Dog and man have kept company since time immemorial. It has hunted deer with the emperors and herded sheep with the prophets. It kept loyal company with mythical gods and found favourable mention in scriptures and holy books. It even went into voluntary coma with his fugitive medieval masters into Middle Eastern caves (the companions of Kahaf) and deflected pursuers from those who were being hounded. It mournfully witnessed Christ being crucified and quietly saw the holy Prophet (PBUH) leave Mecca in the dead of night. It was the sheep dog that kept wolves and cattle thieves away from Moses’ future but frail wife’s herd while Egypt’s pharaohs honoured him into a minor deity, Anibus, essentially a jackal head but considered a dog’s too. That is why a very large number of dog mummies were found in ancient catacombs in Egypt. It was possible that in the Roman mythology Remus and Rumulus might have been mothered by a bitch rather than a she wolf if the writer had sufficient respect for this eternally faithful animal. Queerly, in the Indian subcontinent this watchful animal has not been so well respected despite his faithful service to man. He finds a passing reference in the plethora of scriptures as Bhairava’s mount and revered in parts of India for his gatekeeping over entries to heaven and hell. Europeans tried to restore his official stature by inducting pedigree canines into the native landscape but this was received with mixed feelings. Mostly considered an extension of British imperialism by natives, unclean by Muslims and arrogant by their local dog brotherhood. This was despite the fact that the European variety was disciplined, intelligent and created very little mess. They even barked differently and in an audibly dignified manner. This was too much. The local dogs went into an inferiority complex followed by a biting disdain for the imported variety, which remains till today — essentially a reflex action by those who can neither match nor improve their lot. The only species that remained unimpressed was the equally distant Shinwari or the Kochi sheepdog during his annual forays into the subcontinent, which was more a wolf than a dog and has definite airs about himself. That occasional intervention too did not materially affect the unenviable plight of the local dogs, which were quite undeservedly labelled as pariah dogs by our foreign masters. The sahib’s horse and his dog had priority over anything native that moved. A retriever was considered more valuable than the retainer. During a foxhunt, sahib’s grey hounds had the priority to feed after a chase over their native handlers. Independence did little to reinstate the humble native and the dog both. On the other hand, in their revulsion, the natives, whether men, dogs or cattle, continued to distance themselves into misery, rejection and scurrilous mass of unsolicited scum. The dog’s day has hardly ever changed except for those under royal or priest patronage. Nothing has made any difference to the wretched life of a dog in the subcontinent either and of course in Pakistan where it is so spitefully despised by the mullah too. One is not sure how but the mullah has always considered the dog an animal that eats into the house’s blessings and therefore must not be kept as a pet. A friend thought it was a manufactured conjecture because the dog was found guarding the homes of the rich and it repelled the mullah a great deal for his outlandish apparel and prevented him from collecting the usual alms. Nevertheless, every dog has his day but in Pakistan it comes with a difference. Here, dogs seem to have every day and forever. These canines are compulsive scavengers and we have an epidemic at hand. Pedigree dogs found a wide-open playing field after the British left; they ran riot into their masters’ ill-gotten bounties, feeding themselves to grave abdominal distention. The local breeds found the time opportune to eat to their fill out of the mounds of left overs and lay down for long carefree snoozes under the shade. They were quite content with the newfound loot as was never before and would leave what could not be carried or consumed for others to lap up. It was in these chaotic times that our redoubtable dog trainers appeared on the scene and chose local breeds, perhaps for their extreme submissiveness and being less finicky about what is right or wrong. These trainers were consummate masters of their art, some in their starched outfits, the others in their sleek, foreign tailored suits and a few in their fluffy feudal apparel. They tended to huddle when it suited them and patronise their own breeds as needed. Most pups were picked up from the streets and paddies of Punjab, gravels of the Frontier and the rest came from the goths of Sindh or gypsy tents of Balochistan. It was a strangely mixed lot; submissive, non-descript, tenacious against the trainers’ mood variations and ferocious when pitched against each other. Ours are bold when the opponent is weak but curl up their humble tails between their wobbly hind legs when he picks up his knotted stick. Proverbially, a dog does eat a dog but with greater gusto in our back alleys. The Chinese zodiac has a year of the dog, which recurs every 12 years as they admire his living habits and character. They regard the dog as auspicious and think it is fortunate if a dog comes into a house. But that is a Chinese dog, not the mongrels found south of the Himalayas, particularly east of the Karakoram. Our year of the dog seems to have begun in 1948 and has continued ever since. A dog’s day is a metaphor whose author appears not really derisive but more an approving, kind soul. He seemed to have realised comparatively clearly how hard a dog works and therefore was kinder to coin another phrase in sequence: dog tired. A caution is in order here. These are strictly private terms and considered impolite if used by others to denote one’s toils; exceptions can be taken and a dogfight might ensue. Determination when unrelenting becomes dogged. Greed and lust when limitless become voracious and we have hordes of this latter species around in our country. They gang up to ravage, pounce mercilessly, devour ferociously, tear up fallen prey, compulsively multiply and howl incessantly in the freezing winter nights. The more one is rabid the more he gains in power. These brutes are found in all quarters, they congregate in danger, attack viciously when roused and cluster in drooling anticipation wherever they find their dog food regardless of whom it might belong to. At times one can see a pack of neighbourhood stray dogs join, bark madly and then trot off in search of their prey pillaging everything in their way, snarling and woofing endlessly. We are cursed with yet another brood of genetically modified wild dogs who are smitten by a deadlier malaise and groomed by a more banal breed of turbaned trainers who stench from miles. Like the proverbial hounds of the Lord killing wantonly, destruction and indiscriminate devastation are an article of faith with them. They are morally and physically terribly scabied and odious in person and proximity. Barbarity, wickedness and sadism are their favourite preferences. The tri-headed Hound of Hades must be looking with wonder and envy at their undiluted savagery. Native dogs are having a field day in our hapless country. The writer is a retired brigadier of the Pakistan army and can be reached at clay.potter@hotmail.com