MY EARLIEST MEMORY..THE DOG AND I!

I often wish that I could remember the day I was born, because that would be a real memorable moment, when I graced the world with my dazzling presence! But on second thoughts, that might not be a very good idea, because I have been told that the nurse overseeing my birth, discarded me after I was born two months premature, declaring that I would not survive. I was unceremoniously left lying in a corner on a bundle of rags, until my paternal grandmother arrived. She poked me and prodded me and declared that I was alive and kicking. She picked me up from the rags and decided I would live. And so I did! I proved right from the first day of my life that I was a fighter. Many decades later, I still am, although my family would prefer to call me a fighter cock, rather than a fighter! But that is their view point, and living in a free country, everyone is entitled to his or her views.

Newborns are notoriously ugly and their resemblance to human beings is really debatable. I was an extreme example of this fact, especially as I had decided to venture out into the world two months early, to show the world what they were missing. My photos from the first year of my life are totally embarrassing and I look like a plucked chicken! When I was grown up, I lost no time in removing those pictures and safely keeping them away from prying eyes! The beauty I am today, does not want to be reminded how ugly I was when I started my journey! I am a classic example of an ugly duckling turning into a swan, or so I like to think. As I said, it is a free country.

Coming back to my earliest memories, I recall one very clearly. And it totally defines my stand on dogs! I don’t hate them, but I am just TERRIFIED of them. My worst nightmare is having a dog come sniffing around me, wagging its tail. It is believed that when a dog wags its tail, it is being friendly. But has anyone told that dog that?

All I can see is its row of big, sharp teeth and saliva dripping tongue. The thought of being licked, is yucky enough, but the thought of being bitten in a misguided attempt of friendliness by the canine is for me a reality, despite the views of the other around me.

“Don’t worry! He likes you. He is just smelling you!”

“Oh yeah? How would you like me to come and smell you, if I like you”, I feel like asking, while I try not to climb onto the top of the chair to escape the sniffing monster.

To be fair, I don’t blame the dogs. They are what they are, with their tails, slurpy tongues, huge teeth, barks and doggy attitude. It’s just that me and dogs are not on the same wavelength. And what happened to me when I was about three years old, one of my most vivid early memories, reinforces my phobia of dogs.

I was swinging on the gate of our house, with my elder sister, who was about eleven years old at that time, pushing me. I was enjoying myself, as there is no greater pleasure in a three year old’s life than to swing on a gate. Along came a dog, a big, black one! It came to the gate to sniff and it wanted to sniff me. And it came near me! I yelled in fear at the top of my three year old voice, as the dog brought its big nose near me. And I let go of the gate! 

The result is still debatable, as to who was more shocked. The dog or me! For I fell on the dog! The dog, totally surprised at the sudden weight that descended on it, yelped in horror and tried to shake me off. I was totally petrified to know that I had landed on the dog and shrieked and yelled louder. That noise sent the dog into a frenzy and it shook me off in haste on to the pavement and ran off. I was left wailing, clutching my arm, which had taken the brunt of my fall. It had not helped that the dog had shaken me off so that I landed on that same arm!

The result was a fracture to the arm and I had to be admitted to a hospital. Let me tell you, that this happened in London way back in the 1960’s where my father was posted in the Indian High Commission. Having just landed in UK, I did not speak a word of English and knew only Tamil. Totally traumatised, I had to spend the night in hospital, where nobody could speak Tamil and I kept on crying for my dad not to leave me in this strange place. Well, he had to, for sometime at least, as he had to bring my mother to stay with me. But those few hours, amongst strange faces, who spoke a mysterious language, and who could not understand a word of what I was saying, compounded my trauma and misery! Something I cannot forget to this day and something I blame squarely on the Big Black Dog!! And all other dogs I meet till today!

Memories are made of this!!

By the way, no infant pictures of me! Remember, they are hidden from public view!

Linking this post to Write Tribe's My Earliest Memory