I spent December of 2023 in Thorapally, with my wife’s cousin - my sister-in-law. Being away from the city gave me the breath of fresh air that’s almost cliché by now, but when I look back at those days, there was one individual that made the time special. His name is Sherpa - my sister-in-law’s dog. I’m a “dog person”, if there is such a thing but even then, it felt like Sherpa and I hit it off from the moment we met. Every day that he came to visit me, we’d play fetch until he was out of breath, and then I’d open up a tap at the back of the house for him to drink straight out of it. It was sloppy and endearing all at the same time. Between him and Tara (my sister-in-law’s older dog), I had two friends who didn’t seem to tire of me. Tara being the senior citizen wasn’t as boisterous as Sherpa. If anything she made me feel my age. Sherpa, on the other hand, rolled my years back for me. As I told you, it was special.

Over the last week we’ve discovered that Sherpa’s suffering from malignant tumours in his spleen. His condition has deteriorated rapidly in a matter of days. It’s unbelievable that a dog who was so full of life a month back, is now hanging on by a thread. And those of us who love him, like my sister-in-law and I are clutching at every straw we can find. He’s a thousand kilometres away though and I’m helpless. All I can do is wait, hope and wish for the best. But I’ve seen this story before and I hope it doesn’t end the way I remember. You see, I too had someone like Sherpa in my life. His name was Sparky. Sherpa’s ordeal brings back my memories of my best canine friend.

When I was little I always wanted a dog. My parents however, were sceptical. Being part of a travelling family meant that changing locations every few years with the dog could have been difficult. I still wanted a dog badly but I could never convince my parents. In 2006, when I first got married, I tried convincing my then wife about getting a dog. The answer I got was, "It's going to be either me or a dog in the house." That was enough to silence me for a year.

In the fall of 2007 though, I was transitioning to a new job. In the break between the two jobs, I was a bit jittery and anxious. And then on 12th October, I saw a classified about Labrador puppies. I casually mentioned it to my ex and in a moment of indiscretion she said, “Ok, let’s go get one.” Before she changed her mind, we were at Lasrado’s — the breeders. A room full of furry Labrador puppies was enough to cement my decision. I didn’t have to pick a dog though. One of the puppies just climbed into my arms. I said to ex, “I can’t put him down now.” So, just like that, Sparky came home on that arm of mine.

Since that day, I never had to regret that moment of indiscretion. Yes, there was a minor scare when Sparky chewed up seven of my ex’s shoes in an afternoon. Sparky almost got himself thrown out of the house that day. But the bond between Sparky and me was stronger than to snap over some chewed up shoes. He quickly learned that it’s best to chew on Papa’s socks than to eat up Mama’s boots. We got better at avoiding accidents.

Before the year was out, Sparky became the darling of that Bangalore neighbourhood. The kids, the maids, the helpers, the tender coconut vendor, the vets, my parents and the family that knew him; everyone loved him to bits. Sparky was a clown - with a big voice that’d scare any intruder, but with no tools to follow up that aggression. He had an insatiable appetite for good food but no instincts to guide him for what was good for him or bad. What he did have though, was the instinct to disarm me, with pure unconditional love. I could leave him at home for only a few minutes, only to return to the warmest welcome that made me feel I was gone for years. Imagine the greeting when I saw him at the end of a long work day. I wish I was half the man my dog thought I was.

When my daughter arrived, I’d freaked out a bit, over how he may deal with the new member in the pack. Sparky’s reaction was so beautifully calm that he put all my fears to rest and he continued to be very protective of her over the 21 months that he lived with her. It’s not surprising that my life revolved around him for the seven years we spent together. My bond with Sparky was probably the most special friendship I’ve ever experienced. I never thought of myself as his master or owner. His friendship had taught me so much that I couldn’t think of him as anything less than an equal member of my family. He was my dog and I, Sparky’s human.

In the five months right after I relocated to Pune though, Sparky faced illness after illness. I didn’t realise until very late that he was suffering from cancer. From what looked like a benign tumour on his right thigh, the cancer progressed to his lungs. During the initial days, Sparky would cough a bit. It felt like he had something stuck up his throat. For a dog who’d routinely steal chicken, I thought it might just be a bone he’d swallowed, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t until he started showing signs of tiring too fast, that I guessed this may not be a routine case of a greedy Labrador.

What ensued thereafter was a series of tests. Blood samples, X-Rays, a sonography, an ECG, a CT scan. I visited all kinds of specialists. Sparky continued to win hearts. Very rarely have my doctors seen a dog that goes in for a CT scan with all his four legs up in the air on a mere word from their human. Day after day, the team at Dr Gorhe’s clinic worked with him. Sparky took his injections resolutely. He kept giving blood samples without a whimper. He probably knew that this was a futile exercise. Probably because he knew he was getting worse.

As time passed, I could sense his reluctance to go to the vet. This was different from the Sparky that’d jump onto the doctor’s table without coaxing. Yet, small victories and hope were all I was looking for. Every day, we fought a little battle. Some days we won. Most days though, we lost. What kept us going was probably my touch for Sparky and his routine licks on my face. Through all the pain, Sparky never failed to show his joy each time he saw me come through the door from work. He never failed to reassure me each time I came close to breaking down at the vet’s. On some days, he gathered enough strength to take walk up the Baner-Pashan hill — a favorite haunt for us in happier days — almost as if to tell me that he wanted to get better. I’d leave him off leash and let him lead the way and yet, he’d stick close to me. Every now and then, I’d sit on a rock by the edge of the hill. Sparky would come close, nuzzle me and sometimes put his head on my lap. He’d breathe better this way and my heart would skip a beat with this expression of love.

During his last days, Sparky couldn’t poop on a regular basis and his urinary routine became unpredictable. As the days went by, my strong dog couldn’t stand on his feet without support. He’d lose his breath with just a few small strides. I’d stay awake all night to comfort him, as he stayed breathless and struggled to sleep. A final sonography revealed the news we were dreading. The cancer had spread to the abdomen. It would have been only a matter of time before it spread to all his organs. Surgery was out of question and he wouldn’t have been able to survive chemotherapy.

Sparky and I had seen many good days together in his seven years. In fact, when I look back at those times, I know that he was the reason I made it through a failed marriage. For a dog who’d lived a full and happy life, his last weeks had been an absolute torture. Would he have fought the cancer for some time longer? Probably. Could I have kept him alive through some alternative cures? Who knows? What I did know, was that his suffering would be disproportionate to the joy his extended life would give me. I’d promised Sparky that I’d keep him safe all his life. I hadn’t been able to do that. What I could do was fulfil the other bit of my promise. I could keep him from any further pain and suffering. Loving someone deeply also means knowing when to let go. On November 28th, 2014, I laid Sparky to rest and embraced the heartbreak that came with it. For years, November 28th has been a bittersweet day. It’s my best human friend’s birthday and it’s also my other best friend’s death anniversary. In 2020, we loaded the day further when I married Gayathri.

Sparky taught me many things — loyalty, friendship, unconditional love. I never learnt to be as good as him at all of this, but I know where the bar is. They say dogs are wired to understand us and to be our friends. They say that humans and dogs go back a long way. It’s still quite remarkable how they are better than humans at expressing human emotions. A dog doesn’t know shame, pride, guilt, contempt. What a dog does know is joy, love, excitement and contentment. Which is why you can make your dog look ridiculous and he still loves you. Which is why you can be ridiculous and your dog still adores you. There’s very little a dog needs to give you his love. You give yourself to him and he’ll give you back heaps more. Even as I’ve struggled with distractions to help me get over this immense loss, I can’t help but recall those beautiful moments that Sparky gave me in my life. I’m an atheist. But I’d like to believe in God, because I want to imagine a doggie heaven. Because if there is a heaven, I’m sure God has his best five star suite reserved for Sparky. I’m sure there are lots of toys to play with and heaps to chew on up there. I can never thank Sparky enough for those seven years of love and friendship. I’ll probably never make it to his suite in heaven, but for what we’ve had together — I’m privileged.

I wish the best for Sherpa. I want him to recover, however bleak his chances may seem. But I also don’t want him to suffer. Part of being a dog’s human, is to accept that they live life on a compressed timeline. Every moment we experience with them, they savour it even more. They observe more, see more, hear more, feel more. And yes, we want them to be in our lives forever, but like all life, their life is finite too. Thankfully, we can choose to limit their suffering if that’s a sensible option. Sometimes, as a dog’s human we must know when to say goodbye. I hope it’s not time yet. I will keep clutching at those straws, as will my sister-in-law. But I do so, while being grateful to know him for a few days. Thank you Sherpa, for those days together.