Dear stray puppy,

Give up. You should have given up long back. Your life is of no value. You should have heaved the last breath out the moment you were hit by that car. That car which was driven by some one drunk on alcohol, fatigue, or simply the sight of a long lonely road which gave him a much sought after chance to step on the gas, or perhaps he was drunk on his position in the hierarchy of nature. You figure nowhere. That is why he never stopped to check what he had hit. And you? Oh, so insolent! You just lay there in the middle of the road whimpering? You should have given up.

The best time to go would have been when you came into this world. You had the perfect excuse. You were born under the bushes at the corner of the street. There were no ‘oh-so-cute’ pictures of you shared on social media. Hell, you didn’t even have a father around, at least not the one who could make your papers look good. Ha! Papers! Of course, you didn’t have anything to prove that you were born. You don’t even have a breed name. No floppy ears, silky coat, large eyes. Nothing. That was your first cue to leave. See, you should have given up.

But you clung on, and look what things have come to. So many of my species must have passed you assuming you were dead. Did anyone bend over you to see the faint rising of your stomach? And the tiny whimper that escaped your mouth every time you clung to what should have been your last breath? Of course they didn’t. Yours is not a life worth saving, silly. Give up.

You will not find many fools like me and my poor helper. We picked you up, and brought you inside. You still clung on to that trace of a breath you had. Then, the madness set in. One after the other, the veterinary doctors hung the phone up.

‘Stray? It will not make it.’

‘My clinic doesn’t open till 11.00 a.m.’

‘Take it to the government clinic.’

‘Puppy? Yours? No? A stray! You are wasting your time.’

Why do you think I am telling you to give up? If you had been one of mine, with a neat certificate, and a mild cough, these very doctors would have treated you like an emergency. But you, the one with no lineage, are not an emergency.

Fine, we did find you a doctor eventually. So what? To what end? He shook his head gravely, and said, “Pneumonia. It is not the injury that is more serious. He was out in the cold a good part of the night, and has developed Pneumonia.” After a shot of an antibiotic, he too whispered to you to give up. You are stubborn.

We sat there, watching you cling on. Seriously, give up. What chances do you have? The man outside the doctor’s office just scoffed and said to me, “there are people dying in this world and you are wasting time on a stray puppy.” You must pay. There are people dying in this world hence, you must die. For your death will set the balance right somehow it seems. You do not deserve to be saved.

There is no pretty collar around your neck that jingles every time you walk. You do not own a cosy bed right next to the heater that makes sure an ambient temperature is maintained. You are out there on the street. Even if you make it through today, who will find you again tomorrow? Another car? Or, perhaps a kick?

There. See? It is much easier this way. The breathing is more laboured now, and the whimpering has stopped. Thank God you are listening to me now. Let go. There is no hope for the likes of you. Next time, if you do decide to be reborn as a dog, make sure you have a pedigree, and humans on your side. As for now, you must give up.

I shall lay you down now. Was that the last breath you just took? Don’t worry. I am not abandoning you just yet. Don’t be sad. Find solace in the fact that you’ll not end up stuck to the tires, picked on by crows, or dragged by your own kind. Yours was a short life. There are others of your kind who go through their worthless existence out in deplorable conditions. They get kicked, run over, maimed and yet they drag on. Not worth it. Does that comfort you, now that you have given up? It should. Would it give you any peace in knowing that you are not the only one? We, the superior beings in the hierarchy of the world, too have pedigree-less ones amongst us. They too perish like you. So, trust me, it is good that you have given up. 

No, I’ll not fling you out with trash. I’ll go out and dig you a grave. You’ll get a burial. There will be tears. I just saw the helper shed one. Trust me, your end was better than many. Next time do not indulge in this silliness? Do not cling on. For there are fairly few hearts out there with space enough for you. So next time, if you find yourself sitting on the roadside, eyeing that decaying leftovers someone dumped on the other side of the road, just give up.

Sincerely hoping you have better sense next time,

Your human.