A Furry Problem

The dog's body is nestled behind the back of a low branched tree, hidden by the short grass except for its head thats peaking out. Its deep ember eyes are streaked with inky black, like those of perhaps a tiger. It shimmers dangerously with warning. To my horror I realize that all dogs make the same whining noise when their hungry or hurt, and to my extraordinary luck I've stumbled upon a rather massive one. And here I was so daftly believing it had been a puppy. 

It moves sharply as though to roll over. My feet shivering but stuck in place in terror. However much to its dislike and my delight it can't seem to budge. It lets out a loud growl followed by a whine of distress, and every emotion in me shatters.

We're staring at each other for a while, probably for completely different reasons. It probably measuring the sum of time it will take for me to drop dead, and myself peering in mere curiosity. I'm more than certain its hurt, but I cannot tell where or how given thats its body is shrouded in grass.

This is the situation mum had exactly warned me against, and something I'm certain I will never breathe about till the day I die. I'll admit all signs of rationality had gone out the window. And I was definitely asking for a painful painful death. But I knew that the guilt will eventually eat me up if I didn't try. 

It was more than obvious that the dog was scared beyond its whits, and some how despite its large canines being flashed so often at me, the mere thought caused me to soften. I gently walk backwards, the dog stops snarling to look curiously at what I'm doing. I return with my basket, reaching into to grab the sandwich. 

It visibly tenses, snarling with so much strength that my heart nearly jumps up my throat. With shaking hands I quickly empty the contents of the basket on the floor. Intentionally shaking it upside down to prove that theres nothing more in it. I place the basket behind me and slowly unwrap the sandwich. The dog has stopped snarling, but a low growl still emanates with a harsh timber.

I start taking the stuffing of meat from inside the bread. piling it on top of a napkin, while trying my best not to shake too badly. After I'm fairly certain the I've extracted every piece of meat left, I throw a tiny nugget towards the dog. I wince as it turn a little sharply, whining with the movement.

It smells the piece of chicken and then stares at me. An unbelieving stare or a curious one. I have no idea.

I take another large chunk of chicken. But this time instead of throwing it immediately, I tear a piece and pop it into my mouth, deliberately chewing and swallowing slowly. 

I know its utterly ridiculous I'm trying to prove that the food does no harm to a dog, but still I do. I then throw the piece to the dog. It gives me a withering look and I glare in annoyance. I can tell its very hungry with the evident restraint at not gobbling the meat.

It sniffs twice and then gobbles the whole in one bite. I can't help but admire the dark mane of hair that tousles with the movement of its mouth. A soft pink tongue coming out to lick the ground clean of the meat. 

"that wasn't so hard was it?" I say, chuckling amusedly. The rest of the meat is given in similar fashion. Me verifying that the meat has no poison and it sniffing before gobbling it up. I almost frown when I have none left. I try offering the bread that had become quite soggy and mushy, but the dog seems reluctant to eat it. It looks at me through those beady tiger like eyes, and for some reason it makes me highly self conscious. 

I sit cross legged from across it, trying to think of any other food I can offer. The dogs tongue has slipped out of its mouth, and it breathes harshly like its thirsty. Its settled then, I think vaguely. Trying to chug the remnants of the watermelon juice so I could use it to fill water. I hesitate for a while, wondering if i'll find any spring this deep into the woods, which has grown darker. But with another glance at the tired dog I venture a little of the rose patch. 

After much venturing around the patch, I find a shallow puddle of spring water. It looks fairly clear, and so I dip my bottle in careful of the dense soil.

By the time I'm back, the dog has closed its eyes, and a strange pulse of fear runs over me. I try stepping around the rose bush to see if its breathing, but its head snaps towards me when I get a bit closer. I retreat one step, raising my hands with the bottle as if to say i come in peace. Secretly in my mind I've come to think this couldn't get far more ridiculous. 

Another major problem I realize is that I have nothing to pour the water into. I try unwinding the foil which had the sandwiches, tucking it along the edges until it vaguely resembled a bowl. I pour some water in and push it towards the dog using the stick. It reaches its head towards the side, attempting to slip its tongue into the make shift bowl. However, the effort of lifting its head seems too much and not high enough, that it helplessly rests its head back on the mud.

I grunt in frustration. This was getting tedious for the both of us. I crawl a little towards the side, to make better eyes contact with the dog. For some reason I keep feeling the need to justify my actions to it. I've always been a people pleaser I'm told by my parents, but never did I ever think that I would one day be bending to the will of a dog. 

'I'm not going to hurt you.' I say stupidly, to which I'm rewarded a blank stare. I sigh. 

Pouring the water in the bowl back into the bottle, I carefully retrieve the foil with a stick. For some reason I'm reminded of those weirdly large ladles Nan has in her kitchen and that gives me a strange idea.

I wander back along the narrow path before the clearing, where I'd seen a banyan tree. I try tugging the thinnest root, finally managing to cut it using a sharp rock. I take back the thin root using it to tie the foil I've made into a smaller cup onto a long sturdy branch. The dog silently watches from the corner of my eye, and I'm strangely glad that it isn't whining in pain anymore.

I pour the water onto the make shift ladle, carefully steering it towards the dog. I drop some when the dog jerks, but sensing what I'm doing it obliges and opens its jaw. I let water trickle into its throat and it uses its tongue to greedily lap at every bit of water left. 

I cheer silently, and repeat the action several times until I'm quite certain the dog is not thirsty anymore.

I move around the dog trying to look more closely at his injuries, but he is snuggly in the midst of the grass. I would need to move the grass to examine him. I sigh. Perhaps that was something for tomorrow.

The whole sky has considerably darkened. The dog looks at the sky the same time as I do, and I can't help but feel guilty that I'm leaving it here. I gather the remnants of the food inside, clearing the area so at least there wouldn't be any ants. 

I cast a lingering glance towards the dog then rush to my feet and out the small clearing. 

The trees have absorbed what little of light there is and I find myself tripping on roots or having my foot painful hit rocks. My mood hits a new low when I stumble upon the thorn vines. In the dark I can't see as clearly as I did, so I use my basket to wedge through the narrow paths to make more room. 

I almost sigh in relief when I see the large mango tree at the turn. My slipper sticking up at the side, a sign that this is the same mango tree. I break into a run, trying to spot the other banyan carrying my slipper, after which the paths are fairly familiar.

But to my dismay I realize, in the dark every color looks the same. I try feeling my way around, touching barks of several banyan trees to find mine. I know touching can be a very dangerous activity in the dark, but all my other senses are drowned by the overwhelming aura of the grove. 

By the time I find my other slipper, its already started to drizzle, and the grass has become dangerously slippery under my feet. Stumbling as I had, I race through the fairly kept grass pathway, racing out into the clear fields.