White - The Lab who caught the biscuit

It was a rainy night in July 2001. I'd just entered 5th grade, and school was in the morning at 7. When you're 10, in order to wake up at 6, you must be out cold by 11, or you'll sleep in school, especially if you consider the amount of sleep I need. Anyways, I was woken up by the moans of a dog in the middle of the night. I could see the hall light switched on, and I saw my mom peering out the window.

She said, "The dog's giving birth. You go and sleep. We'll go to see the puppies day after." Now, my mom loves animals, and so do I. and when you're 10 and the younger child, you're just excited to see someone smaller than you. And when we went there, I gasped. 4 of the most beautiful puppies I'd ever seen were sleeping beside their mother. Upon closer observation, my mom noticed that each had 20 toes instead of the usual 18, and according to my mom, that means they're a good breed(I don't know if that information's authentic). But the rain and ants were making life hell for them. My mom suggested moving them to a dryer place, and we took hold of the 4 and put them near the compound hall.

From then on, we started giving them a bowl of milk and Parle-G each night when they were old enough to drink that. they eagerly lapped it all up, and were soon fattened up. As days passed by and they learnt to walk and run, we had a difficult time returning home. Whenever we left, they'd start running behind us. Each time we pushed them back, they wagged their tails and followed us again. They were cute as hell, and we loved them

  Before I go any further, I'd like you to know, that my society is filled with ridiculously idiotic dog haters and people who fear dogs. They dont fear God as much as they fear dogs, which is funny, because they're just the same word rearranged. A little more time passed by, and one day, a pup vanished. We were worried, and my mom was almost positive that it was the work of the society. A few days later, the next one did. and at last, the only one left was White, named so because he was pure white, not even cream. We brought him home each night for a few days, and the effort paid off. He survived, and how!

  My mom and me absolutely doted on him whenever we went down to gave him food, and he was obedient. Very obedient. As soon as the lift started its humming sound, he'd be near the lift when we got to the ground floor. We'd trained him to always sit down first before eating food, and he had a knack of catching biscuits. Throw one in the air, and he'd catch it. Every time. Unfailingly. Before long, he learned to climb the stairs, and began sitting outside the house. He was our guard. He was trained, obedient and cute. We used to give him occasional showers, and end up getting wet when he shook himself dry. Time flew as he grew up to be a strapping Lab, and he was also the patriarch of the stray dogs in our building. He played with us a lot, and whenever I felt stressed, I just went out, pampered him a bit, and I'd feel better.

He was 5 years old when tragedy struck. Common cold is harmless to us humans, but not for canines. He started sneezing, and lost his appetite. We were very worried. The vet saved him, but barely. He was just recovering, when our hatred filled society decided to play Angel of Death to him. A sweeper struck him with an iron rod near his belly, and that injured his kidney, the vet said. He used to wobble a lot, and never drink more than a few sips of milk.

It was October, and we found him lying on the ground. He was alive, but just. Tears rolled out of my eyes. I just wanted him to run again, to play with me. I patted his head a bit, and he moaned in agony. That did it, and I burst into tears... My mom led me away, trying to calm me. I could see he was watching us, and being helpless was something I did not handle well. The next day, he was gone. I wanted to give him a proper funeral, but damn my society. I couldnt shake off his last moan to me for a long time.

Its been 5 years since he died, but whenever I see a Lab on the road, I'm reminded of White. and whenever I see Marley and Me, I cry remembering him. Many dogs have since been born, lived and died, but apart from a dog who's named Lazy, no one even came close. White was my sibling. White was our family's baby. He loved us, and we loved him. To this day, I vividly remember his ability to catch biscuits.

Life goes on, yes, and memories help you move on, but I still miss him.

I'd like to end with Marley and Me's quote:

"A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart, and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not."