I AM A STRAY - 1

PART- I

Born with the title “Son of a bitch”, yeah, I know how it sounds.

Discriminations start rite from the day one. Some say cute, some say fur ball, some feed us, some evacuate us, some take pictures, some least care only very few adopt us, because we are just a stray.

Dried dirty fur, skinny body and swollen dugs, I am describing my mom who protects me round the clock. Her feed is no longer sufficient, she knows it too. It is time to grow up strong, for I have to feed myself. For now, I see no challenges; people pamper and love me, finding food is no big deal.

It has been a week since my mom fed me. Sound from the vehicles, indistinct chatter, shop shutters up and down, footwear flaps have become my daily playlist. I spend every dawn by gazing at busy people’s feet. We live in an abandoned half demolished house accompanied by a few homeless. They are very kind, as they feed occasionally with a piece of bun or a biscuit, sometimes with little food.  Whenever I come out to get some fresh air, I often see some autowalas playing with stones on a chalk-lined floor. Before even I take a clear look of everyone, my mom wags her tail and licks this guy from the same stand who readily welcomes her. As his gentle hands pat her forehead, she closes her eyes and bends down with comfort licking his feet and hands. I saw those hands picking me up and he pampers me too with multiple folds of love.

Whoa….. What a feeling……..!! At that moment, I thought if someone could even show the same love and affection as my mom always does. Then he let me down, started playing with me for a while and he was about to leave the place which I never wanted to happen. All I did was follow him. His hand reached the backseat of the auto and picked a red packet to feed us. This has become our daily routine too.