This is Sam. To put it kindly, he is simple. Simple as in the sound two cells make as they clang around in his cranium. Sam comes for a walk at the doggie park on Carter Road, Bandra. Someday, Sam is going to be my friend and will no longer recoil when I make eye-contact.
Till that day, he will remain Rock’s bitch.
See that tiny fellow there? That is The Rock. Can’t stop The Rock. He should be a motivational speaker. He sees a new dog come into the garden and thinks, “Bitch is fine” or “Dawg’s going down.” And then relentlessly chases, trampolines up on and harasses said four-legged creature till it jumps over the wall and swims to Dubai to seek asylum.
Only Marshall remains unfazed. Marshall is a retired barrister-cum-neurosurgeon who sits in the far corner. He spends his afternoon napping in overstuffed leather chairs in gentlemen’s clubs, but tells his wife he is going for an important meeting. Marshall doesn’t talk much but is great with babies.
The other regulars at the park are Wall.E, Bono and Frisky. Bono is a black Great Dane who comes up to my waist. I want him in my house so I rest a book or cup on his head as he follows me around. Wall.E has the face that launched a thousand canine products. Frisky has the ardent soliciting nature of a stray. He stands on your foot, leans against you leg and before you know, you’re picking off his fleas.