For many years now, my family has possessed not-so-fancy dogs — mostly the kind that found us rather than the other way around. For some reason, I remember we had two Blackies, a Snowy, a Soapy, and now, of course, I have Naughty and Beauty.
Our canine cast started with a scrappy pup, who, being a good sniffer, ran into my father carrying home a loaf of bread. Being kids ranging in the age group of 5-11, we, for some reason, thought that Blackie was a good name. It anyway suited his partially black-and-brown ensemble. He was not very open to cuddling, more like, “Okay, you can pet me once in a while”.
Blackie’s adoption was not as straightforward as following a loaf of bread but doing a sit-in before our gate for three days. Initially, my mother ignored all our pleas, but after the third day, seeing the little chap still hanging out near the gate softened her stance.
