Chapter 3: Earning My Place

Dadi and I sat on the verandah, sizing each other up.

A soft breeze fluttered the faded newspaper where okra chips dried. Dadi glared at me and declared, “Listen here, I’m not taking care of you. Hard enough for this old lady to feed herself—now you want me to look after a little rascal like you?”

Her words made my fur prickle.

Tail twitching, ears pressed flat, I didn’t dare enter the house. I sat, frozen, in the yard.

There are a few hens in Dadi’s yard, and a grand guava tree.

The hens clucked, and the guava tree’s shadow stretched long and cool.

Dadi was sifting moong dal under the eaves. Her hands trembled, scattering dal everywhere.

Dal rolled across the yard. Dadi sighed, “Kya musibat hai. Have to pick them up, have to pick them up.”

Dadi’s legs aren’t what they used to be—she moves slow, nowhere near as quick as my four paws. So, I helped her gather the dal.

Whenever I found a grain, I picked it up in my mouth and dropped it into her palm.

Dadi and I stared each other down again.

She stuck to her tough routine: “Arrey, just because you helped with the dal, don’t think you’ve got a place here, samjhi? I mean what I say—no food for you tonight.”

After the dal business, she muttered about going out to buy fish.

So, I followed.

She rode her scooty, and I jogged behind, chasing her wheels on my tiny legs.

The village road was rough. My paws got muddy—and I even stepped in cow dung.

Ugh, I couldn’t stand it.

The ground zapped me with every step, and I kept shaking my paws clean.

The scooty rolled into the bazaar, and soon Dadi was in full-on argument mode.

“Don’t you care if your dog pees everywhere? I clean my scooty wheels every day, and the moment I go to buy fish, your dog pees on them!”

The man played dumb, trying to pull his dog away.

Dadi grabbed his arm. “Can’t you hear me talking to you? Clean it up before you go!”

He shook her off, pointing at her nose. “Why are you grabbing me, old lady? Which of your eyes saw my dog pee?”

“So what if my dog peed? Do you know what breed this is? Open your eyes—this is a Rottweiler!”

The man’s voice boomed, and his silly dog barked just as loud—man and dog both showing off.

“My dog’s worth more than your scooty. If it peed on your wheels, you should feel honoured.”