HOW HAVING AND LOSING MY PET DOG, 'CLEO', HELPED ME UNDERSTAND WHAT EXACTLY WAS WRONG WITH ME!

I always wanted one, a pet dog, all the while growing up. Living a life with busy parents in a busy urban setting though, never made it possible for our household to have one.

"I want to have a pet dog, Mother", I would say.

"And, who would take care of it, You?", she would reply back.

"Yes."

"You can't take care of your studies, you can't take care of yourself and you want to take care of a dog", she would say.

I would go around petting the animals in the neighbourhood and pets of other people around me. They seemed to understand me, more than humans. It would never take me much time to figure out what they needed, for basics, a wag or a wiggle, if they wanted to be caressed and petted, a low growl or grunt for discomfort and a long angry growl to convey the words, "Back off, I am going to attack". I remember getting into trouble with many pet dogs and getting scratches and bites, just because as a child, I would immediately run into their spaces to caress them and they would freak out. Most of these ordeals would end with a bite or a scratch but a learning experience, nonetheless. These days I get along with even aggressive dogs within minutes. A basic trick is to scratch in the midst of their temples and however aggressive a dog might seem, would immediately calm down and be in a state of uncontrollable ecstasy. This trick though doesn't work for a long time since, after some time, the dog starts having it's own doubts as to why it is in ecstasy, even though it wanted to attack. It confuses them though, for a little while, enough to step away and back off. After a scratch, once from a cat, one thing about them, that I had really understood was never to approach one however friendly the kitty might seem. Always crouch down and extend your hand. If the kitty wanted to be caressed, he or she would come up to you willingly and brush against you and then you can proceed to offer your gestures of love and affection that you wanted to. Cows and bulls, loved me from the first instant. I would simply touch them on their necks and they just wouldn't leave me even if I wanted to push them away after spending some time with them. I remember one instance, when a dark feisty young bull would come everyday and knock on the doors, everyday in Shankarpur, Cuttack, where I spent a major part of my childhood. It would have small stubbles on it's head for horns and it would just bang on the door repeatedly, with it's infantile horns, until someone from the family, mostly me or my grandmother, would give it a chapati or a potato. I remember one particular instance when, on an evening date with one of my exes, a sweet old cow had approached us and got her share of rubs and she wouldn't just leave. When we started to move away from the spot on my two - wheeler, she even followed us for a while, until she could.

"Why are all the animals so much into you?", she would remark and I wouldn't know what to reply back but smile.

Stray cats still frequent my spaces, wherever I stay. I find them the ones, most in need of momentary love and they would just go away after a while without being much of a burden, without any attachment or abandonment issues, any emotional baggage whatsoever. "Mujhe junglee billiyaan bahut pasand hai, I, I love wild cats", I remember King Khan, Shahrukh Khan, my favourite actor, muttering in the movie 'Don'. I do enjoy my time with literal wild cats whenever, I can, even though his dialogue about 'wild cats', didn't literally mean a cat but a subtle reference for an emotionally unavailable and flighty woman, much like the ones, I have usually encountered, along my journey.

Cleo, though, the only pet I had ever dared to have was a tad bit different. With a personality like no other animal, I have ever encountered, the protagonist of this story, my long lost pet dog, has impacted my life in a way, even humans haven't.

It was a rainy midsummer afternoon, when I had first seen her. I had come back from France, after completing my Masters Degree and a brief stint with the corporate world, fresh with dreams and passions of my own to carve my path and build the biggest creative advertising firm of the country. I had gone to meet a potential client, a pet adoption and pet supplies' store in Bhubaneswar, to discuss their advertising goals and our offerings.

During the course of the discussion and negotiation, that ensued, we had reached an impasse, a point of no return, where neither party was agreeing to what the other voiced. It was then that I saw her, a young, shy female pup, a dark haired, German Shepherd or Black Shepherd, as the breed is known. I looked at her, she looked at me and I knew immediately, I wanted her, desperately, no matter the cost. It took me a while to convince the store owner that I wanted the black shepherd puppy for myself. He was hesitant at first but thanks to the friend, my first business partner in life, who had introduced me to the pet store owner, he was convinced somehow and I put the puppy on my lap, brought her home.

The first reactions at home were definitely of shock, emotions of disgust for the burden, they feared would be suddenly dropped on their heads. Things calmed down though in a while and even my mother seemed to enjoy the puppy running around the house, in a bid to explore, her new surroundings. My sister, who also wanted a pet desperately, was but the happiest and ready to share the burden, almost instantaneously, without any kind of materialistic persuasions or motivations on my part.

"What are we going to call her?" my sister asked.

"Cleo", I had replied back.

I had a strange fascination with the name Cleopatra, all my life. The infamous queen of Egypt, the last known cohort of Mark Antony, once the flighty lover of Mark Antony's master, Julius Caesar, a name that still inspires many a runaway poets and writers like me. Every woman that ever got the better of me, the 'femme fatales' of my life, had been given the tag of 'Cleopatra' in my mind. This was the first time, I was naming someone 'Cleopatra' out of love or maybe because, I feared a certain kind of betrayal and emotional unavailability on her part, a constant emotion that I had experienced throughout my life.

She was a 'BITCH' after all!

I had decided never to chain 'Cleo' initially. I wanted her to be free of a leash. The first night, she decided to lie down in a corner of my bedroom, tucked within the shadows of my bed and the wall to my side. I remember being ecstatic going to bed, as I was switching off the lights, on my achievement of finally having managed to have a pet dog of my own. A few moments later, I heard her tiptoeing around the room. Her panting would give it away. I chuckled to myself, lying still, letting her explore the room, without being disturbed. The room suddenly started smelling of dog shit. I knew she had relieved herself. I woke up and switched on the lights. She immediately ran below the cupboard inside my room and hid there watching me clean her shit and piss. I was slowly learning to mitigate the burdens, my mother had feared. The stench had been unbearable, the first time. I switched off the lights again and came back to bed. It was then that, the most amazing thing had happened. 'Cleo' jumped onto the bed. It scared me at first, but I lay still, in a bid to see what she does next. She ran around the bed for some time, came onto my side, pushed herself against my big fat belly and settled down. In a few moments, I could feel her monotonous and rhythmic breathing. She had fallen asleep and I had fallen in love.

In the days that followed, I noticed a few things about Cleo, that constantly reminded me of someone or something that I had known previously but could never exactly place it as to who or what. Whenever, there were people around, she wouldn't move and be on her best behavior. She would sit very quietly, as if she didn't exist, often motionless, but highly alert, with only her eyes and ears constantly flickering around. She would stagger slowly towards the drain in the backyard to relieve herself of potty or piss and would stand there, until someone went and cleaned the mess she made. She would happily finish anything, literally any food that was given in her bowl, without a fuss. She had a certain liking towards ice-cream and ice-cubes from the refrigerator in general. Sometimes, if she didn't finish her food, I remember just opening the door of the refrigerator and she would immediately clean up her bowl, eagerly anticipating a bit of an ice-cube. She was strange. She was weird. She was lovable and cute, nonetheless. She was cool with anything and everything that happened around her, whatsoever. You would call her, she would come running, eagerly panting and happy. You would yell and she would run away and hide under the bed or any dark corner that her eyes could see.

The only times she would howl or show any disturbing behavior to express her discomfort, were when she would know or sense anyone in the family venturing outside. Whenever anyone from among my dad, mom, my sister or me would step out, she would howl desperately, without listening to anything. She wouldn't even touch her food or relieve herself, holding her potty and urine to the point where she would just involuntarily let it burst out, constantly howling and panting near the door, only stopping in between to regain her strength and then carry on howling again. A veterinary consultant told us that this was something that was known as a 'Separation Anxiety' and in her case it was at an uncontrollable, aggravated condition, unbeknownst, among other pet parents around me. To avoid her disturbing behavior, whenever any of us went out, we would silently just vanish out of sight, tiptoeing out of the house without making the slightest sound, whenever she would be away or often purposefully lured away, so that one can go away without her noticing. She would then go around the house, frantically searching for the missing person, sniffing around the house, searching desperately. Out of sight meant out of the mind but she would know that something or someone was a miss. She wouldn't be able to really figure it out but would go around sniffing constantly and often her desperate search would end in toying around the clothes and belongings of the person, out of her sight. She would constantly sit on guard until that person returned back. She would then eagerly run towards the missing person, she would be searching and waiting for, fast as lightning, her striking 'German Shepherd' ears, always on the alert and pointed upwards, and would jump on the returnee, circling madly around the legs of that family member. If touched in that state, she would just involuntarily let go of the piss, she would be holding. That would create an unnecessary mess and would be pretty disturbing for everyone. The same thing would happen whenever anyone new came and patted her. She would immediately relieve herself, upon being touched by strangers, which was diagnosed as 'Extreme Shyness and Vulnerability' by the consulting pet professionals and vets. What was the most disturbing behavior of all, that she exhibited, was eat her own scat, if she was forced into anything she didn't like or she was reprimanded for. She wouldn't eat her own scat if someone was around or if she experienced a sense of comfort and belongingness. She had a weird relationship with eating scat. It was as if she calmed herself down much like a compulsive behavior, a systemic defense mechanism, in response to any kind of discomfort she was put in. Just like one would try to find a sense of comfort in acquiring a trophy or finding a motivation, often pointless to others, in order to forget the discomfort and move forward in life.

With time, it was getting harder to control her random activities and behaviors. Her most disturbing behaviors took place whenever nobody was around or looking. When everybody would be in front of her eyes, otherwise, she would be the coolest and the most well behaved pet dog, anybody could have asked or hoped for. She was growing up fast and with it she was beginning to understand her capabilities and strengths. She would learn anything taught to her almost instantly at one go, just like she knew, the drain at the backyard was her relieving place, the first day she had come. When she had crouched to relieve her potty, I had picked her up and ran towards the drain. From that very moment hence, there was not a single time, when everybody was around and she would relieve herself any place else inside the household. You wouldn't believe, if I told you that, she had once noticed me cough and desperately make a go at a water bottle in my sight, mark my words, she had seen me only once and hence thereafter, if anybody coughed around her, she would dash away immediately to find a water bottle, pretty quick on her paws, even if there wouldn't be any water in the bottle at times. But, whenever there was somebody missing, she would just hold her potty and piss inside and involuntarily let go wherever, while she was frantically searching, sniffing around and howling. Every night she would sleep with me, on my bed. Sometimes I would wake up to find her curled up between my legs. Sometimes I would wake up to find her stashed and well hidden, under my blanket with her warm and furry body, strategically pushed against my belly fat. She wouldn't sleep alone and would just tear up things and destroy whatever she could in anger if left alone, in another room. Upon instances, when everybody had to go outside, we would often return back quickly to find her revelling in a state of madness, amidst the destruction she would have carried out in our absence. I understood her madness, her anxiety and I would try to chide her or slowly hit her on the back to let her know that, it was wrong behavior but to no avail. It was as if she had a world of her own and we were the pawns of her queendom. The idea of a pet was becoming a hard choice for the rest of the family members. In my absence my parents and sister would take care of her but upon my return, it would be a constant scene everyday, where we would yell on each other for the trouble of having to take care of Cleo.

It was getting hard without the leash and upon further consultations with pet professional and experts, she had to be leashed thereafter. She wasn't taking the leash well that was now being forced on her in a bid to control her. My business activities, with regards to my dream and passion, for the advertising firm was picking up pace with tough luck and I was being forced to stay outdoors more often. With my sister, having to go to school and her tuition classes, Cleo was slowly beginning to rain down hail on my sweet old parents, back home. With the passing days, they were getting highly unnerved by the situation and in turn, bursting out with screams and verbal expressions of discomfort and disgust, on me upon my return back every single time. I was slowly beginning to understand that it was getting really difficult to be forcing the burden of Cleo's care, upon them, clearly stressed and tired at the end of each day from their own busy schedules and duties to perform. One thing led to another and one fine day the fight turned into a severe battle among us, my parents and me. It was then that I decided to move out of the house with Cleo and started living on my own with her in my office. It was the last proper time at home, the last that I had stayed with my parents and sister at a place, I knew and called, 'Home'.

Cleo was definitely not the only reason, I had decided to move out of the house. Cleo might have served as the death knell to the affair, but the family dysfunction had it's roots in several other reasons and that definitely makes for another sad, long, boring but interesting story. It seemed as if my parents had finally found peace, with the burden of a pet having been lifted from their shoulders. I would carry Cleo around with me if I was going to be away for a longer period of time but, if I was to be gone for less than two three hours, I would just leave Cleo behind, locked within the open space between the main entrance door and a huge grill at my office, well fed, her food and water bowls, duly filled and all her favorite toys lying around. I wouldn't chain her up or leash her. For a few days, it seemed like she understood me pretty well and she would behave really well, apart from the occasional outburst of her madness, clawing at the wooden door and eating her own scat, which was pretty normal of her to express her discomfort or so, what I had felt, at that point in time. She would happily pounce on me upon my return and hence on, would again behave pretty well. I was beginning to feel that things were normal, that Cleo and me had a silent pact, now that there was only me to take care of her. Now that I was staying in my office all alone, I was sleeping over a thick mattress, on the ground, with no bed. So did Cleo, along with me. Come morning, we would simply roll up the mattress and Cleo would run back to the space between the door and the grill, just like the good girl she was. My understanding though failed one day, when some neighbours knocked on the doors upon my return and told me what Cleo would be onto in my absence.

I learned that she would wait until the sound of my vehicle vanished from her hearing range. She would wait for a little while thereafter and then start howling and clawing violently at the iron grill madly. Her howling would only stop upon hearing the sound of my two wheeler, back in the area. She continuously howled and burst into a maddening racket all the while I was away, continuously scratching and clawing at the iron grill. I was shocked upon learning this, because she had been the most well behaved housemate, I ever had, until then in life. It was then that I noticed claw marks all around the base of the iron grilled doors. The neighbours that day very clearly warned me that I had to either get done with Cleo's howling or leave the building and the society, that we lived in. It was quite depressing and I was felt a deep sense of sadness at this new discovery. I wanted to give Cleo a good life and here I was giving her the worst. My absences, however small, were certainly major nightmares for little Cleo. I remember sitting with Cleo on my lap, on the terrace, thinking desperately what to do next. Whenever I was sad or depressed, she almost immediately would sense it and then either, curl up on my lap, laying still or just hide in the shadows, in some corner.

Her heightened separation anxiety, her extreme shyness and vulnerability, her crude behaviors borne out of abandonment issues, compulsive behaviors of eating scat and destroying things around, as if she desperately searched for a trophy to balance out her emotional lack and carry forward, her unwillingness to stay alone, her willingness to please everybody around whenever in an environment that was comfortable for her, her happiness if she was allowed to stay and belong, every single activity would often remind me of something or someone that I knew long before Cleo had come into my life, but still couldn't place who or what exactly it was, that was clawing at my consciousness, probably a secret or a fear, that I didn't want to visit, speak of or remember. It had started eating me up from the inside and I had started hating myself, never knowing it would just destroy me one day, unmitigated.

I was forced to always have somebody stay with Cleo, whenever I went out, but, it wasn't always possible. Whenever, there wasn't anybody around, I would lock Cleo, inside the house to come back as soon as possible, thereafter, so that the neighbours didn't hear her howls. I had no other option, a decision, I regret to this day, this very moment in time and will until oblivion, the end of me as an entity. Every time I returned back, I would see, even the strongest of leashes ripped apart and the entire office in ruins. She was a pretty healthy and surprisingly strong, 'Black German Shepherd' after all, never to know any force or fear. She would have clawed down the base of the wooden door and then hide in a corner, the moment I unlocked the door. I would clean the office angrily and keep shouting at her, sometimes trashing her a bit, sometimes desperately patting her with lots of love, trying to make her understand that it was bad behavior. Now, I understand that no behavior for heaven's sake is bad behavior and that there is always a reason, several reasons behind someone behaving the way that they do and that only a petty minded worthless human being, as I was then, would classify behaviour of animals or other human alike into categories of 'acceptable' and 'unacceptable'. Neither did I understand and nor did Cleo.

My advertising startup had started showing signs of decay. My obsession with my dream and passion wasn't really working and was further corrupting my soul and I was turning angrier and depressed by the day. It was almost as if I was turning into a demon and somehow all of it was being seen and experienced in first person by Cleo. I had stopped brushing her regularly and cleaning her up. I had begun to push her away every night, when the only sleep she knew was along with me, her curled up, against my body. I would wake up everyday to see her looking at me with a deep sadness in her eyes, a little distance away from my foot and would know that she didn't sleep the night. Sometimes, I would hold her and cry because of the nightmare she was living in, along with me. I would try to take care of her for a little while and I remember, with tears in my eyes as I write this, that those few moments were definitely the only moments, she was happy and truly in peace. She would try mimicking the game 'fetch' that we used to play previously, run around and come back in circles to motivate me to play with her, which I had long but, stopped. She had tried desperately to motivate me and keep me happy when I was only but, sinking. Poor little Cleo, she had tried her best, to lighten up my mood. I know deep in my heart and I remember.

She had come into my life, when she was only three weeks old. A little over three months after I had moved out of 'Home Sweet Home', at the age of nine months or more roughly, one day I came back home to find Cleo limping. I tried to check the reason behind her limp, while desperately trying to convert a client on the phone, simultaneously. I failed to notice any reason whatsoever, given my unwillingness to be alert or my poor mental health or it might have been just a nonchalant and depressing carelessness that I had fallen into, I remember pouring some milk and her food into her bowl. That day the office was clean, spic and span, very unusual of Cleo. It did bother me slightly but, I thought maybe she had hit her leg while trying to claw the base of the wooden door and hurt herself and then found it hard to destroy things around the office. Her favourite haunt had been the dustbin which she often made sure to topple over everyday and carry around or distribute the trash all around the office premises. You wouldn't even believe me if I said she had learned to even unlock the doors if there wasn't any lock, by continuously trying to paw the door handle. It was very unusual of Cleo, to not have done so, that fateful day and I should have been a little more careful or worried as a pet parent. I was tired. I fell down on my mattress. She dragged herself near me. She had been a good girl that day and had injured herself. Partly out of relief, partly out of a random kindness for her injury, I let her sleep near me that day, after a long time. Some hours into the night, she vomited on the bed and I had to leash her to the door to clean up. It was already too late in the night and I had no other option but wait until daybreak to consult a vet. In the morning I found her shitting watery stools. I called up a vet but, he too thought it was normal stomach upset and prescribed some medicines. Cleo seemed to have been alright after the medicines with no more watery stools and vomiting but she still limped. The next day I was supposed to be busy elsewhere and it was important to me. As usual I tied Cleo up to the door and got busy with my stuff. It was around midnight, I found her shitting completely watery stools again, blood red stools this time along. She was in a lot of pain. I tried calling up the many pet professionals and experts that I knew and was heavily worried then, not able to understand, as to what was going wrong. Unfortunately at that hour nothing more could have been done. She continuously squirted blood all around and then I was forced to move her into the bathroom, that only she used inside the office premises. I gave her a good look and there she was looking at me in deep sadness, discomfort and pain. I moved away for less than fifteen minutes, to rummage through her stuff for any medicines and clean the blood on the floor. As soon as I came back after to check on her, there she was sitting on the bathroom floor, panting with her tongue out, her ears still upright and alert. I patted her head and I remember her licking my hand in return to express her love. I crouched near her for some time and then returned back to my room to sit on a chair for some time. I might have dozed off from fatigue. It was probably dawn when I realized I had fallen asleep sitting on the chair itself. I ran inside the bathroom to check on Cleo and I remember her sitting in the same exact position, that I had last seen her. Tongue out, eyes wide open, not blinking, ears straight up and alert but something was wrong. She wasn't moving. She wasn't responding. I touched her and she fell from her stance. I realized, Cleo was no more.

I went mad with rage and an extreme sense of pain ripped through my chest. My baby, my Cleo was no more. I put her on my two wheeler and frantically drove to the veterinary hospital, OUAT, Bhubaneswar, crying the entire way, something I should have done the day before when I had found her limping. The doctor found two tiny punctures on her foot, the one that she had limped with. Upon examining her tongue, which had turned an unusual shade of blue, the doctor declared, it was either the bite of a poisonous snake or some kind of insect, which I figured might have come inside the office through the opening, she had clawed into the wooden door, leading to the backyard, on the foothills of Khandagiri, Bhubaneswar. It had taken the poison two days to burn her entire system inside and break down her blood. All this while that I was desperately trying to convert a client, Cleo was fighting for her life, with the fast spreading poison deep within her veins. There was nothing that could have been done anymore. A deep sense of shame and regret set in my soul that very moment which burns me up to this day. While I was desperate to sit on a chair and dose off, Cleo was trying to give me the last lick of her life. Tongue out, eyes wide open, ears straight up and alert, fuck! That was the last time she was looking up at me.

Something died inside me that day. I was no more the Amrut Pattnaik, I had been, so far in life. I was crying the entire time, I was getting her back to the place, I once called home, to show the members of my dysfunctional family, the last of Cleo. Nothing they told me mattered anymore or was able to calm me down. Nothing anybody said mattered anymore. Nothing my mind told me, mattered anymore.

As I dug up the earth to bury my poor little Cleo, I understood with a deep sense of shame, regret and utter sadness, who or what exactly that familiar thing was, that Cleo's behaviors reminded me of and had me failing to register in the mind. Her frantic howls, her separation anxiety, her issues with abandonment, her compulsive behavior to keep exhibiting unacceptable behavior of eating scat and destroying things when left alone or in discomfort. It suddenly all started to make sense. I could clearly see it in front of my eyes and remember what or who it was, that I didn't have the heart to remember or visit or understand. My hands have been shivering, the entire time, I have been writing this story. I can't count the amount of tears that I have shed, even to this day, after nearly three years, since Cleo's passing. She went away, left a huge hole in the heart that nothing else can fill. I try to find happiness and peace, spending time with eight other dogs, my cousin's pets. There is one among them, that loves me and is very similar to Cleo. Bella is her name. I haven't dared since then to even think about getting another pet. Every single night, ever since, as I switch off the light, the last thought in my mind has always been Cleo and what she made me realize.

It was a little boy left behind, locked inside the house, so that his parents could earn and make both ends meet. It wasn't the fault of his parents that he needed more emotionally. Not everybody is born normal. He had a much aggravated sense of anxiety and vulnerability, a tad bit more than other kids who might have been normal and found it easier to adjust with their loneliness, when left alone. He would fear and cower in front of the door, he was locked behind. He would spend hours without eating, sitting in front of the door, eagerly eyeing his mother's return. He would desperately hold the door and claw at it, frantically wishing for the door handle to turn and his mother enter. He would go around the house destroying things in anger. He would have a compulsive urge to steal something, a trophy to balance out the emotional lack and find the motivation to carry forward. Weird, but definitely true. Not so normal, yet comprehensible. Unacceptable, demonic behavior, but very much human. It all made sense. I knew who or what it was.

IT WAS ME!