Complaining About Dogs

                                               

     “Not so tight. I’ll get a headache. There’s already too much oil.” I whine to my aunt who is combing my hair.

      I live in a large farmhouse in a valley in Ooty, a rainy town in southern India with my parents, grandma, aunts and uncles, and several cousins. 

      In the mornings my mom or one of my aunts massages our hair with warm coconut oil.  They comb and braid our long hair. My dad and uncles are out in the plantations.

      It’s a warm day, and we are standing out in the courtyard. 

     The Dalmatian puppy, Dalmi Doll, barks and jumps around her wood kennel, eager to be free from her leash. She’s been with us now for only four months. 

     “You’ll be late to school. Stop fussing!” My grandma sits on the garden parapet enjoying the morning sun and us, her granddaughters.

      She has a steel pestle and mortar in her hands and is using it to crack her areca nuts. I love my grandma's silky, white and black long hair and her soft, wrinkled skin.  

      “You will come back like a ghost with your hair flying all over if it is not braided tight.” Grandma uses that tone on me quite often when she thinks I’m being difficult. I ignore her. There are also days she chases me around the house when I am trying to escape tying my hair. 

     Just then the tractor man drives in to the driveway, and as he parks my grandma calls him in a stern voice, “Murthy!” He heads towards her with his arms folded. “How many times have I told you not to drive that vehicle of yours on my rose bushes? You have to replace them.” She’s actually scolding him. Now I don’t like her doing that, and I can see Murthy’s face. It looks sad.

       My aunt finishes plaiting my hair.

       I bolt up to my grandma and whisper in her ear, “Don’t scold him. Please, Ajji.” I kiss her soft cheek.

      My grandma looks at me, and then she admonishes him, “Be careful next time. How’s your baby?”

     Murthy’s face lights up.

     I grab my bag and a couple of slices of rusk from a box on the window sill and dash to the car, a maroon Ambassador.

     We have four dogs at home apart from Dalmi Doll.  The dogs are tied to the pillars in front of their kennels and bark loudly.

    Three of them are guard dogs. They are left loose at night.  Their barking can be heard far away on top of the mud road leading to my house, and no one dares visit or walk down the valley into our compound.  One of the dogs, a Doberman, is ferocious. We have to make sure that by the time the farm workers come in at seven in the morning, we feed him and get him into his kennel or leash him.  The two German Shepherds bark loudly and scare strangers. Our black retriever, Bodie, gives people the chase but means no harm. I throw the dogs some rusk and hop into the car.

      Our house is far from school and the roads are very rugged. The school bus isn’t allowed to come that far into the countryside so we have a driver to take us to school and back.

      I squeeze in back with my four cousins. We all are in our school uniforms. Our school bags are on our laps. My oldest cousin sits in front. The driver, Govind, closes my door.

      “I have a geography test today,” says one of my cousins as she pulls out her text and starts studying.

      “Hope we are not late. It is already 8:15. If Ms. D is around, she’ll punish us. She already warned us last week.”

       Govind drives us up the rocky, muddy route to the main road which leads us to town, school, and for that matter anywhere out of the countryside.

     We are all quiet during the ride. Just as we reach school a frightened look falls over our places. We are late. The school girls have lined up and are heading to chapel. They are wearing black blazers, light blue shirts, grey pleated skirts and socks and brown shoes.

      As I get out of the car, I am a little nervous, “Akka, I haven’t polished my shoes, and I don’t have a handkerchief.”

      “Take this.” My cousin gives me her hanky. “You should have polished your shoes instead of playing with Dalmi Doll and Bodie. Now go join your line.” She has a downbeat expression.

     Ours is a girl’s school managed by the Church of England. I don’t like to be late and my  stomach feels odd. My cousins and I place our school bags against the wall of the building and join the line of kids to chapel. We look around. We smile at each other when we realize the principal, Ms. D, is not there. We got lucky.    

      In chapel we sing carols and pray. Today we sing my favorite song – “Count your Blessings.” The vases on either side of the altar contain lilies and roses.

       After, we head off to a  Library period, and I borrow Charlotte’s Web. The morning classes are dull.

       For the 11:00 am break we get bread and butter, and lemonade, instead of tea, because it’s a warm day. We all stand in a queue, and two of the bearers serve us. There are only 220 girls in the school, and we all know each other well.

       After rasam rice, boiled egg, and beans for lunch, I play tag with my friends. Today, we have double crafts period. We are learning to crochet.  After tea break at 3:00 and bun, we have Girl Scouts.

       When our day is done, Govind  picks us up and  drops us off on top of the mountainous road.  We have to walk down home from there.

     “Why are you not driving us all the way home?” One of my cousins asks the driver.

     “The car has a problem with the tires. It can’t go down the road till we get it fixed.”

      “Why didn’t you just bring the jeep?” My older cousin asks, “We are scared of the farmworkers’ dogs. They may not be tied and can come chasing.”

      “Tomorrow surely, young madam. I’m sure they don’t bite.” the driver says. He is a tall, thin man and speaks very little.

       My older cousins help me carry my school bag. I love my cousins very much though they don’t always let me and my other cousin, who is just two years older than me, join in any of their games. My bag is made of cloth, and they hang it on one of their shoulders.

       The road side, at one point, is lined with several of the farm workers’ houses.  A few of them have dogs that often roam free, bark at passersby, and some that attack a suspicious-looking walker. We never know which is a friendly excited barker or a ferocious attacker.

      Once we come near the houses, we shout to the workers, “Keep an eye on your dogs.”  Today we are luckless. Two dogs spring out of their kennels and race uphill towards us barking.

      My eldest cousin panics and bounces behind all of us. She fears the dogs the most.  But now we all are terror stricken and scurry around each other in circles. Somehow my oldest cousin manages to stay at the back. I am astonished because she is the one I always look up to when I am afraid.

      “Stop and stand still,” my bravest and brightest cousin yells. We stop circling around as the barking dogs approach us.  We stand still and speechless using our cloth bags as our armor.

       “Raja! Rani! Stop and come back! Come back!” A lady shrieks and rushes frantically from the fields towards the dogs. She is wearing a sari and has a sheet tied over her head. I know she is a farm worker.

        The dogs continue charging towards us. The lady keeps yelling. I know the lady. She is Kooniamma. The dogs slow down and then turn away. The other workers have gathered to see what the commotion is about.

      “I had tied up both of them before going to the fields.  Don’t know how they got free. I am really sorry. Now your grandma will be very angry with me,” Kooniamma says. She is worried and sorry for what has happened.  As she pulls her dogs away, she scolds them. They seem to understand her disapproval.

      We march briskly down our stony dusty road. We turn around to make sure there are no other dogs behind us.

      The road has huge bumps in regular intervals. My dad explained that these divert the rain water into the ditches that flow into the stream so the road doesn’t get washed away during the rainy season. The road meanders between huge terraced fields of potatoes, carrots, cabbage, garlic and wheat. There are patches of wooded areas of Eucalyptus trees. The valley is surrounded by acres of plantations, and mountains that look blue.

     Big white lilies stretch along the edge of the stream alongside the road. These are the lilies we take for the school chapel vases. The rivulet floods during the monsoon, and trickles during the dry seasons but I have never seen it dry. During summer we sit beside the watercourse and watch the tadpoles, read our books, or strive to improve our water color painting.

      Another puppy scampers towards us from the other side of the stream. Unable to cross over, it stands there wagging its tail and barking at us. It’s mother may not be far behind. Our stroll quickens.

      “Be careful, don’t trip.” My cousin holds my hand, and we can’t stop laughing. We see our house. As soon as we reach home, we complain about the dogs to Grandma, my mom, and aunts. We giggle as we recall how our oldest cousin pushed us in front.

       “Let Kooniamma come tomorrow. I will have to talk to her about keeping her dogs under control. How could she not tie up her dogs, and have them scare my granddaughters?” My grandma is sitting on the stone bench under the peach tree.

       “We shouldn’t have told Ajji what happened,” I tell my cousin. “I don’t want her scolding Kooniamma.”

      “I know,” says my cousin.  “But we have now.” She shrugs her shoulder.

      The farm workers and people around the countryside respect Grandma. I don’t like it when she is angry at the workers or scolds them.

       “Ajji, she had leashed the dogs, but they broke loose. So how is she to blame? Don’t scold her. They didn’t know we’d be walking down today.” I say.

       “The rule is to tie the dogs from dawn to dusk.” My Grandma has her hands on her hips.

        In the morning, I stand in front of the wash basin mirror brushing my teeth and looking out the window. I see one of our dogs, the oldest German shepherd, Ranga, spring out from behind the house. He chases a field worker who has come to work early. I know he won’t bite or harm the lady, but she is afraid. I drop my brush and dart outside. The lady waves her shawl and yells hysterically. I scream for Ranga to come back.

      My grandma and Mom join me, and we all clamor for the dog to stop. Ranga stops, turns around, and comes back.

      Grandma gives him a stern look and directs him towards his kennel.

      The lady’s face is red. She shivers. “I thought the dogs would be tied.  We cannot come in early because of these dogs. They scare us. The other day they chased Rukki, the new farm hand. She was complaining about your dogs.”

      “Yesterday, we complained about their dogs, and now they are. You cannot scold Kooniamma now.” I tug at Grandma’s sari. “Let the workers know to keep an eye on their dogs, even if they have tied them, if they don’t see the jeep driving us down at 5:00 in the evening.” I see a very slight smile at the corner of Grandma’s mouth.

      “Now you go and brush your teeth. Get ready for school.” Grandma is using that tone. “Mrs.D. will punish you girls if you are late again. Hurry now!”

      There’s a sparkle in my darling Grandma’s eyes. It assures me she’ll be fair. I finish brushing my teeth, and scoot to where Dalmi Doll is having her breakfast.

The End