Nuggy died today. He was 11 and a half, and he'd lived a full happy life. His kidney's had failed, his hip joint was worn, and I hope he's young, happy and able to eat all the fish oil he wants, wherever he is right now.
I'm so glad I was able to go see him over the last couple of weeks, but I wish I'd been with him at the end. He was the best dog in the world. I hope he knew how much we all loved him.
I remember getting him from the breeder's house in June. He was the only male in the litter, a tin, black wiggling puppy I could hold in the palm of a hand. We brought him home and put him in the cradle I had used as a baby. Mummy was so mad!
He was a ridiculous puppy. I remember how he tried to pick a fight with the Dobermann that went walking outside our house, without regard for the difference in size... there was poor Jessie, the great dane who tolerated him reluctantly as the small thing ran around him annoyingly.
I remember the first time he barked. It was a deep, majestic bark for such a tiny dog. It was a very authoritative bark. His bark seemed to become more like the hoi polloi with time. And we's scold him for spending so much time with bad influences.
He had a number of friends in his morning walk in Tiruvanmiyur. There were the Alsations in the house next door that would promptly start barking when they saw him... then they'd start fighting each other... and Nuggy would ignore it all and walk on with his nose in the air. There was the Iron- man and lady who were his close friends- he'd always run up to them for a quick scratch whenever he saw them We walked all the way to another dachshud's house- Bubble, who, if he was out, would run to greet him, and the two would rub noses for a few minutes, saying hallo, until we dragged Nugs back home.
He hated the trainer who came to train him. He would flatten himself against the floor, his tail tucked under him, so that he had to be dragged outside for the training sessions. I don't think he ever learnt anything he didn't want to. Sit and Roll-over were strictly incentive based- show him the cod liver oil and he would do it. No fish-oil, no roll-over.
He hated taking bath- or at least, he hated going inside the bathroom to take bath. As soon as he saw me walking around with his towel and soap, he'd go hide under the sofa, or bed, or some newly discovered nook where he hoped I would not find him. After he had bathed, he would promptly go rub himsel against the smelliest floor mat he could find. But once he was clean he was allowed on the bed and he loved that.
He would sleep like a person, curled up, his head on the pillow- sometimes, all of him on the pillow, sometimes, sprawled out all over the bed. He'd guard the bed, growling at anyone who tried to sit on it, and he'd dig his feet into the mattress, so that he couldn't be forced off. If we did push him, he'd look around indignantly at the person who was interrupting his pleasant nap.
He loved being scratched. When he was still thin enough, he'd roll over for it and look brightly at the person scratching him. He'd rub his head (and his eye-discharge) against your leg to demand more scratchee. He'd lift a paw- like he wanted to shake hands- something he'd learnt very early, would get him big rewards. And when you scratched him, his back paw would shake frantically, in sheer ecstasy. And if you walked away, he'd look woundedly- it was your purpose in life after all- to scratch him.
He hated the Diwali firecrackers, poor baby, he'd go hide under the bed. He hated the vet, who prodded and pushed him, but he was so interested in all his animal friends there (especially the big ferocious ones- silly dog - he had no concept of what a small pup he was). He hated having his ears cleaned, his nails cut, and looked so relieved when we were ready to leave.
When he was young- in fact up to a couple of years ago, he would dash madly, up and down the stairs. It was terrible for him. We put up a wooden board to keep him from climbing, but very little could keep Nugs from where he wanted to go. He had a bed of his own on the floor of my parent's room, and would sleep there until late hours of the morning, when he had to be forced out of the A/C for his walk.
He would curl up at the feet, and sometimes, on the feet, of anyone sitting at the dining table or the sofa like a warm furry blanket, or pair of fluffy slippers. And sometimes he would jump on to the sofa- infact he claimed it all for himself, and would sit with his head on the arm of the chair, looking around at all passers by. He would sleep on it with enormous contentment- four paws in the air, making little snuffling noises as he dreamt about chasing cars or cats or people.
It was amazing, for an animal without words he expressed so much through his eyes alone. He barked rarely, whined if you didn't pay him attention- usually if you were eating something he wanted a piece of ... but he had the most speaking eyes.
He always knew when you were leaving- he would sometimes clamber on to the suitcase and have to be carried off. And if you were going by car, he'd be the first person in - shoving his nose through the door as soon as you opened it.
He loved going out. He loved sitting in the car, in the back seat, clambering on to someones lap with hard little paws, his weight all on those pressure points, looking out of the window at the traffic going by. Or he would stand right in the middle, his head between the two front seats, occasionally trying to give the person in front a little nuzzle or a lick.
He loved children. They were about the same size as him and he was totally convinced that they were just like him. They loved him too.
There was so much he knew without needing to be told. He'd come and put his head on my lap when I was sad. He knew when people were leaving, when they were going to eat... he knew not to enter the swami room- he would sit just outside and watch my grandmother inside with a pious exression, but he never set foot beyond the door.
He believed that he was human. He wanted to be treated the same as us. Wanted to sleep in the bedroom, on the bed, eat with us, eat the food we were eating, come in the car... I thought of him as human too. Like a baby that would never grow up.
His last few months have been painful, and I feel so guilty, that having been with him for the best years of his life, I could not be with him when he was failing. Even weak though, he nudged me with his head for little scratchees, thumped his tail against the floor. He was so loving, so easy to love, so hard to believe that he's gone and that life still goes on.
