She was the last of a litter of Labrador/Terrier puppies at the Randburg SPCA. Limpid sad eyes underlined by a white streak at the bottom regarded us suspiciously from her dejected corner in the kennel. The SPCA staffer picked up the long reluctant body of the two month old female pup for our inspection – black lab on top with an undercarriage of brindle, and a long spindly tail – an unmistakable mutt (or a “rainbow dog” as suggested by a South African friend – Thanks Kantha!). She had until the end of the week to find a home before they would be forced to put her down. The sadness in her eyes appeared to be the sum of the overcrowded facility for abandoned and unwanted animals on the eastern edged of this South African metropolis. We named her Gauri, the gentlest form of the mother goddess, in the hope that the characteristics of the name will somehow magically influence her temperament. She needed no magic, she embodied sweetness.
Sanjiv and I brought Gauri to our new home in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg. Amidst dire warnings and admonitions from extended family, we had just moved from a fortress-like apartment complex into this high-fenced, 24-hour-armed-security-response bungalow with bars on all windows and locks on all doors, even the inside ones. Gauri had extreme separation anxiety, so I slept with my arm in her basket for the first few nights of her being with us. Gradually, as she learnt to trust that we returned to her every evening, Gauri transformed into the bouncy happy puppy that she was supposed to be.
Two months later, a thoroughbred German Shepherd came into our lives as a gift from a friend. Gauri became an elder sister to Appu as only an Indian Didi would know how to. Two-thirds Appu’s size, Gauri asserted her dominance with overt cuddles and subtle gestures. Gauri had been easy to train and had learnt to pee on command, among other things. She helped us train her big boisterous brother who seemed to have the attention span of a gnat for the first three years of his life. We never heard Gauri growl but saw Appu respond to a barely perceptible twitch of her prominent eyebrows. Despite his several inches and pounds on her, Appu could pin her but never keep Gauri down.
After some initial animated tussle for alpha position, Gauri and Appu remained the best canine friends we have known. They ate together, sometimes sharing from the same bowl. On cool nights, Gauri used Appu’s long abundant fur as her blanket, curling up in a cozy cuddle while he panted. If he sat in her spot, she would sit on top of him and neither seemed to mind.
After spending an eventful decade in Johannesburg, Gauri & Appu made the transcontinental trek to Central Alberta (or Northern Arctic, depending on your perspective). They arrived in Edmonton in the middle of January, from +27C to -27C, and to meter-high snow banks. Gauri took to the snow as though this is what she had waited for all her life. Appu was a lot less certain of the white stuff.
Their arrival in Edmonton brought to an end four years of cross-continental commuting for Sanjiv and me. Life kept unfolding with as much melodrama as in any good Bollywood production. Their presence helped us feel more and more at home in this cold place with warm people, and fleeting but gorgeous summers.
Then after a brief illness in December 2012, it was time to bid adieu to our beautiful boy (https://meenalshrivastava.wordpress.com/our-beautiful-boy-appu/). Gauri grieved for her brother by placing her treat for three days in a row at the spot where he took his last breath. We mourned together and supported each other.
After Appu’s passing, Gauri re-discovered and loved all the attention of being an only-child. We marveled at how sweetly she had borne being in the shadow of her larger-than-life brother. Now she jealously guarded our uncontested attention, from two and four legged visitors, but with her characteristic gentleness.
On Christmas Eve in 2014, it was time to move again, this time on a train, across the Rocky Mountains, to Vancouver Island. Gauri sat waiting at the Via Rail Station like a seasoned traveler. She patiently waited in her over-sized kennel to be taken out for a walk at every station, reveling in the attention she got for her senior looks and the golf-cart rides back from indulgent Via Rail staff after her walks.
By the time we got to live on the island, Gauri had had several surgeries, two in Johannesburg and two in Edmonton, and many hospital trips. After her surgery in November 2013, at the age of 12, she had been diagnosed with cancer and was given about six months to live. Of course, once again, she defied all odds and continued to walk alongside as we explored new terrains and tried to settle in a new life.
Sanjiv was her favourite human and she was openly partial in doling out tail wags and licks for him. For me, if Appu had been my shadow for never leaving my side, Gauri was my mirror – from her willfulness, to her oddly shaped body that got in the way, to her dogged loyalty toward Sanjiv. Gauri and I also made friends rather easily.
Surrounded by our closest friends, on July 30, 2016, our wise and trusting Gauri took one last sweet sigh as the vet administered the drug to stop her frail heart. The death of a geriatric mutt is hardly a big deal in a world that feels like it is spinning faster, fostered by hate, violence, meanness, and willful ignorance. For Sanjiv and I, the hole she left behind covers sixteen years of moving across continents, the ups and downs in the lives of two humans and two canines, and spanning a long list of friends, family, and furry friends. Gauri’s gentle generosity will remain a treasured memory in our hearts, as we close a precious chapter of our lives. Hamba Kahle, sweet Gauri!
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