The Games That Play Us (Based On A True Story)

The sun, as usual, unmercifully battered its glory on the evening landscape as I watered my bone-dry garden aimlessly. This morning, the garden looked fresh and anew but the sun’s hardheaded job was evident; it never took a day-off from its mundane routine. I displayed my waterworks to an imaginary audience with great fervor when suddenly, I heard a distant squeak followed by a careless laughter of little children. I stopped my performance; no audience applauded me .I followed the sound of the noise to find a group of kids circumventing something that fed their enthusiasm and gayety. I grabbed hold of the nearest kid by his collar and tugged him away lightly to see what was that they were encircling. A slightly-droopy eared, four-legged bundle of puppy fun was zipping around back and forth like a bug caught in an empty bottle. A Labrador, I thought, but it was just a stray. I picked it up guardedly and shooed the kids away. The kids knew better than that; their game of jab-jab was over. The puppy recoiled and tucked itself inside my arms and made it its home. From that moment, it was not just a stray; it was my puppy dog.

“You can’t have it here”

Finally, we reached the godforsaken place. I got off the car and let my puppy go; it leapt into its fate. My ears turned numb for no sound befell the plain. Silence was cut-short by my puppy’s cheerful yelps. It playfully danced and whipped its tail expecting me to play with it in this vast playground speckled with peril. I never felt so sad and it never felt so happy. After a generous amount of time, my dad grimaced at me. I knew that look. I, quickly, patted the puppy and raced my hand over its face and its back. When will I ever get to do that again? I walked back wordlessly for my breaths were truncated by brief wails. I turned back and saw my puppy sitting unruffled, lulled by the hush. We are not playing a game of hide-and-seek; I tried to commune with it telepathically. This is my goodbye, old friend.

Like a lightning bolt, it struck to me that the puppy knew that this was coming. No wonder, it acted unusually wistful the other day. As the car’s engines rattled, I managed to catch the last few remaining glances of my puppy from the back seat. I saw a beautiful, cuddlesome fur ball of delight making a dash for my car, and then a diminutive shadow and finally a poignant whimper while a tear unwillingly rolled into oblivion.