The Dog That Came in From the Heat

Do you believe in Karma?

We met the dog three days before my grandson arrived in this world.

My daughter, D, was four days past her due date — and feeling it.

“I need fresh air,” she said.

We stepped out onto her shaded deck.

It was around 1:30 pm on a Texas summer day. The outdoor fans whirled at full blast, but ten minutes of broiling was all we could take.

We got up to go inside when we heard a scrabbling under the deck.

“Sounds like squirrels,” I said.

I had just opened the back door when a sharp bark broke the silence.

Our eyes met.

“That’s no squirrel,” D said.

“Please go inside,” I urged.

Who knew what this sounds-like-a-dog might be like?

The dragon under the deck…

D went in, and I climbed down into the yard. The growling began right away. When it changed to a snarl, I jumped back onto the deck with an agility I didn’t know I possessed.

I took a deep breath, mumbled a prayer, then stepped once more into the yard. We couldn’t let this uninvited canine bully us.

This time the growling subsided to a rumble.

I bent down and peered. A small sausage shape moved away from me and further into the gloom under the deck.

When I went into the house, D was standing at the kitchen sink, filling an old stainless steel bowl with water.

“Did you get a look?” she asked.

“It’s a small dog. That’s all I could make out.”

“It must have sneaked in a while back when the gardener was here,” she said.

A wooden gate at the side of the house led to the backyard. The gardener left it open when cutting grass. It would be easy enough for a small dog to sneak in unnoticed.

The gardener had fastened the latch before leaving. The dog was now trapped.

I could have opened the gate and let the animal escape. But it might run out onto the street and into a passing car.

The color of dark chocolate…

D handed me the bowl of water. “The dog must be thirsty.”

I took the bowl, went outside, and placed it on the lowest of the three wooden steps that led from the deck to the yard.

I came back in. We watched through the window.

We didn’t have to wait long.

A dog ran out from under the deck on short little legs. Her coat was the color of dark chocolate, and her ears flopped about her tan face. She put out a pink tongue, lapped up the water, then scurried back into hiding.

“It’s a scorcher out there,” D mused. “We’ll have to bring her in.”

“And who’s going to do that?” I asked.

Neither of us was comfortable around dogs. There was also the matter about D being nine months pregnant.

“We’ll think of something.” D placed two slices of bread in a bowl and poured milk over them.

“What are you doing?”

“She must be hungry.”

I went outside and placed the bowl on the wooden step. Our visitor emerged as soon as I closed the door. Once again, she stayed just long enough to finish the food.

Snarls and all…

Son-in-law, M, came home a half-hour later. “I’m not going to be much help,” he confessed.

A traumatic childhood experience had left him with a deep fear of dogs.

“We’ll have to take her to a shelter,” I said.

There was no debate about the shelter issue. The problem was logistics.

One of us, either M or I, would occupy the driver’s seat on our way to the shelter.

The other person — the passenger — would have to lure the dog out from hiding, scoop her up, snarls and all, and hold her down for the duration of the drive. Neither of us wanted to be the passenger.

The Dog-whisperer…

After some discussion, D called a friend, Ali, who had grown up with dogs.

Ali came around 5 pm. She stepped off the deck nonchalantly, ignoring our warnings about the fearsome beast that had taken up residence underneath.

Ali hunkered down on the grass and whistled. She made smooching sounds and talked baby talk. She clapped softly.

In less than a minute, the little animal padded out and allowed herself to be picked up. She settled herself in Ali’s arms.

We expressed shock and awe at Ali’s dog-whispering skills. Where was the fire-breathing dragon?

“She was only scared. And hungry and thirsty,” Ali said.

She ran a hand over the dog’s gleaming coat. “Very sleek.” She lifted a paw. “Nails clipped. This is someone’s pet.”

“She doesn’t have a collar,” M said. “How do we find her owner?”

“My vet can scan her microchip.”

Many owners had microchips injected into their dogs, Ali told us. The chip, when read with a special scanner provided the pet parent’s contact information. It helped locate lost dogs.

I drove to the vet’s clinic. The little dog sat on Ali’s lap and looked out the window.

And… she’s what?

“She doesn’t have a microchip,” the vet said. She palpated her patient’s stomach. “And… she’s pregnant.”

My breath left my stomach in a whoosh.

I called a nearby animal shelter while walking back to the car.

Sorry, they said, we’re just locking up. And we’re closed over the weekend. But you can bring her in on Monday.

It was Friday evening.

Ali couldn’t take her home. She’s a physician and on call that weekend. Plus, she had a German Shepherd who wouldn’t take kindly to a rival. “You’ll need to feed her at least twice a day,” Ali said. “And she doesn’t have a collar, let alone a leash. So she’ll have to do her business in the backyard.”

I broke the news the D and M. We had a pregnant dog on our hands. And we had to keep her over the weekend.

M was rendered speechless.

D sat down. “Oh my God!”

The little dog watched us from the farthest corner of the living room.

Lodging and Boarding…

Finally, D got up. “We can’t keep this girl on bread and milk if she’s pregnant. She needs protein.”

She went toward the kitchen. I followed.

D opened the fridge and took out some boiled chicken. She shredded it, added cooked rice and a splash of sodium-free chicken broth. Then she warmed the mixture in the microwave.

A sudden movement caught my eye. I looked up to see the little dog standing at the threshold between the kitchen and breakfast area, nose wriggling at the scent of meat.

D tipped half of the food into a shallow stoneware bowl.

I placed the bowl in a corner of the breakfast area.

The little animal scarfed down the food then looked up with speaking eyes. “Please, (Sir), I want some more.” A canine Oliver Twist.

I added another helping.

While she was eating, D got out a couple of old blankets. “For her bed.”

I folded the blankets thrice then placed them one on top of the other, in the corner of the breakfast area closest to the kitchen. “Here you go, Jessie!”

Say my name…

“‘Jessie?’” D said.

“We can’t keep calling her ‘the little dog’ all weekend long,” I replied.

Jessie finished her meal, headed over to the blanket pile, and lay down. She seemed to understand this was her bed.

D, M, and I sat down to dinner at the breakfast table. Jessie watched us, head resting on her paws.

After dinner, D posted on her neighborhood Facebook page. Has anyone lost their dog? Would anyone like to foster or parent a small dog?

She added details about Jessie’s size, color, and likely breed.

Thump-thump…

I woke up the following day around six am. The thump thump began as soon as I opened my bedroom door. I found Jessie at the foot of the sofa in the living room — her tail thumping out a welcome on the carpet.

We had come a long way since our first meeting.

I sat on the sofa, reached down, and ran my hand gingerly along Jessie’s back. The little dog closed her eyes.

She thumped her tail again when D came in. D did not pat Jessie. But she sat on the sofa, her leg very nearly touching the little dog.

“Any response about Jessie?” I asked.

“Not yet,” D replied.

I made dosa (Indian crepe) for breakfast for D, M, and me.

D scrambled eggs for Jessie without oil or salt. She added two bread slices soaked in milk.

We sat out on the patio with our cups of tea. Jessie ran around in the yard, disappearing from time to time under the deck.

She didn’t set foot in any of the rooms in the house except the living room and breakfast area. For a dog that had snarled and growled, she was a timid little creature.

“I got a response,” D said later that evening. “This woman is coming by tomorrow morning to pick up Jessie.”

Liquid amber…

The woman arrived a little after ten. Her six-year-old boy came with her.

“We have four kids and one big dog,” the woman said. “Now the kids want a small dog.”

The little boy went up to Jessie and scooped her up. He showed no fear. These were clearly dog people.

Jessie licked the boy’s arm.

The woman smiled. “She’s perfect.”

We stood outside and watched their SUV pull away. We went back inside when the vehicle disappeared around the bend in the lane.

I picked up the blankets that had made up Jessie’s bed. “We can wash and donate these to an animal shelter.”

D tore off a half piece of kitchen napkin and blew her nose. “We shouldn’t have given her a name.”

I rubbed her back. “They love dogs… she’s found a good home.”

A little later, when I was roasting matpe beans for chutney, I kept turning my head towards the breakfast area. Just over an hour ago, Jessie had stood there watching me out of eyes the color of liquid amber.

D-Day for D…

“I miss the thump-thump-thump,” D said when we were drinking our first cup of tea the next morning.

Later that day, an hour before midnight, D’s water burst.

During the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, I silently recited every prayer I had learned from my mother and grandmother.

We reached the hospital well in time. D’s contractions were still widely spaced. But she was apprehensive of what was to come.

Her gestational health issues indicated a difficult delivery.

D asked for an epidural. The doctor administered the injection with the caveat that the painkiller might not work given the neurological issues in play.

M suggested I return home. He would stay with D in the hospital. There was no point in both of us not getting enough sleep.

“You’ll need your energy for when the baby comes home,” he said.

I reached home at around 2:00 am. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But I crashed as soon as my head touched the pillow.

Grand mom…

My phone rang shortly before 7 am, waking me up.

“Congratulations,” M said. “Your grandson just got here.”

I came wide awake. “Congratulations to you too, Dad.”

I asked about D.

“She’s doing great,” M said. “She was checking her Facebook feed until the last thirty minutes… and then the doctor came in and said, ‘Okay, time to start pushing.’”

He sent pictures of the newborn.

I melted into a puddle over photos of the best-looking baby in the world. Then I pulled myself together and got dressed.

I called D on my way to the hospital and asked whom the baby resembled.

“I didn’t get a good look,” she said. “He’s gone off to get cleaned up.”

The delivery had gone off without a hitch, she told me. The epidural had worked beyond our most fervent hopes.

“I hardly felt any pain,” she said. “I got lucky.”

Kismat (kismet) or Karma?

After she hung up, I turned over the word D had just used.

“Lucky — ”

I pictured D at her kitchen counter, cooking chicken and scrambling eggs so a little pregnant dog would have protein in her diet. Topping up Jessie’s bowl with fresh drinking water. Digging up old blankets for a doggie bed.

D going into labor the day after Jessie left — followed by a smooth, near painless delivery.

A strange, fantastical idea came to me then — the idea of a karmic connection between Jessie and D. Two pregnant beings. And a stream of goodwill (Dua, as we term it back home) flowing from one to the other — transcending species.

My head dismissed the idea right away. Neither Jessie nor Karma had anything to do with D’s experience of childbirth. It was all about Kismat (kismet) — luck or destiny.

I am skeptical about the workings of karma. The way I see it, life is more random than fair. Good deeds are not always rewarded, nor bad deeds punished.

But at that moment, perhaps I was overwhelmed by emotion. By relief that things had gone well for D. And the joy of becoming a first-time grand-mom. I thought…

Maybe karma slips up sometimes — and works in ways we think it should. Or hope it will.

As it did for D this time.

What are your thoughts about karma? Your experiences? Do let me know in the comments below.

Thank you for reading! You might like some of my other stories.

Thank you Trista Signe Ainsworth for publishing my story in your joyful publication!