Kalu of Tapovan

Kalu


Where's Kalu?
The police officer on duty straightened up, looked left, then right, and with all seriousness replied, Kalu has not reported for duty today!

It was cold, he was not well, and I was concerned.

The story of Kalu .... A black and brown hound cross, he had in his early years been the unnofficial police dog at Tapovan chok. Well liked and cared for, until a combination of a road accident and the main officer taking on his care being relocated, changed his circumstances. Fortune smiled on Kalu at that point in his life, and he was taken in by a local woman living with two foreigners. She passed herself off as a sadhu, and a bit of a witch, and claimed to have great healing powers, which later proved to be rather dubious, but more on that later. Kalu was now somewhat lame, and a few years old, but the sorceress and her foreign supporters took on his care. His new home was only a few hundred meters away fom the police station. In a way, his new life had the best of both worlds. A warm home, with lots of company, good food, and daily outings that allowed him to report, on his own innitiative, for duty. Kalu was a rarity for an Indian dog, in that he preferred the company of men, and there he sat. He took his job seriously, not that his activities were specifically prescribed, but he reported on a daily basis, and gave watch over Badrinath Road. Watching the passersby, the traffic, the activities of his fellow workers the police officers, the drama of Indian village life unfolded before his eyes. Kalu knew everyone, and they knew Kalu.

He was well fed in his new home, but the few roti and biscuits that the officers tossed him meant more to him than the Pedigree Pal offered in his house. Evening time he would be rounded up by the sorceress and brought back inside. Another couple of dogs for company, a few cats, and lots of visits from foreigners with their pats and caresses for Kalu, and he had it pretty good.
Life went on like this for some years... But nothing in the world of illusions lasts forever, and the happy home was about to crumble. One foreigner moved out, and the house of relationships based on convenience and need fell apart. Squabbles, recriminations and hurt feelings, and each went their own way. Left in the wake were Kalu, his dog companion Maisy, and more than a few cats. Promises of 'I'll never leave the dogs behind' by the sadhu/sorceress were not kept. All were left behind after living a life of comfort and trust, to fend on their own.
The cats were the first to deteriorate, and the first to go. They were exquisite. Maisy was next, after lasting the better part of the winter, she succumbed, most likely to having injested poison from the streets.

Kalu made his way back to the Police Station, and he made himself happy there. He was not as appreciated as before, but still he was content and had a strong sense of loyalty and satisfaction. This was after all, in his mind and heart, his rightful place. The food was slim, and the bedding was bare; he made his sleeping quarters across the street, in yet another of the unnoficial dumping grounds of India. In the rubble he slept, unmindful of broken glass, stones, garbage, and whatever jetsom made it to the trash that day. He'd bury himself in the pile of whatever, and sleep late into the morning, until the sun had fully emerged.

Quickly losing weight, and being battered by other male dogs his juniors in years but superiors in strength, Kalu didn't look so good. I started feeding him of course, and bandaging his wounds, but it wasn't enough. A temporary respite in a very nearby ashram didn't last long. I found permission for him to stay there, and he did like this spacious home, but he was soon unwelcome, as his condition and beauty deteriorated with age and battle scars of the street. So, once again, he was back on the street, to where else, the Police station.

A new problem now set in, his back legs started to deteriorate. First a bit of dragging, to not being able to hold himself up, and he declined. A few accupunture treatments from a volunteer veterinarian did not help. But still, he peddled himself forward every morning to the front of the Police station, his home, and his place of reporting. When I arrived that winter morning, and Kalu had not 'reported for duty' I knew I had to make a change, and he would not like it. He was independent, strong willed, and did not want to leave his home. But I had to. I put him in my home, and although he cared for me, it was not his home, his work. He was not happy. For many reasons, I had to find him something else.

At this point in time, earlier said ashram (see earlier post) had accumulated a new group of dogs. Once again, dumped by local well wishers who could not keep them, found them, etc., and hoped for the best by placing them in a setting of spiritual bliss ...

maybe

Now fully paraplegic, Kalu had been joined in my home by another paraplegic dog, Lili. Lili was a gorgeous border collie cross, a victim of a road accident, who now scooted about on her two front legs as she effortlessly lifted her back end and walked on her hands, as it were. A very handy makeshift home had been made in a garden of the ashram, and it now seemed to belong to the dogs, literally. Squatters rights! I had been feeding these dogs and arranging for their medical care one by one, and a devoted animal lover within the ashram shared in their care. Life was bliss ...

So I added the new residents, Kalu and Lili. Lili adapted very quickly to her new home, and is an adorable site in the garden. Kalu, although in a much better and healthier environment, bears a bit of a grudge towards me for displacing him from his beloved police station, and forcing what he believed to be an early retirement. Sorry, Kalu, I could not watch you die on the street, unneccessarily. A part of him adjusted to the life of ease, cleanliness, good meals, fresh air, and a view of the Ganga, but he never fully forgot his work, and his job in Tapovan. Had I opened the garden gate, I know he would have dragged himself with every bit of strength he had left in him, to his beloved police station. In his being, Kalu was always prepared to report for duty.


FINAL NOTE ... Kalu passed away, mid January, 2012. He lived in the ashram with its adventures, ease, discord, and love, for one full year.

A Day in the Life

A day in the life ... Here are a few quick stories and photos of a typical days outing with animal care and meetings with friends . . .

Danni



Danni was another one of those dogs, who somehow just shows up ..
This picture , as many others, does not really show how bad off she appeared. Skeletal, bad skin, infections, and a head that just seemed too big for her body to hold up. And oh yes, a nursing mother. People who were ususally stoic to these kinds of scenes were shocked at her condition. Many people wanted to help her, but she remained elusive, and only sometimes coming out into public sight.
She was initially a bit shy and wary, but eventually gained trust and regularly came for food and affection. One day she actually took me to her home, to show me her pups, and her human family. Yes, she had a family and they were doing their best, but her condition was not good. Over time, with skin treatments, deworming, very good food, she blossomed. She had a gorgeous character, and a bit of a sense of humor. Danni like to hide from upper vantage points and watch me look for her. When I found her, she would not come, but would jump up and down in the air, wagging her big shaggy head from side to side. It was a comical and endearing sight.
The puppies were gorgeous, black and tan, clearly offspring of the neighboring Doberman Romeo. Very little about them looked like the delightfully shaggy haired Danni, except for one... Black and tan like her father, but with a few ruffs of hair encircling her ankles, wrists, and a little shaggy mustache, and oh yes, she had the Danni dance! I came up one morning with food, and Danni did her bouncing dance, and to our great amusement, shaggy daughter mimiced this performance, with joy and smiles. We all laughed. It was all I could do to resist grabbing her up in my arms and carrying her away. But this is impossible, and in the back of my mind, was making silent plans as to how I could at some future point convince the family to let me have Danni. I was that fond of her.

The puppies were eventually placed, but they kept the male, and with Danni looking her best, I did not have to come every day. So I would come up casually, no worries in my mind regarding these two, no sense of need or urgency. And then it hit me. The fear and sadness in the grandmothers eyes.
Danni?
She just shook her head and looked to the rest of the family members for help.
Bagh, bagh ...
Tiger? I asked incredulously.
Tiger.
They took me to the spot up the hill. It was what else, a garbage dumping ground were many animals would go looking for food. The jeep drivers confirmed the report. My lovely Danni had been dragged off by a tiger.

Life of a street dog in India. Life and death of a street dog in India.


Baba and Bubbly



Baba, Bubbly, and all

There are streets that are lined with beggars, Babas, and dogs. They keep each other company, form social circles, and communities of survival. Many people walk along these rows distributing bits of food, as they so feel moved. When I first arrived, I thought this was a depressing site, and with a bit of aversion, would make my way around this road, bypassing these sights. Until I became accustomed to the reality of these conditions, and made regular walks, with conversations and offerings, and found friendships and joys, notwithstanding the difficulties of these lives. There is often a charm to these outcasts and misfits, with whom I find I am regularly at ease. There are many ways to live a life, and hardships and joys come in many forms. This Baba was one of my favorites. Not only did he care for animals, but he had a strong character and his own charm and humor. He has since moved on, but while he was here, with his dogs, we made friends.
He had many dogs around him, and was quite good at understanding their behaviors, and at offering his care, sharing as much as he could. The offerings of 3RS Parleji biscuits seems to be unending in these rows of being, and the dogs get their shares from the babas. The newest edition, he named Bubbly. I thought it was a bit optomistic, considering her condition in those early days, but ok.
Surprisingly, after medicines and good food, Bubbly thrived. She grew into a beauty, and is still alive and very well as I write. She is extraordinarily intelligent, and she charms the local roadside residents daily.
Hari OM Bubbly and Baba


SPOTTY



Ay, ya, yai. What is this small black and white Border Collie style puppy doing with a leg rubbed raw, red , and the size of a baseball bat?! It was quite an unbelievable site. Daily bandaging, antibiotics, good food, etc. ... she improved. She was wonderful about having her dressing changed. Her bad habit was, however, that she liked to lie under the parked auto rickshaws at the roadside where she had made her home, and I often worried that the accident would repeat itself. She was energetic, lively, curious, and all the things a good puppy should be.

I wish I could say all ends well, but although the leg was nearly fully recovered after some weeks, her ability to cross the roads did not improve. With puppy abandon, she darted out onto the street and was killed, I was told.

She lived on the side of the road, and there are no crossing rules for dogs and beautiful Border Collie style puppies, and others.

Ashram Pups 2011



The neverending ashram pups ... new edition, 2011. One by one, a new wave of pups were tossed into the ashram. Make that, sometimes, two by two, three by three, etc...
Unfortunately, this seasons crop came with its own illnesses. Namely, parvo virus. It spread quickly, of course, and nature took its course. With no rhyme or reason as to who would, should survive, based on strength, general health, age, etc. eight survived. The remaining eight were a happy, and strong lot of varied size, shape and color. From our lovely almost laborador, Julie, to the sweet natured beagle looking cross Tommie, to her no relation brother Bairo, later known as Motu. A big golden bear of a dog, who loved to eat and wag his tail and play all day, and eat and wag his tail and play all day.
They all lived quite contentedly, and the seldom used garden, which was first taken over as a hospital ward while the treatments were going on, automatically became their home. They were in. And although there were a few grumbles about dogs in the garden, no one had quite enough clout or heart to be the one to throw them out. As they grew, the confines of the garden became too small for many of them, and they started their natural explorations. This had its own set of casualties, on the roads, with vehicles that speed by and have no time to stop for dogs. Three were lost this way, and reverentially buried on sacred ground. More came to take their place, and for the most part they happily coexist, with squabbles, and power dynamics, but all in all, a good life, better than most.

2011 The PO Pups

The Post Office Pups

There they were, a new edition to the year of 2011. Six gorgeous golden puppies, each one more healthy looking than the next. Some all gold, and some a chocolate gold with soft black muzzle markings. It was impossible to not pick them up and cuddle these small but hefty beings of innocence and trust. It was their first move. Where they came from I was never told and will never know. They were about six weeks old, and placed in a semi-safe semi-private location, the local Post Office. While this may not sound terribly private, or particularly safe, considering the logistics of the building, it had its advantages. One, it had a couple of enclosures in the outer entrance way, where they could curl up and hide, if need be, and two, it was enclosed, from cold and rain, and three, it was just public enough that they could be seen should some well wisher find them irrisistable and be moved to carry one away, and in the world of wishful thinking, take them and provide a home.
Fourth, it was fairly well known that I would sooner rather than later, take notice of them, and take care of them. Mama was new to the area as far as being an outside\street dog, and was most likely a female family pet, who now that she had become pregnant, was put out on her own to take care of herself and her pups. So far she had done a very good job, the puppies were brilliant in their good health and comfort.
The local postmaster turned out to be a very kindly man, who although would not activey acknowledge them, made no comments of complaints of their presence, and made no efforts to have them removed, So, for now they would be safe. The auto rickshaws park up in front of the Post Office entrance, and the drivers genrally had a good time counting puppies and watching their progress. And yes, it was an auto driver who eventually admitted to placing them there, although admitting no relationship of ownership to the mother dog. Still, it was an effort in a world of limited opportunities to provide care for these beings, even with the not unreasonable hope that someone else (me) would give them care.
So, they came, they played, they ate, and for a time they thrived. Mama could come and go, the local garbage dump was just across the street, and if the food I brought was not to her liking, there was always the opportunity to explore and scavange.
Another unexpected bonus to this location, was the semi-permanent addition of a wandering Baba who made the enclaved entrance to the PO his home as well. He stored his belongings in a corner, unrolled his bed bag in the evening, and slept there until morning, before opening hours. So, a Baba, bed and blankets, and six lovely puppies and one mama to keep each other all warm in the cold nights. Morning feedings were now not just for the pups, but for Baba as well, who let me know just how he liked his morning tea and biscuits. Why not? And oh yes, Baba likes his drink as well, so morning time often included several empty bottles of spirits scattered about, which I trust were for medicinal purposes in the cold of the night. Why not?
The not so good parts. The puppies were all girls, so no one would be taking them, no matter how adorable they were. The road the Post Office is on is busy, full on with trucks, autos and motorbikes. And the garbage dump with its full aroma of inviting delicacies was across this street. No matter how much food they would be given, and it was more than ample, the lure of expanded horizons was only a matter of time as they grew and became more mobile and adventurous.
It did not take long for the first accident. The largest, the heftiest, Bertha. The most beautiful and the most advanced was now lame, and frightened as I approached one afternoon. Instead of running out in front of her smaller sisters to greet me, she was cowering, in a corner shaking and in pain. With medical treatment and some days of rest, she seemed to improve; until one morning I came and she was gone. No one knew anything of her disappearance, and she was not seen again. Then there were five. Shortly after that there were four. This time the shop keepers saw it, instant contact with a passing truck, instant death. Yet they were moved, and touched, and with a trace of a tear in his eye the ususally stoic shopkeeper asked if I could not move them somewhere else. The local children who were part of the family of the shop keepers next door would regularly play with them, and enjoy their company, but they too wanted them moved. People were putting their hopes on their survival, and we all knew it was pretty unlikely.

So, on the lookout for yet another hiding place. It had to have safety, access, and no other dogs who already claimed this as their territory. In the middle of the village stood a seemingly abandoned ashram, up the road a bit. Many people walked pass every day, all day, and dogs did go through, but it did not look like anyone lived there. The layout gave a pleasant surprise, as on the top floor was a huge open courtyard, fully enclosed, and secure. Very secure, once I put them in there. How would I get them out. Well, the obvious. I would have to scale the wall several times a day in and out. SO the puppies were moved. Mama could come in and out by utilizing a ramp I set up for her, and the puppies were enclosed. I would take them out to run in the garden in the morning and afternoon, and put them back in at evening time. It worked well for a while, it was just time consuming. The school children saw all this of course, and one morning there were two new additions, Kali and her daughter Kali, courtesy of the school children. They eventually left on their own, to where I do not know, but they were beautifuland gentle and sweet, and I wished them God's grace.
A change was brewing in the ashram setup ... suddenly I was finding the puppies all put out on the outside, and a security guard sleeping on the ground floor at lunch time. Hm, the word is out, squatters have moved in. They may be the four legged kind, but still, squatters. I kept my cool, and just waited him out each day, and when he left, the puppies would go back in, safely tucked away for the night, and in the mornings, I would find them all back out. They were growing, it was ok, they would have to learn their way on the street sooner rather than later anyway. So in a bit more time, the seemingly inevitable, two more disappeared. One was reportedly hit by a motor bike, and the other unknown. The two remaining now were clearly afraid to enter the ashram grounds, so it appeared they were now being forcibley, and aggressively removed. They relocated across the street, and did well for some time; and then there was one. A family has taken her in, but where and for how long, is hard to say.

The life of a street dog.