How much do they really know? Just yesterday I met a really interesting lady. I can’t remember her name and I don’t know what she does for a living. But I remember her stories. One in particular haunts me.

She lost her dog the day before yesterday. Her puppy, whom she’d rescued from a couple of indifferent previous owners, was frisky, loved a cuddle and was just really affectionate. She, however, was all set to go off on what she called "a little tiki tour around NZ." This had been planned well in advance of the arrival of Puppy. Herein lay the dilemma. If she took Puppy with her, she wouldn’t be allowed into a number of campsites (since animals aren’t allowed) and yet, she loved Puppy and didn’t want to give him up to the SPCA or see him sent to a household that didn’t love and appreciate him as much as she did and he deserved. She was stuck. What was she to do. The day before she was to leave, Puppy was extra playful and loving. She played with him, cuddled him and loved him like a child. Little did she know that it would be the last time she did all of those.

Later that day, Puppy ran out of the house (she’s still not sure how he got out…) and was knocked down by an oncoming car. He had taken his young life into his own paws, poor chap. As she lay in bed, mourning her loss, she felt a little voice deep within her say….he wanted to come with you and yet didn’t want to be a burden. And she felt immensely honoured that the little dog had chosen to be with her in the most permanent way he knew.

She then spoke to a friend who’d lost his dog some years back. This is his story. He was going to move country and wasn’t sure if he could take his dog with him. A similar story with the exact same ending. His dog (I think he was called Spoody…the dog, not the man) also ran out of the house and into the path of an oncoming vehicle and ended his life the day before he was to leave.

Both these stories struck a chord within me.

About 15 years ago, my best friend passed away. His name was Kronus and he was my grandparents’ dog. He was also my confidante, my hide-and-seek buddy (yes I would hide and he would seek and vice versa too. He was brilliant) and my audience (Iused to sing to him). He let me hug him for as long as I wanted when I was down and I ran to him when I needed to share some little bit of excitement as well. When I opened the door in the mornings, he never once failed to run to me, however old he was. He recognised my footsteps and my voice. He cowered behind me at Diwali when the firecrackers in the street scared him. We had a bond.

One Sunday, about 15 years back, I got back home (I used to go to the market every Sunday with my parents and sister) and went to the bathroom as usual to wash my hands and face. As I wiped my face on my towel, I got an extremely familiar scent. It was Kronus. For a minute, I forgot that my grandparents were back in India and that Kronus was there with them, and felt extremely happy. It was my friend! He was here!
And then I remembered. No, he wasn’t. He was there. I went to my mother immediately and told her that I smelt Kronus and dragged her to my towel. She agreed. He had a very distinctive smell which became more pronounced the older he grew. He was quite old at this point, about 13 I think…which is a long time in dog years. He was also sickly, poor chap and his limbs were beginning to fail him one by one.

My mother jokingly said that maybe Kronus was saying goodbye. I made her stop. I couldn’t deal with the thought of him not being around. The day passed. Months passed and soon it was time to go to India for the annual vacation.

My mother sat me down one day, about a week before we left, and told me that Kronus had passed away some months back. I was wild. I screamed and yelled and all of a sudden, it was extremely distressing that she hadn’t told me earlier. I felt cheated. All these months I had been happy and not grieved the loss of my bestest friend in the whole world. Suddenly I felt alone. All my excitement at going back evaporated. Kronus wasn’t gonna be there. And Ihadn’t mourned him.

Then my mother asked if I remembered that Sunday when I got his smell on my towel. Of course I did. She said that she’s talked to my grandma about it and that was the day he’d passed away.

He had come to say goodbye.

Kronus’ story came to mind as I listened to the lady yesterday. Three dogs passing away just before a major change that involved them? Coincidence? Maybe not. Maybe they do know a lot more than we give them credit for. I am convinced that they do.  ¶ 11:25 am