In charge of my neighbour's pet.

Ever wondered what a dog-disliker has to go through when he's trapped with a pup for an entire week? Especially when it does not quite turn out to be a dream pet? Read on for the personal recollection of one such unlucky man.......


There is very little chance of me ever forgetting the day my neighbour, Mr. Chatterjee, made an announcement that he was going on a family trip to Goa,followed by a request to me to look after Scooby, his beloved pet dog ,for the entire week of his absence. Now, I have never had any particular likeness for animals, especially not towards those which have the habit of awakening the entire neighbourhood in the dead of the night with their irritating barks. However, Mr. Chatterjee, with his generous habit of inviting me to taste the lip-smacking delicacies cooked by his loving wife, struck me as an extremely likeable man and thus I admitted Scooby into the shelter of my home.
Scooby was a bull dog, and clearly boasted all the characteristics of his breed. He was short and grey, with a flat face that appeared to be the result of some unfortunate accident. I rated him quite high in the scale of ugliness and higher still, in degrees of mischievousness. I remember having dismally predicted the misfortunes that lay in store for me on my very first day with the intolerable dog. Scooby had leaped onto my couch and put up a terrible fight with a cushion that was shaped like a mouse, resulting in my drawing room very closely resembling a cotton plant in full bloom. Deciding it was obviously not going to be one of the best weeks of my life, I tried to make the best of it. I gave in to all of Scooby’s whims—his demands of feasting on the grilled chicken I had for supper instead of the dog food Mr. Chatterjee had left with me, his insists that I caress him all throughout his afternoon nap, letting him sleep on my precious leather couch—the list was never-ending.
It wasn’t long before Scooby began to affect me on a psychological level. My friends detested my increasingly snappy nature, my boss complained of the numerous faults in my research papers and I could sense myself developing an intense dislike towards my colleagues who had dogs for pets. I could no longer concentrate on my office presentations; for at the back of my mind I was forever panicking about which other personal possession of mine had been shamelessly destroyed by that detestable dog. The list included my precious china vase, which I had safely put away on a high cupboard. How the vicious pet had managed to lay his paws on the vase is a question that still puzzles me.
Halfway through the week, Scooby had transferred his “bedroom” from atop my couch to the woollen rug beside my own bed. He would often wake up in the night to give out his famous barks. This proved to be of very little comfort to me, for I was constantly haunted by nightmares of a gigantic dog, the size of Buckingham Palace, trying to gobble me up! My 1st impression of Scooby had been wrong—he was not just another naughty pet, he was a devil in disguise. He tried to bite me on the several occassions I ambitiously attempted to bathe him, he demolished my kitchen the day I had forgotten to lock it, he tore up countless number of cushions and took it up as a personal responsibility to make sure that all my pristine white rugs had his paw prints over them.
I was completely exhausted by the time the week came to an end. I guess I had never been happier to see Mr. Chatterjee, not even the time he lend me his new car so that I could make an impressive entry at an office function. The moment I opened the door to welcome the kind gentleman, Scooby jumped into his open arms. I must admit I became momentarily sentimental at such sweet re-unison. To top it all, both of them thanked me for my “help”—only Mr. Chatterjee thanked me in words while Scooby licked my beaming face!