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Ode to the Country Dog

4 October 2008

So a month or two ago, I wrote about how I hate the cows. It was a little throw-away comment, but it apparently enraged cow-friends across the world. Okay, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but at least two, TWO people mentioned to me that cows have pretty eyelashes, and, therefore, they should not be hated.

See the thing is, the thing is see, I don’t really hate cows, not really, not like deep down in my soul at least. My problem is I just get a little infuriated by how they lord it over all those other street-dwelling animals with their “Oooo, look at me, I’m a cow. I have long, pretty eyelashes. Even a lorry driver wouldn’t splatter me across the road, what with these long pretty eyelashes. Moo.”

And with all this showy cowiness, they take away the awe and respect that is due to the beautiful Country Dogs of Chennai (read: mangy, inbred street dog). So in order to put them back in their rightful place, I present to you:

You beautiful canine of the country,
With your curly tail and your weepy eyes,
They say your mom and dad were family,
But that at least did not affect your size.
You lay in the street like you don’t have a care,
Nary a whisker disturbed as cars fly past,
Leaping over walls and catching some air,
You know you’ll make it because you’re so fast.
You have no settled place of abode,
And you eat that nasty rubbish a lot,
As you chase me down this garbage-filled road,
I ponder my neglected rabies shot.
Your theme: Survivor by Destiny’s Child,
Some call you feral; to me you’re just wild.

I know this dog looks like it's dead, but believe me, no sir, it is not dead. That's how they get ya. <br>They are that brilliantly sneaky.

I know this dog looks like it's dead, but believe me, no sir, it is not dead. That's how they get ya. They are that brilliantly sneaky.

Okay, I know this isn’t a REAL Shakespearean sonnet, what with my total disregard for iambic pentameter and the two lines that have 11 syllables. But at least I tried. I even looked up sonnet on wikipedia (and learned that there are a ridiculous number of different kinds of sonnets). Best line from the article: “The writers of sonnets are sometimes referred to as “sonneteers,” although the term can be used derisively.”

My new favourite insult: “Yo mama is a sonneteer.”

But seriously, folks, all humour aside, the fate of street dogs breaks my heart, and I dread the day I see one hit by a car or am actually in a car that hits one. Seeing all the dogs on the street just makes me want to snuggle up with my puppy even more. So I want to put a plug in for at least one group that is trying to do something about it — the Visakha Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They rescue not only street dogs, but also homeless or abused cats, birds, monkeys, and, yes, even those egotistical cows.

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