Indian Dogs and Stuff

I first heard of the Rampur Hound from my maternal Grandfather. He liked to recount a dog his family had owned when he was rather young.

"A great, big dog that came up to the shoulders," he said. "And so fierce too! Every time people saw it, they took to their heels!"

"Did it ever catch any of them?" I asked interestedly.

"It didn't chase people," he replied reprovingly. "It chased wild pigs - and, of course, it caught them."

I had that very morning seen an impressive performance of a black Dhangari Dog – it flew straight at the shrieking pig, threw it right over by its ear and held it pinned to the ground until its master came to collect it – and so I assumed that the Rampur Hound was probably something like it, only a larger version. My Grandfather didn't have any photographs or, for that matter, much detailed information about the breed. I asked the local Vet and he was in agreement that it was a terrific breed.

"A slim, thin dog like a greyhound," he said. "Very, very sharp and loyal. The puppies are available in Pune or Satara or in Rohilkhand in Uttar Pradesh for around as little as Rs.4000. Unfortunately there isn't much of a demand for the breed, or for that matter for any of our Indian breeds. People want 'Western' dogs. We have such marvelous breeds like the Dhangari, the Rampur Hound, the Caravan Hound, the Rajapallayam, the Pashmi, the Santhal, the Sonkutta, the Chippiparai, the Vaghari Hound, the Mudhol Hound, but how many of these do we get to see in dog shows?"

"Perhaps that's a good thing," I said, being no great fan of dog shows. I like looking at the dogs, but I can't stand much of the prevalent snobbery amongst their owners and I'm one of those people that believe that a dog should be more than an ornamental champion with cups and ribbons. I'm a such a great snob myself.

"Perhaps," said the Vet with a shrug. "But it's not getting them any following. It's more of a status symbol to own a Rottweiler than, say, a Mudhol."

"Yes," I agreed wryly. Just a while ago, in his waiting room, I had encountered a rather obnoxious man with a very sweet German Shepherd puppy – the puppy licked my fingers and wagged its tail madly, while the man informed me loudly that he had purchased it for Rs. 20,000 and had moreover employed a servant full-time to look after it – he also had a trainer lined up to bring out it's aggressive tendencies. And I petted the happy-go-lucky puppy and thought, poor chuck, why did you have to end up with such a jerk? 100% percent PURE-BREED, hollered the jerk, waving a finger in the air. Then he looked at my pet sitting there and staring at his antics in tongue-lolling interest. What dog is this, he asked me.

I curbed my finger before it started waving itself, but informed him with corresponding ceremony, "100% Mix-breed!"

He stopped talking to me and took his entourage away. I noticed then that he spoke to the servant, as he had with me, in Marathi, but the puppy he addressed in PURE English. It's a purebred 'English' dog, I overheard him tell his new neighbor. I debated whether to inform him of its German ancestry and suggest his taking German-language lessons hereafter, but in the end – and probably for the best – decided to mind my own business.

"We have Labradors and Dobermans and Alsatians in our Police Force," the Vet was saying, getting rather warmed up on his subject. "Why NOT any of the native breeds? They are as, if not more, intelligent, and they're hardy, better-suited to the climate! They're not so prone to hereditary weaknesses either! I spoke to the Police In-charge sometime back and he said, yes, it's possible to train the native breeds for police-work, but it's the policy to have the established breeds. What crap!" He slapped his palm on the table-top in disgust. "Anyway, I understand you're getting a Tibetan Mastiff?"

"Of course not!" I said. I have four dogs already and my family thinks that's more than enough. People already refer to our house as the Panse Kennels, my mother claims, and she's not prepared to withstand any more humiliation. How much more humiliating can it get, I asked her, and, like the chap with the German Shepherd, she too stopped talking to me. "I was just researching for an article. Of course I'm not really going to get one."

"Pity," said the Vet. "You might have got two and we could have bred them. They are in good demand, and go for Rs. 40,000 per pup."

I'm tempted – for one whole minute – then reality sets in. Who's going to cook for, clean after, and moreover walk those monsters? And what if there are twelve puppies and nobody wants even one single one, even for free? It can happen, you know. What then?

I know exactly what then. My mother will start talking to me again.