Something invisible and viciously persistent had been itching me beneath my tail all morning.
I attempted a 360 degrees neck-twist. A slow motion ‘topple’ ensued. After several undignified Matrix-like ‘topples’, I changed strategy. Instead of attacking the ‘ITCH’ from above, I attacked it from below.
Result?
Let’s just say that Mrs. Venugopal’s teenage daughter, flirting with Nair’s nephew behind (now above) me, wears bright yellow underwear beneath her skirt.
The ‘ITCH’ continued its diabolism sans mercy. Mangy-Mad-Dog shuffled over to my pathetic horizontal self, and for a moment I was hopeful. I begged him to examine, or at least, to scratch that unreachable area of my anatomy.
‘Fleas’, he declared, flatly declining my invitation…that’s what drove him mad. I stared in horror at his scabby, hairless body.
‘Eat this’, Mangy-Mad-Dog shoved a greasy scrap of newspaper in my face. ‘It’s so spicy, you’ll forget all about your ‘ITCH’! I was about to wriggle away from the disgusting stench of rancid chutney, when a Headline caught my eye. (Yes, I can read)
‘BANGALORE’S MOST LOVED FLEA MARKET!’
I set out immediately to locate this ‘Most Loved Flea Market’ in Whitefield, hoping to sell my fleas. After hunting futilely for a field that was white, I finally followed the sound of music and laughter to a large busy area filled with Humans, animals and stalls.
Suddenly the music got louder and a young Human started to sing and dance to an evidently popular number behind me. By this time the ‘ITCH’ had moved up my neck, making it easier for me to scratch myself. I scratched away as the crowd cheered loudly behind me.
Part of the ‘ITCH’ now attacked my rear end. Maybe it was the music…maybe it was the cheering crowd. Or maybe it was the sight of that singing/dancing Human’s trousers hanging dangerously low around his thighs (I later discovered that this was the fashion among young Humans). I dragged my rear end along the ground, still scratching behind my ear with one leg. The cheers got louder, and I realized that it was aimed at me. The Humans were cheering my acrobatic dance ‘moves’!
None of the Humans bothered to scratch me or offered to buy any fleas from me, but I did go home with a bulging ‘doggy-bag’. No rancid chutney in there!
On reaching Pot-Hole-Halli, Kristina Nazareth, my rescuer from the Thunderstorm, had just finished bathing her pet dog, BABE when she noticed my itchy self. I was subjected to a most energetic ‘bath’.
Kristina remarked that Babe and I were like ‘Two peas in a Pod’ because we both seemed to enjoy a bath.
The perpetrators of my ‘ITCH’ were two soggy, dead Fleas.
An adventure in a non-white-non-field…unexpected treats from strange Humans…a most welcome bath from my favourite Human…two peas in a pod… and two fleas, now dead, on a bod(y)…I couldn’t be happier. Goodnight!
-Big Boy.