The Dog in my Lane...

What the hell do they think? Moving in a pack makes them look good? A sense of self-righteousness to me, nothing else! Moving in packs and losing one's individuality isn't my way. More so, because I like doing it my way. Living my own sordid and dull life in this lane. Kids sometimes play with me, and sometimes throw stones at me. I like this type of existence. Cold is getting on to my nerves now. I won't deny that I am jealous of that stupid Pomeranian who has that stupid orange jacket on him. But would trade my neck being leashed for that warm jacket? Never. I am better off sleeping under the blanket of the chowkidaar at night. Sun, thankfully is still there to warm me on the road. That chowkidaar is an idiot of the first rate though. He sleeps so sound that he doesn't even know when I barge into his little hut which the residents (who are equally idiot to hire a chowkidaar who sleeps more sound than they do!) to put his stuff in. He even forgets to return the keys of the cars he washes in the morning to supplement his meager pay. May be he even gets the copies made and is planning the biggest car robbery of all times. Why should I care? Well, I seriously feel threatened that I may lose my summer abode under the cars to keep me cool. Phew! I don't want that to happen. Seriously. At times, I do come back home drunk. Laze around a bit and go to the hut. I don't really have much to think. Another luxury which one can enjoy not being a part of the pack. You don't have to defend a territory and think of any other random guy as a prospective territory snatcher. I like it this way. No pack. No responsibilities. No trouble. Perfect.

But I have a small problem. And all hell breaks loose when that problem surfaces. They say it is with age, but others say I am turning mangy. Whatever. I know what it is. I get upset at times thinking of all the beautiful things of past which I don't have as of now. My girl friend ditched me for the pack leader (but of course!) and  my loving family died when they were crushed under a car (the single largest killer of our breed in India). And I hate it at times. I can't control myself. I tend to hit myself to the cars so that my pain would alleviate the ache I have in heart, but to no avail. Bloody cars these days. As soon as I hit, some sort of vicious noise starts coming out from them. Am I a thief? (Stupid people, they don't know that the actual thief is that chowkidaar who is duplicating their cars' keys!) I can't tolerate such rude behavior. What is my fault? I need to hit myself numb and the car screeches. Then I howl. Then the chowkidaar drives me away for the fear of my painful howls waking up the neighbourhood. I leave the sanctuary of my lane. The packs hound me away back to the lane. I snugly get back into the blanket when the chowkidaar is sleeping. And the cycle continues. You understand my pain, right? Don't you?