dogs

It's apparently puppy season in Rishikesh in January. There seems to be puppies EVERYWHERE! i'm not sure what the explanation for this is but i have seen at least 5 litters in the past 2 days. cute as all get out.
I finally broke down today, (I'm such a sucker,) and bought dried milk toast for this cute but very hungry looking mother of 5. She got me. All her fat little pups. They looked just at that age where they start to get really annoying with their little teeth and nails. She was as skinny as a dog can get and still be a dog.
As i approached on the street i saw her get up from nursing, almost as if she was like, "ok, enough is enough, i need more food now" and she headed straight for me, me, with my belly full of honey toast and wheat porridge and chai but nothing in my bag to give her at all. There is so little people activity in the street now compared to the busy season here, that her chances of a meal are greatly diminished. Don't forget this is a vegetarian town, so the prospects of chicken parts or even a fish head thrown her way are non-existent. Dogs here survive on vegetables, chapati and rice. I did see one enterprising young canine mother the other day trotting, head held high, with a half a young cow leg in her mouth, hoof and all. She was probably stoked to turn her little toothy rugrats loose on that tasty morsel.
Anyhow, as for me, i headed for the nearest canteen to buy a couple of chapati (traditional flatbread) for my dog. "no chapati" they replied there. I looked around me thinking "no chapati? how is that possible? Indians eat chapati with EVERY meal!" then it dawned on me as i looked about the shop.... "ONLY CHAI!" we, the family and i, all chimed together. So i went next door to a little shop, looking for dog food. What would a dog eat? there were candies, cookies, biscuits and pop...and a loaf of bread. i asked the shop keeper "i'm looking for dog food, what would a dog eat?" He points to the dry milk toast, kind of like a rusket. Not the most nutritious thing in the world, but it does have milk and wheat and sugar, so at least it will give her energy, if not an incredible thirsty desire to head for a drink at the river.
Turning back to where they were, i see the puppies, rolling around in the dirt, play fighting eachother. Then i find the mother. She is a nice dog. She happily eats the dry toast out of my hands, one by one. Every time one of the puppies steals one of the toasts i am feeding her, she lets them take it. Mother's ultimate sacrifice. It warms my heart, the selflessness.
Ultimately the puppies only nibble at the edges for fun and then abandon their own piece to fight one of their siblings for their piece. Practicing all their survival instincts for later.
A gentle cow looks on. I go over to give her some too. She is as gentle and mannered as the dog in the way that she takes my offering. Neither creature has grabbed or been pushy or greedy, both exhibit such delicacy and grace in the way they take the food, as if they are not starving.
Eventually the mother clearly starts to get dry mouth, and i start laughing at her and the dry toast. She finally stops taking the toast from me, so i show her a place where i hide the rest of the dry toast, in case she wants it for later.
The exchange buoys me for hours afterwards.
The place i had breakfast this morning is the same place i had lunch the other day, riverside with a beautiful Ganga view, across from where i saw the funeral. Apparently that is the burning ghat, the typical place where the people conduct their funeral ceremonies riverside, because as i ate my breakfast this morning, i watched another one. First there was nothing. No one. Then a couple people arrived. Its a BYOFW situation: bring your own firewood. Everyone brings a log or a stick to construct the funeral pyre, because its a big job, and there's no company you can hire, no organization that you can pay to do it for you. The people take care of their own. By the time i left the restaurant, the flames were leaping high in the air, the wheel of life continues to turn.