed relieved.
“Look Bonnie, coconuts!” I tried to be hearty and ignore the Grim Reaper hovering possessively over my Pup.
Bonnie didn’t seem to care. I sat with her on the steps for a few minutes. She leaned her head against my chest. Then looked at me with a plea in her heart.
“Let’s go inside now. Lets rest my Darling”, I said quietly. We both hobbled inside. Me with a big bunch of coconuts,she with her cancerous limbs.
That was the last time Bonnie walked independently. She stopped eating two days later, refusing even coconut water and biscuits.
On the 13th of February 2015, my Angel returned to where she came from. We buried her with her collar, an Orange (her favourite fruit), and a million tears.