My Cocoa-Brown Coco

I ring the door bell and wait to hear the flurry of activity just to let me in. A weekly visit seems like forever. The love she showers on me hits me with almost a physical force. Plunging on me as if she is seeing me after a decade, the meaning of selfless wholesome affection and pure delight unfolds yet again the same way as it does afresh each week of my homecoming. Feisty spirited hyperactive full-of-mischief Coco. A true friend who never asks questions and unconditionally finds her quiet place beside me when I am in tears or when I am sick. Complete loyalty and a love so pure, it is worthy of its place in literature.

Coco. My cocoa-coloured Dachshund. The little pup I chose from a litter of six, simply because she leapt at me when she saw me and upon being picked, immediately licked my nose and cheeks with that “love me” innocent look in her eyes which I couldn’t turn my back to. So throwing practical judgment to the winds, which take into account body structure, looks, health and the like, I picked that skinny little pup without thought, keeping logic at bay and brought her home. She was meant for me. God willed so.

Life with Coco was one long story of mischief, invoking complaints as from an errant child. A pillow going missing to be later found on the terrace. Shoes with creative artwork done, putting the shoe designer’s handiwork to shame. Pulling from deep within her mouth the strangest of strange things lodged neatly, bits and bites picked from the terrace, thrown at her by the crow she had befriended. Pulling at the stack of neatly folded clothes and happily making a messy pile of them. A sudden piece of utensil gone missing to be found below the bed, tucked deep inside her pillow. And the trysts go on. At each of her creative adventures, she finds happiness galore. Wagging her tail at us, she seemed to say “Look what I have done today! Why don’t you too join me?”

Such adventures always led to a mild or sharp reprimand, depending upon the degree of the crime as also the time gap between this and the last misadventure. Like a truant child with experience of misdeeds, Coco would understand well when her adventure was a bit over the top; yet the fun involved was too much to let go of. The more the risk, the more the fun…and when caught, the more the tongue lashing, or the occasional spank on the bums with a rolled newspaper. Knowing the human nature well, these were expected reactions and she knew well how to handle them. Well rehearsed expression of shame comes over her eyes. Not knowing how long to hold onto this mask without risk of getting another round of lashing, she looks up at intervals to check if her tormentor is still at her job. Finding so, this expression of shame, now mixed with an apologetic look swims over her face, inducing suppressed grins from the human species. This drama continues till we see Coco exit the crime scene with tail folded between her hind legs and finding her refuge under the bed, where chances of reaching her is sufficiently minimised. She lets some time pass, by now knowing the habits and indulgence of her family members too well. She doesn’t take a chance though. After a well calculated time, which can only come from multiple exposures to a similar drama, she quietly creeps out from her hiding and literally on tip toes, makes her way around to check if her tormentor is out and away from eye and ear shot. This ensured, her fun filled world is once more secure and dropping the I-am-so-sorry mask, she wags her tail and jumps at the rest of us, ready for a tickle and some fun.

Extremely fond of food, it would be the height of emotional challenge to Coco if I chanced to come home during one of her meal times. Caught between her duty and love towards me vis-à-vis the gastronomical delight awaiting her, she found herself caught in a dilemma. But her heart of gold gave her the concession to overlook even her animal instincts and make way for love. Balanced as ever, Coco would come running to me to give me one quick hug and lick and race back towards her food bowl. Half way through, her heart would tell her almost always to stop once and look back at me. Pausing for half a second, she would look into my eyes with that killer look of hers to say “you will wait for me, won’t you, till I finish my food first?” This done, her conscience now clear, there would be no force on earth to stop Coco from reaching her food bowl.

Sometime in May 2000, a whole night drama unfolded with me playing the role of mid-wife to Coco, with his handler around to instruct me on birthing rules! All through the night and into the morning after, she gave birth to seven pups. And there started another episode in Coco’s life…tending to and caring for her litter. Like a true mother, she would keep aside her priorities now and concentrate on feeding her pups. So much was her sense of caring, Coco even fed and helped survive a motherless puppy once!

And then when she was all of ten years in this world and in our home and hearts, Coco fell sick. By now Coco “had seen the world”. Her body craved for food, her health couldn’t allow her to eat. Why and how can God be so cruel I wonder. She suffered and alongwith her, we suffered. All through her fight with her disease, she kept her jolly self alive. That ready wag and the lick told me “Don’t you worry, I’ll do fine”. And then came the morning of January 17, 2007. I woke up early and Coco’s thoughts alone pulled me home. She had not taken a bite since the last couple of days. We knew what was coming, yet would not allow our brain to dictate this to our heart. But that morning I experienced something which the pen and paper can never bring alive, but try I shall. I ran up to her bed with a biscuit in my hand. With renewed faith at seeing me, Coco felt she and I together might do the impossible…together we might make her now feeble body take a bite. She eagerly sat up and wagged her tail. Took a bite from me and chewed. I began to thank God, but soon we both saw that the bits of biscuit fell out of her mouth intact. She couldn’t eat. Her last hope, me, also failed to do the miracle. We locked eyes and at that instant we both knew the truth. A 10 year old dog and a 32 year old girl had the same realization in that split second. I looked deep into her eyes. Holding her head in my hands, I found myself telling Coco “Don’t be afraid, my brave girl. We are with you. I shall always be with you. You shall never be alone.” Coco heard. Coco understood. I could sense the fear in her eyes and that overwhelming look of trust on me. I won’t let her down. I’ll give her courage till the very end.

A few more minutes passed. Ma took her to the terrace, her favourite place at home. With worldly wisdom in her eyes and with Ma supporting her, she looked right, she looked left, her eyes took in the world around her one last time. Back in her bed, she took time in lying down as comfortably as she could. We followed our regular routine of me giving her time to find that perfect comfort pose, when I put her blanket on her. Today was no different. On this cold sunny winter morning, Coco took her position and I covered her and tucked her in. With the sunlight warming her body, she raised her head and looked at my eyes. I couldn’t blink. Continuing to look at me, she rested her head on her pillow and let out one last breath from her little body. I closed her eyes and let my tears flow.

The sun continued to shine and lend warmth to the world. Our world…my world…lost its sun, lost its warmth, lost its fun.

When I rested Coco in our backyard, I knew we would reunite. Sometime.