STOP THE POO-LLUTION!

Ewww! What am I gonna do?

I got stinky doggie poo,

All over my expensive Jimmy Choos.

Isn’t that the worst that can happen to anyone? Actually no, it isn’t! There are launderers that clean shoes. But what about your gut? Yes, you heard right! Your gut!

Cleaning up after your dog is environmentally responsible. More than aggression, nuisance barking or unsupervised dogs, poop tops the list of complaints against dogs. It makes dog owners look bad and is the number one reason for negative public sentiment against dogs and their parents.

Dog waste is an environmental pollutant.  Decaying pet waste consumes oxygen and releases ammonia. When your dog does his “big job”, it gets washed away into our water bodies like rivers, seas or even our groundwater as not all waterways lead to water/waste treatment facilities. Low oxygen levels and ammonia damage the health of fishes and other aquatic life. Harmful nutrients like nitrogen and phosphorus feed and stimulate the growth of algae in water bodies depleting the oxygen levels necessary for underwater life, be it flora or fauna!  It mars the recreational and aesthetic value of water and swimming in these waters may be harmful to us.

Animal waste may contain harmful bacteria, viruses and parasites such as Giardia, Salmonella and E. coli that can be transmitted to humans and other animals by ingesting contaminated water. Roundworms and hookworms deposited by infected animals can live in the soil for a long time and can be transmitted to other animals and humans. Our roadside chaats are really popular but the source of water is usually unknown.

REASONS TO SCOOP THE POOP

“Setting an example is not the main means of influencing others, it is the only means.”
― Albert Einstein

1. When you pick up after your dog, you are part of the solution! Your actions will help convey the message that it’s the right thing to do and set an example for others.
2. It’s the law! Your violation is subject to fine as per the BMC cleanliness bye-laws.
3. It is disgusting! Cleaning up after your dogs shows responsibility and respect for your neighbours and the community.
4. Dog Poop is unhealthy. It is a host to diseases and/or parasites which can infect other dogs and people who come into contact with it
5. Dog poop bio-degrades slowly.
6. It’s not fertilizer! It is unsightly and impedes all landscaping efforts.
7. Leaving dog poop encourages other dogs to mark that spot (by urinating over the previous dog’s scent): poop left on the grass contributes to the problem of “nitrogen burn.”
8. Dog Poop pollutes water.

THINGS TO DO

Always clean up after your dog on walks. Remind your neighbours and friends to do the same.

It’s easy to clean up. Carry biodegradable baggies, paper towels or newspapers in your pocket which can be secured and thrown away in the garbage or flushed down so it will end up in a waste treatment plant. The pet shop, Ebrahim & Sons sells pooper scoopers and biodegradable baggies.

Do NOT throw dog waste in a compost bin.

Start a campaign to get your community involved, install pet disposal facilities, scoopers and other convenient items to encourage locals to clean up after their pets.

Obituary of an Indie Dog – Part III

VICKI WONG – PRODUCER OF ‘HACHI – A DOG’S TALE’

Goodbye 2015! You were tough on me. 13 years of togetherness came to a tragic end when Chindi just walked away one day, without bidding me adieu. While loss helps us appreciate what we had, losing her was a big price to pay. I still struggle with the guilt of her going perhaps on the back of a garbage truck! Sadness is engulfing!

My kids knew all about my street dog, Chindi and had seen me break down. So for our class assembly, when I asked for their consent to mime the story of Hachi, Japan’s symbol of loyalty, as a tribute to Chindi, they screamed “YESSS” in unison.  For 9 years, he waited for Professor Ueno outside Tokyo’s Shibuya Station, unaware that his master had died at work and was never returning. Hachi’s grief resonated with me.

To inspire us, I put Chindi’s picture up on our board. Miss Armaity, a theatre enthusiast helped me with the finer nuances. I was possessed. I prepared the screenplay, dialogues and props in the hospital room while my mum recovered from a near fatal illness! All that crumpled newspaper and labour came to fruition in the form of a papier-mache replica of Hachi’s statue in Shibuya, unveiled in a scene while my kids sang Kimigayo, Japan’s National Anthem. We got a thundering applause!

Seeing clips of my skit, a friend based in Japan suggested I come there. What was meant to be a way of running away from my agony, became my way home. Japan became a pilgrimage! A homage! A closure!

Doing two jobs allowed no time for research. The flights helped me catch up on sleep. In a foreign land, with no proper street names and where most people don’t speak English, I felt lost. But the locals are so warm. They go out of their way, flailing their arms all over the place to explain directions. All I could do was bow down and say “Arigato”. Google maps, a wifi router and Lonely Planet became my best friends.

I fell in love with Japan. The koyo (autumn leaves) in hues of yellow, orange and red. The temples! The culture! The parks! Ah!! But I had traversed the distance to see all things Hachi!

When I googled Hachi, many places came up. Getting there meant taking different train lines but my friend warned me to stick to the main JR Yamanote line lest I get lost. Also Tokyo got dark by 4! I wasted 3 days feeling diffident and queasy. But I had to get it together. After all I was there to meet the dog who waited for his best friend like I wait for my Chindi!

My first destination was the famed statue outside the Shibuya Station. When I saw the Hachiko Exit, my heart started pacing, butterflies in my stomach as if meeting a long lost love!

The valve covers and the outside wall of the station had images of Hachi. The station floor had painted paw prints. The spot where he awaited had bronze paw prints and a plaque narrating his story. I walked slowly and unsurely through the crowd… And there he was! I froze and tears welled up in my eyes as I touched the coldness of the metal. While I was having my picture taken, someone shouted it was Hachi’s birthday! This was no coincidence!

Next I went to The National Museum of Nature and Science which exhibits the actual stuffed body of Hachi. It is difficult to pen my emotions. I stood before ‘HIM’; his tail curled, standing majestic in his harness. I stood picturing him afraid and lonely in the cold climes of Japan… waiting! Sometimes you are too overwhelmed to react.

The University of Tokyo where the Professor taught Agricultural Engineering was 30 minutes away. There stands a statue of Hachi and the Professor, reunited up in heaven. My fears of getting lost loomed thick but I had to cast them aside. Hachi and Chindi had nudged me into coming to Japan against all odds. They were going to watch over me.

When I reached the gate, I excitedly said just Hachi to the smiling, elderly guard. He led me in, his hand around my shoulder as if he already knew that I may soon need his fatherly reassurance. I quietly bowed, mouthing “Arigato” as tears choked me. I circled around, eyeing them both as if to make a permanent imprint in my heart. Some youngsters came to take selfies with the statue. I tried to explain that I had come from India for Hachi. They looked at me quizzically so I showed them the pictures from the Museum. I could tell from the animated chattering and gasps that they didn’t know much about the National hero!

The Shibuya Folk And Literary Shirane Memorial Museum had an exhibition on Hachi a few years ago. I went with no expectations just to get a feel of his journey. And boy was I surprised! A white replica of the original statue, a movie about Hachi played non-stop and his sketches by a famous artist. The elderly gentleman there was thrilled to hear of my quest for Hachi that I explained in basic Japanese words. He removed his phone to show me pictures of his “inu” (dog). Suddenly there was no language barrier for our hearts spoke. Then suddenly he started searching frantically and his eyes sparkled when he finally found a booklet on Hachi to gift me. I was touched. It was heartbreaking to say goodbye but I had to leave. It had been raining all day and it was getting dark. Just outside, the driver of a Hachiko bus which ferries people around Shibuya, oddly stopped for me to hop on. I just smiled and waved him away. A lot had happened. I needed the walk..

Hachiko’s cremated remains lie buried next to his master’s in “Aoyama Reien”. How was I to find my way in this maze of tombstones with Japanese inscriptions? Almost like a God sent, a suited gentleman walked by. I was used to saying just Hachi because of the language barrier. And the man said “Ah yes! I take you there.” The man was shocked that an Indian girl had come alone, all this way just for Hachi. I was mesmerised by the main cemetery’s narrow roads and beautiful tombstones cocooned in the vibrant colours of fall… With a lump in my throat, I looked at him in gratitude. He readied himself to leave almost as if he understood that I needed to be alone with Hachi! I sat at the foot of his grave, for what seemed like hours, reliving our similarities. Losing our loved ones and never be able to understand why… I was one with Hachi! For the first time in months, my head didn’t feel in a tangle. The tranquility gave me the quietus I ached for!

Japan has left an indelible mark on my heart – a sense of longing and emptiness. A past life connection, perhaps! Chindi went away so I could live my life, travel the world because I would have never left her. She took me to Japan. Infact when I did an animal communicator course to speak with her, one of the other students had visions of the cemetery when asked about my favourite place. And the images were as seen by someone at 2 feet! From Chindi’s eyes perhaps…

She is right by my side…. Always!

Obituary of an Indie Dog – Part II

For 13 years, being the Rani of all our hearts, was no mean feat! The world was her oyster. Some liked her. Some… Ah well..

I started feeding Chindi downstairs as my neighbours hit her with a bamboo once, threatening to kill her. For her own safety, I wasn’t keen on her coming home unescorted.

And then one night, I couldn’t find her. I looked everywhere. Waited for hours. Was it my neighbour’s handiwork? Her disappearance wasn’t unusual. Whenever I walked into school complaining that I hadn’t slept a wink because madam had gone gallivanting, colleagues joked that she was out with her “MALE” friends, tarnishing the family’s reputation hence earning the name, Kal Munhi also because of her black muzzle. A double entendre! But that evening I felt uneasy. Due to arthritis, her jaunts were now fewer and shorter.

The next morning, the guard said that she hadn’t returned. Someone said she had. Who was I to believe? People can be apathetic. It’s “only a dog”, they say! Blame me, but I almost hoped that she was gone for good; not suffering somewhere, unable to find me. But how do you prepare for such a loss? No more calling her funny names. No more of her usual sprightly self, jealously pouncing on other dogs vying for my affection. No tear-filled goodbyes.

Panic stricken, I made a dozen calls. The person on the other end couldn’t fathom why I was enquiring about my missing dog at the BMC’s garbage disposal dept. In the midst of sobs, I explained that she was my dog but lived on the streets and I couldn’t find her. If dead, I needed to send her off with respect. Not at the back of a garbage truck! He finally understood. He had heard something about a dead dog but only the officer-in-charge could ascertain. So it was true! I was shattered.

The officer reluctantly confirmed my worst fears. Sun Restaurant (which is 4 buildings away) had reported a dead BROWN dog lying outside. The mukadam who picked it up, swore it was WHITE! This uncertainty was killing me. Was I supposed to rejoice in the loss of another life?

I searched at different kennels and the morgue at the animal hospital. I visited temples. Tears flowed down my face as the reverberant aartis crescendoed. Appeals were made via FB, The Voice of Malabar Hills and SMSes. I wanted no stone unturned. Some responded with conflicting information while some offered to keep an eye out..

This was a particularly trying time for me. The building was undergoing repairs and they were constrained to finish the internal work in my house. My mum had gone into sepsis and needed hospitalization. Doctors said any further delay would have proved fatal! I was torn. Being the only child with no actual family, tough choices – My mum, my dog, my home! Financially, emotionally and mentally I felt drained. And the guilt! My school kids were missing out on work. The annual day, open day and my class assembly were all scheduled consecutively. Looking back I have no clue how I got through it all. Even with the help of colleagues and friends, I still had to fight my own battles!

I spoke with animal communicators. Some indicated that she was gone! Some taking advantage of my despair, led me on to make a quick buck. One claimed, Chindi told her telepathically that the quality of her favourite Parle-G biscuits had deteriorated over time (based on information I gave the lady that Chindi liked Parle-G). Chindi also recited shayari to her. One thing I know…  Chindi wasn’t into Urdu Literature.

But Rohini Fernandes earned my trust. She empathized as she too had lost her dog. She envisioned cars parked on either sides of the road with Chindi under one. Tall trees and tall buildings. Sounds like Malabar Hill, no? But where? Chindi was uncommunicative, refusing to guide us . Later she was visible in a long, dry ditch along the side of the road. My friends and I fanned out searching frantically under cars, into buildings and looking for ditches big enough but no luck until we stumbled upon Godrej Baug’s open ditches on both sides of the long winding road. (Rohini is from Andheri and has no way of knowing this.) However our excitement was shortlived. Chindi was nowhere! Local sweepers, guards and feeders hadn’t seen her. It was getting all too real. People consoled me saying that she left for a reason. So I wouldn’t see her suffer!

Finally she conveyed to Rohini that eventually I would comprehend why she left… 5 months since, I still can’t. Was this God’s plan? The body of a dog found enroute my walk home, post school hours. Was she coming to see me one last time? To say goodbye? Did she take mum’s illness upon herself?

I know I meant the world to her. Then how am I to give up or let go? Am I letting her down? A part of me has died a 1000 deaths since, for she is lost or worst… DEAD!

Obituary of an Indie Dog – Part I

Graceless and scrawny..

I guess fate brought her to me.

And she never left…. No! Actually she did…

Adopting her wasn’t an option. My dad, a heart patient, never overcame the loss of our beloved Spitz. Frisky died suddenly, without saying goodbye. So I decided that when Chindi (ahem… yes, that’s what we called her) aged, she’d live with us permanently. She wasn’t going to tolerate being cooped up at home, without a fight! She valued her freedom too much.

Coming back to why the name Chindi (I get rebuked a lot for calling her that!). I convinced my parents that the streets were cold for a rat sized pup. So they allowed her in for the night. She gathered whatever bedsheets or newspapers she could find, to make herself cozy. Hence the name Chindi Chor! The next day I put her back on the street as I couldn’t find her a furever home. I warned the guards to never hit but shoo her away, if necessary. I fed her so she didn’t stray away and she stuck to her end of the bargain. My life began to revolve around her…In all honesty, I’m glad it did!

Some residents, drivers and guards too started caring for her. We had her spayed and annually vaccinated. She walked in the middle of the road like it was all hers and earned the name, Rani. (What’s wrong with Chindi, right?)

Chindi did 2 jobs. Became the self designated security chief of the neighbourhood and slept! She came home at night or when afraid but left at dawn. She ran past the guards who usually turned a blind eye as she voluntarily guarded the neighbourhood (without asking for a cut). She pawed at our main door whenever she wanted to be let in/out. The door stands even today, bearing scars made by her nails. Dad wanted a new one but she would have it in splinters in no time.

Chindi loved chilled buffalo’s milk. But if the milk wasn’t fresh, she’d head butt the bowl like Zidane and spill it. The milk could be served only once. Thinking she’d waste it and  gave less at first but she finished it, you couldn’t offer a second serving. She was offended!

Her other quirks included crushing biscuits so nobody could stake claim and tearing dad’s pillows! Inspite of his myriad eye problems, amused, he happily struggled to sew them back never once complaining or getting new ones. (I don’t think mum forgave him for never attempting to sew the buttons on his shirts). One time Chindi tore one of my sarees. I still await the replacement but she said sarees weren’t her thing!

She was difficult when she had ticks or worse, was hurt or unwell. She refused all help. So started the mad chase, followed by cornering and pinning her down to medicate her, all whilst she dramatically yelped like her tooth was being yanked off!

Chindi was obsessed with me but wasn’t the affection seeking types. She’d wake up in the middle of the night, check on me and go back to sleep. Sometimes just the sound of my voice was enough. She’d stay put and wag her tail, too lazy to get up. She would stand guard outside my gate when I was out too late. (I don’t think my parents have waited up like her.)

She walked me to the bus-stop, waiting with me, terrorizing the people by going up to them and sniffing them. I guess she was scrutinizing them to ensure I was safe on the bus. And when the bus came, she’d stand at the door waiting to hop on behind me much to the ire of the commuters trying to board the bus. So I would usually get on last, gently pushing her away with my foot as the bus drove away. Sometimes it was scary because she chased after any vehicle I was in,without any care.

One night, Chindi let out a loud, shrill bark, one we had never heard before and we sort of knew. Dad had been unwell and passed on a few days after. Chindi was also daddy’s little girl so before his final journey, I tried cajoling her into coming to see him one last time, but she refused to follow and I did not want to force her. In her own way, she knew and was as pained as us to let him go. As per Hindu tradition, we performed the rituals for the soul to cross over but didn’t entertain relatives or Brahmins as my dad didn’t like either. Instead we chose to care for the street animals… I think my dad would have liked that!

Rani was a street dog with a heart of gold! I couldn’t adopt her, but she adopted me!