Happier: In memory of Pepper

Around one and a half years ago, my parents and I had gone to Mysore to visit my to-be-husband and in-laws.We were about to open the gate, when a barking mass of black and white came bounding towards us. Belatedly, I remembered, they had two dogs called Ginger and Pepper. My dad backed off in apprehension, and my mom stood her ground, smiling at it. I watched on curiously. I have always been skittish around dogs--happy to watch them from afar, but never going closer. And then, my to-be husband came out looking for it. "Pepper" he called, and in an instant its demeanor changed. It ran to him panting, and flopped onto its back asking for a belly rub. It refused to move from there, until finally, he picked it up in his arms and carried it in. I'd never seen anything like this before, and I was fascinated. That is a dog that knows it is loved, I thought to myself. 

Things went well, and we got married. Over a weekend visit to my in-laws, we decided it was time for me to get to know the canine members of the family, Ginger and Pepper. I'll be honest, I was petrified, especially by Pepper's barking. Then, as my husband calmed them down and started to pet both of them, I tentatively reached out a hand to touch Pepper. Its eyes instantly darted to me, and I froze. I slowly lowered my hand onto its head, and I felt the smooth touch of its adorable hair. We both relaxed, and I petted it some more. That was how we got to know each other.

The next time we visited was probably after a month. I was apprehensive. Would I be remembered? I wondered. Other family members spent a lot of time with these two, and had known them for years now. I was by comparison a stranger, and wasn't sure if half an hour of petting once a month qualified me for canine friendship. I was inclined to think it did not. But I was in for a surprise. Ginger and Pepper remembered! They came bounding up to me and licked my feet in welcome, and then promptly lay down asking to be petted. I was more than happy to indulge them, and we spent our little time together.

Over the year, we kept visiting. Sometimes, it would be much longer than a month, and yet each time, I was greeted with the same exuberance. I grew more comfortable around the dogs, and I enjoyed the time I spent with them. Then, a few months ago, we heard that Pepper was sick. That it had a tumor and wouldn't survive for long. I was really sad to hear that. Thanks to the lockdown, it took a while for us to go see it. Everyday, over the phone, we asked how Pepper was doing. There were ups and downs. On some days, it would almost seem normal, cheerfully running around, eating all its favorite food. On other days, its head would swell up quite a bit and bleed, and it wouldn't eat much. Getting it to eat medicine itself was a challenge, my in-laws told us. Every day of good news filled me with hope, and every other day with despair. But somehow, Pepper lived on, and I hoped for a miracle.

The restrictions eased up in a couple of months, and we finally went to Mysore. I was shocked to see Pepper. Its head had swollen up quite a bit, and there were patches of hair coming off. It was still happy to see me, and came and sat down. I petted it for a while, but I could not look at its eyes. It seemed to have a puzzled sad expression, and I felt miserable at not being able to change anything. But life goes on, and we came back home.

A few days ago, we heard that it had stopped eating. We knew that the end was near. Yesterday, we heard that it died. Even though I expected this, it was heartbreaking. I remembered watching a video of Pepper as a young pup, running around in the backyard, barking happily. I remember touching Pepper's soft hair for the first time, and feeling a sense of awe. I remember the look in Pepper's eyes as I used to pet it. I remember the sound of its voice, the feel of its claws. I feel its loss so intensely.

Why did it have to die so soon? Why did it have to suffer? These are questions that every one of us has asked at some point, but there are no answers except that this is life.

I feel like I can never love a dog again, because the pain of its death is too much to bear. I remember the song Happier, and I realize that this is part of life. We love, and the grief of loss almost wants us to never go through it again. But ever so gradually, we gather up the courage to love again. This video made me cry the first time I saw it, and it illustrates this cycle perfectly.

I will think of Pepper every time I see a dog. I will cry every time I see a photo, every time a memory surfaces up. I will miss it sorely for a long time to come. Yet, I will continue to love Ginger, and any other dog that comes into my life. For it is worth it.

I heard this on a show I was watching: The afterlife is how we're remembered by the living. Those of us who are remembered well are in heaven.

I do not know where this beautiful dog of soulful eyes is now, but I would like to believe that it is in a happy place. Pepper was loved very much by all of us, and it has left behind a powerful legacy of memories. I will cherish those all my life, and remember and celebrate Pepper as the one of the first dogs I had the opportunity to know and love. 

P.S: The right pronoun is 'he', but I always referred to Pepper by name, and I learned his gender rather belatedly. Hence the use of 'it'.