Simba: Forever young

Simba: Forever young

"When you adopt a dog, you have a lot of very good days and one very bad day" 

- W. Bruce Cameron

13th September, 2024 is that very bad day. 38 minutes ago, that is, at 3:27 pm comes a call from my mother who was in Attibele. 35kms away from the call was me predicting the usual when did you reach home, what did you eat, etc and I also believed that she would expound on something that I knew - my uncle taking Simba to an animal farm in Sarjapur this morning at 9 am. As Simba was battling with a type of cancer (no vet ever has told us about the name of his disease) since 3.5 years with his condition worsening from past 2 weeks, uncle convinced my grandmother into taking Simba to an animal farm today where "they will not be allowing the family members to see Simba but will keep sending photos/updates about his well-being only to uncle and will release him to us once he recovers". I expected my mother to tell me that she too accompanied uncle to admit Simba to the farm. Last night, I even googled about any such center in Sarjapur that could take "good care of ill dogs" and found some so I continued to believe that Simba might return once he is treated. What she said next was wrenching. "Mama took Simba with Thatha and gave him euthanasia. Don't know where. He didn't allow me to see Simba. He said it's better if he left us as he had suffered too much already". Whenever my uncle told randomly or even to Dr. Himanshu at Cessna that he would give away Simba to some rescue center or euthanize him, I thought it was his way of prompting her to cure him quickly. 

Childhood: Simba

It was in the month of October 2015 when an Alsatian puppy which closely resembled a bear cub walked into our house in Attibele. My aunt named him Simba instantly. No apparent reason or naamakarana as such. That day, we were four families in the house. All of us wanted to hold the cub, cuddle and just stay there. Simba declared that he would only mingle enough with us and later required his "own personal space", that is, as I remember precisely was to find any corner and put his nose into it, then lie sleeping. This continued for the first few days. He would go around, find corners of sofas or cupboards and sleep. He wore a red collar. Whenever he wanted to pee or poop, I used to carry him with his long leash outside and put him down in slow-motion. That fluff would run at god speed into bushes, on the grass and around the ground. Once done with his toilet business, I would lift, carry him and go into the house again. On some nights, he somehow managed to come outside the grilled door of my aunt's and uncle's room on the terrace then howled like a wolf on the steps which connected to the ground floor and the first floor/terrace. My grandfather would then pick him up and put next to my grandmother to continue sleeping. We then figured out that he was crying. My uncle called his breeder to know why Simba used to whine at nights and learnt that it was because he still missed his mother. We were told not to be worried because puppies take time in getting accustomed and that he will be alright. It pains to now look back and feel what Simba went through during those nights. My grandparents decided to keep him with them alongside them on the bed so that he only has to go out when the nature calls, literally. Years later, Simba grew tall and was having his glow-up. Naughty, sassy and yapping. He would tear socks, bite off the sofas, kindly take away the flowers from mom's or granny's hairs, would only turn his head when someone calls his name followed by "choostick", "biscuit" or "chicken", pounce next to granny if my cousin or I sat with her, go round and round and round around the swing playing chor police (boy his moves were smooth, uncatchable), slowly take away KFC chicken wings from mom's or cousin's plate like a gentleman, steal chicken or biscuits and argue (lots of bow bow) with granny whenever she shouted at him. Soon, he hit puberty I think.

Puberty

He began to attack whoever tried taking away anything he was chewing on or sucking on or was playing with. I think this was his "Come bro, want to fight? Who's your daddy now?" era. It made sense to me as to why he was being defensive, violently. The ones who he used to attack were those who didn't cared for him often (strangers, helpers, thatha and my aunt). Having been attacked twice, Simba didn't hurt me as much as he did to others before or later. If you didn't respect Simba's boundaries, you didn't deserve the sacred act of squishing or even being close to his lustrous mane.

Simba vs My cousin

One of my cousins from Mysuru had to get a TT injection because Simba violently attacked and scrapped off some skin from her left hand. Why? Let me tell you. It was her first time in Attibele. So it was first time for Simba seeing this tall woman. He was playing with a toy and he just kept it in front of his paws. For no obvious reason, she began talking like 'Jojo Siwa welcoming her viewers' and tried taking away his toy. I bet she didn't hear his first warning sign before any attack: growling. In fact, most dogs give a sign before they attack. Having adopted 2 dogs herself, didn't see it soon enough. Also, nobody were there when the incident took place except for me, who was holding my 1 year old baby cousin. Alas, I was near but showing the dumb baby stars above. Hearing my cousin cry and me shout for help, my aunt was the first to come out assuming her child was being attacked. Then, my grandmother came and shooed away Simba. I stood still and was only scared for one thing. Simba.

Simba, uncle and Amama

Once, Simba had run away as the gates were open for a majestic trail (pee-pee-poo-poo in the field). About half an hour later, I saw Simba chasing cows in the field. It was amusing to see him being chased by them too. As I enjoyed this view, my grandmother came out and was calling Simba to get inside. If you remember, I had told that Simba was sassy too right? And was in puberty too? So, he continued his chase. The cow owners didn't seemed to bother much. But, as my uncle heard granny, he threw away his iPhone on the sofa and walked swiftly outside. So, to Simba, his adopted parents were granny and uncle. Whenever I wanted him to give up pulling a thread that I was holding onto or grab his attention, I would say "Amama" or "Daddy" other than the food names or "walking". This is because, granny (Amama) and uncle (Daddy) loved him intensely. Granny fed and nurtured Simba, doing all the duties of a mother to a child. Amama was the only one who could bathe him, brush his teeth, clean his ears and take away anything he had with him. Uncle was the only one who would carry him even as Simba grew to 40 kgs, wrestle with him and would always take Simba out to walk for the longest time. Back to the cow chase, as uncle called Simba's name twice, Simba "heard", turned his head around and ran to uncle. There was a dried gutter that had dried and had bushes grown out from it, of 3 foot length. As Simba was about to cross it to reach uncle who was on the other side, "my uncle" grabbed Simba's collar, pushed him into the gutter and hit him on his buttocks several times. My granny and I weren't new to my uncle projecting his frustration of life onto a fragile object, but this time it was Simba. My grandmother shouted at her son to stop beating Simba and come back. I thought prevention should've been better. He walked back with the same speed. I ran to Simba, making no eye contact or whatsoever with uncle. Simba's tall ears had bent back and he was shivering. Scared whether he might attack back if I forced him to get up, I waited and called him out slowly, but repeatedly. I didn't want to call my granny to call him out as she was busy scolding uncle and then I saw him going out driving his car to office. I went back, brought his leash and tied to him, then pulled him out. Simba came in, I don't quiet recollect any other details which might've happened later.  Simba's attack on whoever tried to cross the boundary continued and we learnt to respect that. At times, when uncle was attacked or got the warning, he understood and stepped back. 

In Attibele

The reason of going to Attibele to me, was always Simba and then, my grandmother's food. He used to pounce on us, wag his tail aggressively, dig his claws on our arms as a sign of his excitement and stand next to the fridge whenever my mother or I entered home. That was the drill followed strictly by lord Simba until now. Why stand next to the fridge? Because his snack box (purepet biscuits, calcium bones, jelly sticks and pedigree) was kept on top. After returning with bags of shopping from D Mart (Bommasandra) or Big Market (Attibele), Simba would stand on the terrace at the jeep's or auto's sound and then run down the gate, putting his pointy nose into the hole of the gate. Then, he would be the first one to scan/sniff through them thoroughly and wait there until we handed him his treats. If he were to royally lift his golden paws and place it on our filthy palms, the order would be granny, uncle, my mother and me. Years later, after maintaining proper boundaries, giving lots of treats, going on long walks, running after and gaining his behold trust, I became the first in line to receive his handshake or pawshake. That's my achievement. 

The time when grandfather retired and started spending most of his time at home, it meant he had to adjust not with his wife but with Simba. Yes, there were some ego clashes. But, thatha learnt his ways. He was "finally" given permission to "touch" Simba's lustrous mane. On one occasion, everyone were celebrating my "coming-of-age" and there were around 100 guests around. Simba was frequented by us to give him milk, food and take him on his majestic trails. I was told to change into new outfits every 2 hours by some big bindi aunty. Frustrated at the number of people and hearing gossips plus changing in sweaty summer, I took a chair and a box full of biscuits, secretly rushed out and sat under the mango tree to which Simba was tied. I sat there, feeding Simba biscuits until it became a bit dark and my cousin unfortunately found me. Bevarsi.

When pandemic loomed, the first floor room became my study room. By now, uncle and his family had moved into their new home. In one online mid semester exam, Mrs. Pushpalatha ma'am jokingly asked "Yen Amrutha, doggy kooda nin jothe exam baritidya?" (Is your dog too writing the exam with you, Amrutha?). Well what can I say, Simba was a gentleman to quietly hop on the bed and majestically sit behind me instead of licking my face or help me cheat the exam. Whatever I have posted on this website was typed in that room, with Simba right next to me or across the bed. He would always bark (saying goodbye or come back soon, I think) at the gate when Jayantamma aunty or Shardha aunty left for their homes after working at our house. They would always say "Iru iru Simba, naale barthini!" (Wait wait Simba, I will come tomorrow!).

Vets & Breeding

After his 7th birthday, if not precisely, he began showing hair loss. We also observed dog flea here and there. Uncle bought medicines from Hosur, which the shopkeeper recommended for German Shepherds with skin problems. That worked. A few months later, he began oozing yellowish liquid from under his stomach. He slowly struggled to get up from the ground. It looked like he was struggling to lift his abdominal part up.

Local vets came home, checked and gave similar medicines. It worked for a while only for the symptoms of hair loss, oozing, fleas and itching to surface stronger. Also, a note. Simba never cooperated with any vet. He was made to wear a mask, only to prevent him from biting them. The growling and body hair standing erect were observant. Taking him to clinics or hospitals was less difficult than treatment.

Last year, after I got my vehicle license, I decided to take him to Anekal's Government Veterinary Hospital in my thatha's jeep. Thatha and I took him there and guess what, as the vet tried to feel that oozing area on his stomach, he became aggressive. The volunteers were scared to come near. I knew that we had to take him elsewhere but thatha was reluctant. Then, she asked thatha to hold him so she could do her intervention. Worst idea, lady. I stopped them both and took away Simba to the jeep, got him in and started. We had to wait for the doctor for 1.5 hours and the scene took 5 minutes. Thatha then rode the jeep from Anekal to Hosur, because thatha said he might know of one clinic there. We asked some people and Google Maps for directions, got there somehow.

Simba and I stayed in the jeep as thatha went into the clinic and briefed the vet. Simba went into beast mode when the vet tried interacting from the jeep's window. He called two of his colleagues/volunteers to help with the treatment. It took an hour: the entire process. Throughout, I held Simba's leash in hand. They asked thatha to stand out until Simba becomes unconscious from anesthesia. This was because the vet observed Simba to growl as he heard thatha talk (basically, yapping) or even come near him. Giving him the shot didn't come easy. One held the ears along with the mask, the other held his legs behind, I held the leash close and the vet injected the shot behind. He took longer than they expected to get dizzy and then sleep. Once they noticed that he wasn't aware, they put him on a metal table, washed off his stomach area and shaved all of his body hair (like a Sphynx cat). He asked us twice if his stomach had been ever operated. No. His nails were cut (manicure). Ears cleaned from mucous. They then carried him and put him in the jeep. He hadn't gained consciousness yet. The vet told us that this could be cancer (the oozing and some of skin had black patches) and suggested for a biopsy after some weeks of medication. My only questions to the vet were what was the name of the disease and what were the black thick blobs under his stomach. Not sure and tits which are common in both male and female dogs. My grandfather became perplexed at the second question. We arrived home around 7 pm. Simba couldn't jump out of the jeep, as he was still dizzy. One of the men at construction placed a wooden plank from the door and he walked down into the house. That man asked what animal it was. My granny in the beginning was confused and then comically asked Simba where did all of his hair go.

We gave him all medicines and Amama bathed him in the prescribed shampoos, cleaned his ear with prescribed liquid and wiped his stomach twice a day with betadine. Until he was on medication, Simba oozed little to none, his hairs grew back, ears didn't smell funny and was able to get up/sit normally. When the medicines finished, he did good but the symptoms became stronger again. This time, he started oozing blood. Pooping a little bit of blood too. Getting up and sitting down became more tedious.

This time, my mother booked an appointment in Cessna Lifeline Veterinary Hospital, Domlur. Uncle and I drove Simba to the hospital while my mother was present there. There were all types of dogs and cats that had come for treatment. While we were waiting in the second floor, I was trying to find answers to "Do dogs resemble their owners?". Simba, uncle and I waited. When mom finished the required forms, our token number was displayed and nurses asked to weigh Simba on the scale. As usual, the lord was to be pleased. So my uncle got on the scale along with him. Then, was the anesthesia again. Because Simba didn't let Dr. Himanshu to come near him, she asked my mother and I to go outside the room. Two able men in their blue uniforms went in and my uncle held the leash while the men tried holding Simba and gave him the shot. Okay. It happened. Again, we waited until he became dizzy and unconscious. Again, the men put him on the steel/metal table. Again, the vet asked if he was operated in his stomach. Again, no. Then, three of us waited in the waiting room. For an hour, he was being transferred here and there for scans. The results arrived after 30-20 minutes. Dr. Himanshu then called us three into her office to discuss the case. Again, no name of disease. But, she explained what the problem was with evidence.

When Simba was born, only one of his testicles had protruded out while the other remained within. She told us that this is a "common consequence of breeding". Due to this, his estrogen level production had increased, causing the outgrowth of those black thick blobs on/under his body/ stomach area. She added that through surgery, the testicle which is in could be worked on. The time given for updating back and deciding on the surgery was 3 months. My uncle tried convincing her later, that how about giving him away to a rescue center or euthanize him as my grandmother was finding it difficult to look after him. She denied to take that step and asked to take time to decide about the surgery. The bill was heavy. Nevertheless, Simba got better than before in coming months. After the medicines finished, he was still doing well-off. 

Fighter

From this year's June 25th, his condition worsened again. This time, he got the ticks. A few weeks before, he began bleeding. My grandmother laid a separate bed for him in the hall. His bedsheets were washed and cleaned every 3 days as the pungent smell of the oozing and his ears were strong. Shardha aunty mopped away the dried blood droplets in the hall yesterday as my 66 year old Amama was burnt out, mentally. Last night, my grandmother told me over call that Simba would be given away to an animal farm in Sarjapur around 9 am the next day. Shocked, I requested her to keep him atleast till afternoon whilst I return back soon from college to take him with uncle. She asked me to not miss college and not to cry there. And then, today I get that call from mum in the afternoon.

To Simba

Had I known, I would've stayed in Attibele after the 9th of September too. Grief never meant anything other than in textbooks until today. Family and well-wishers grieved, far differently than before. Respective rituals were performed before his cremation by uncle. His ashes shall be buried at home tomorrow, by mum.

He was indeed in such pain that he used to put his head on anyone who sat next to him. I put a blanket on him around 5 am before leaving for an exam on the 9th and unlike always, his eyes went asleep sooner rather than glaring at me as I left. I'm glad I classically conditioned him to the word "catch", became worthy of his once lustrous mane and the paw-shake. It would take immeasurable amount of time to get used to seeing no one bow-bow-ly arguing with Amama, to the silence when I enter Attibele's house, to the confusion of who eats the treats, to the face mask and to sharing the bed with my bear, Simba. I might become stuck in Elisabeth-Kubler Ross' 2nd or 4th stage of grief due to frustration at myself for not having done better to save Simba and to have felt some shared responsibility/bystander effect while he was in crisis.

May Simba's amazing soul rest in peace and obviously find some lovers in Eden. Simba shall be forever young.

Note to the reader

If you have read till here, I appreciate you for taking this time from your life into learning about and metaphorically seeing Simba. There could be many or no takeaways from this write-up. But, there is one message I would request you to know or tell at least one deserving person in your lifetime: do not adopt dogs from breeders (strangers, friends or organizations) but if you do, let that be your last one and promise yourself to give it the highest standard of life.