I Just Hate Pets

Before you start hurling abuses at me and think that I am a stone-hearted animal hater, you are mistaken. Neither the title is clickbait or a lie. I stay with what I say, but it's an entirely different perspective, which some might not agree with, but that's fine. We all have another way of looking at things, and this is mine.

It is also correct that I hate pets or rather the idea of pets. I am a die-hard nature lover. I love to roam around in jungles in the lap of nature and enjoy the animals in their natural habitat, grazing freely, the way nature wants to see them.

My hate for pets was from an early age. Being the only child of strict working parents, I always wanted pets so that I had someone to play with me. I was jealous of my friends who were having cats and dogs as pets and used to feel they were so lucky. But since my parents didn't have time for me, I could only wonder how they would have time for another member in the family.

My love for pets changed to hate when I joined the WWF nature club in my school. I was in 2nd grade and loved animals and nature. So when they came in for enrollment, I was first in line.

Working with volunteers, who had dedicated their lives to environmental causes, I understood what freedom is meant for all living beings on this planet. And with that, I also started hating the concept of keeping pets and hated the idea of domesticating animals for one's benefit.

You may argue that you love and care for them in your homes, but are you not treating them ornamental decorations in your house.

I am nowhere disputing that you love your pets like you own babies, but ultimately you want them to live by your rules. You would want to adopt them when you feel lonely or unsecured and then give them away when you can't afford them.

You want to take them on a walk as per your time, want them to sleep as per your wish, and follow house etiquettes that you have made. Again, you may argue that your pet loves it's, but that is because you have taught it to be dependent on you and made yourself a god in front of them.

I hope you got my point. I love animals and respect them to the core of my heart. So much so that I can't see them kept captive in our homes.

There is one more reason I hate to bond with any specific pet. And there is a story behind it.

Growing up, I used to stay in my dad's staff quarters. It was a giant gated community with 23 buildings, housing around 400 rooms. The place was huge, with two community halls and two playgrounds. There were also those secluded spots behind some buildings, which our parents warned us to avoid.

The reason was a group of stray dogs, who had made these places their abode and hated any intruders. The stray carnivorous gang had a notorious reputation and attacked many people and outside dogs.

It was an afternoon in May; I was playing with friends as it was summer vacation. Busy in our games, our attention was attracted by the braking of the dog gang. These sounds were not unusual to us as we used to hear these dogs fight almost every day.

But this time, it was different. Along with the loud barks, we also heard the crying of a pup. As the noise of the barking became louder, the wail of the puppy became more desperate.

We immediately knew that a tiny life was in danger. All of us stopped our game and rushed to save the pup with our bats.

As we reached the spot, we saw six dogs surrounding a month-old frightened pup. Without a second thought, we charged on the stray gang with our sticks and bats. Seeing us, the dogs made a run.

We wanted to get back to our game after rescuing the pup, but the little thing was too scared to be left alone. It started to follow us. While we initially tried to shoo it away, it kept returning to us. There was something in that innocent face that made our hearts melt.

The adorable puppy seemed thirsty. So one of us went back home and got some milk and water for it, and it took 5 minutes to finish it. The poor thing would not have eaten for some days. So we also got the pup some chicken and bones.

After having a full tummy, the pup now looked a bit relaxed. We got a rug sack that was lying around, and we made bedding out of it in the corner of our building. The young one just jumped on it and dozed off.

Allowing it to relax, we went back to our houses, thinking it would find its mom once it gets up.

It was 10.30 pm. Since it was vacation, our group would gather in the evening after dinner to plan activities for the next day. Engrossed in our talks, we were late to notice our new friend sitting there attentively listing to our discussions - as if it knew the topic.

After some time, it started scratching some of us with its paws. We thought it wanted to play, and we began engaging with it. But one of my friends seemed to understand what it wanted. He rushed back home and got him some food and water. He also named the pup "Pinky." Now don't ask me why, but it seems the name just popped out of his brain.

From that day onwards, Pinky became a part of our gang. She was always with us. She would wait eagerly for us at the gate when our school bus dropped us. Then she would follow us up to our door, jumping on us as we walk.

She was a playful little puppy who loved kids and infants. We played ball with her, and she used to love it. Her loving nature and innocent face made her a small fan following. She was never short of food or care as there was always someone to give that to her.

Two years passed by, and Pinky became more of a family to most of us. She had grown bigger and stronger. She was highly possessive when it came to me and a few of my friends who loved her.

Pinky was our protector. Once, a gang of ten boys came to our apartment complex to attack two guys from our group. They spotted the two fellows and attacked them with sticks—none of us were there to support them.

The ten boys, however, were not aware of a danger coming their way.

Out of nowhere, Pinky pounced on the gang. She knew her friends were in trouble and continued barking at those miscreants, pushing them back. The gang almost peed in their pants. Hearing her barks, most of us came out, and the gang had to make a desperate retreat to avoid getting caught and bitten.

Over the next few years, our canine friend saved us in many such situations. No one dared to raise a hand on us because they knew what they would have to deal with.

This was not a one-sided affair. As Pinky cared for our safety, the bond was mutual. We use to pick up fights with anyone who tried to hurt her. Once I fractured a person's arm when he hit Pinky with a stone for barking on him, severely injuring her leg.

One day we saw Pinky quietly lying in the corner. This was unlike her attitude. We felt she was not keeping well. So, we got an elderly uncle in our society to help us with the vet appointment. The vet checked her and informed us that Pinky was pregnant, and we were going to have a few more pups added to our family. We were excited.

In a month, Pinky gave birth to 6 cute little puppies. She was a very caring mother. She never stopped us from playing with her puppies, but dare someone else tries it, and we are sure, Pinky would rip him apart. Some of the puppies died, and we could see Pinky in pain. It was a hard feeling for us. So we gave the remaining pups to people who wanted to adopt them.

As years went by, Pinky gave us the joy of many such puppies every year. But now Pinky was getting older. She had become less agile and used to sit in a corner most of the time.

Our interactions with Pinky had also gone down as we had grown up and spent most of the time studying or attending school. We never use to see Pinky for days, and then suddenly, she would appear before us at random.

One day, we spotted blood drops on the floor near the entrance of our building. As we felt concerned and followed the trail, it led us to Pinky's sleeping spot. She was lying there with eyes open and breathing heavily. Her posterior area seemed to be bleeding, and seeing us; she started making noises to indicate she was in pain and needed help.

We rushed her to the hospital. The vet took some reports and admitted her to the hospital. Two days later, the vet called up to tell me that Pinky had a cancerous tumor near her anus and had ruptured.

The vet told me to take her back from the hospital as he expected her to live for not more than 48 hours.

I was shattered; tears started to roll down my eyes onto my shirt. I went down and gathered my friends to give them the bad news. We got her back from the hospital and kept her at the same sleeping spot where we kept her the day we saved her.

I sat there with Pinky till the early hours of the morning, taking her paw in my hand. I could sense Pinky looking into my wet eyes. With great difficulty, she picked up her head and kept it on my lap. I think she knew that her time had come and wanted that last moment of love.

At 4 am I could hear the angry voice of my dad telling me to get back home. I looked at Pinky. She was asleep, and so I kept her head back on the pillow with delicate hands to not wake her up.

My friend woke me up at 9 am the next day and took me down in a hurry. When I reached Pinky's spot, I could see some of my friends standing there with tears in their eyes. I saw Pinky, and she was in the same position I left her in.

Pinky had left us and was on her way to heaven. I couldn't hold my tears and cried for some hours.

We buried her at the same place we rescued her. In her memory, we planted a Mango tree on that spot. I used to visit that place daily until my dad retired, and we had to shift our residence.

Even today, whenever I am around my old residence, I make it a point to visit the Mango tree. In the summer season, the tree is full of some luscious mangoes, and we see kids climbing and plucking them in joy. (Pinky still loves playing with kids)

My friends and I never tried to pluck those Mangoes, as we never wanted to hurt our darling, who is now alive in the form of a tree.