The dreaded moment is finally here. The house is a cavernous empty space for the lack of one frail, fawn female labrador with a mind of her own, whose zest for life has kept us on our toes through all her thirteen glorious years with us and her determined forays into adventure.

Memories come tumbling out. Balu standing on tippy toes to reach Bagheera’s bowl of food; splashing out all the water with her forelegs so that she could cool her stomach in the wetness; the remains of all our cushions floating gently down about her ears like snowflakes while Balu sat victoriously on the marble topped table; a scrawny leggy little pup clambering on top of K mashi’s head when Bagheera’s big crinkled face came investigating her. Even the first night away from the warmth of her furry siblings she spent undauntedly retrieving a veritable treasure trove of footwear, bowls, paper and matches. Delighted at seeing me back home one evening she jumped vertically up making straight for the bridge of my nose making me looking like Rudolph for days. My mobile phones always bore punctures of tiny teeth. And if footwear was the fancy of the moment, she would take care to see that destruction was never restricted to a single pair. Even as an adult she was quite sure that my book of amateur astronomy was actually hers to tear to shreds, for wasn’t it made of soft cardboard like so many of her chewies? She couldn;t believe that I was trying to pull out of her clutches what was rightfully hers!

Balu has never lacked for new ideas for getting into troubled waters. There is no corner of the house where she has not been inadvertently locked up only to be discovered after hours - the unused garage, the bounded space behind the house which is hardly ever opened, the balcony upstairs which is locked out for the night, and her special favourite was the top rung of the spiral staircase, closed and dank and musty with bird-droppings, from where she would have to be carried down once she was located. Upon once discovering the gate open by a crack she went investigating the new open-shelf shop set up in the locality. Even with the gates shut tight she managed to dig her way under them for why should she be left behind when others went for a morning walk? She was saved from being lured away by a kidnapper because a good neighbour discovered her in the nick of time. We will all remember the evening of Poila Boishakh when Balu escaped from Supriyo’s leash and just disappeared. An evening of desperately seeking her in all bylanes finally yielded results by the grace of God. Upon one occasion as we sat waiting in the car with both the doggies, Balu suddenly spotted Chandan in the shop across Ballygunge Circular Road. Before we knew what was what, she had sailed out of the window and in one bound she was across BC road and standing next to Chandan at the counter.

All our anxious moments of concern for her were not even of her own volition. When she gave birth to the first three of her litter and then called a halt, a C-section was needed to bring out the remaining two healthy pups but every alternate day the stitches kept opening out exposing her insides to the risk of septicaemia and exposing us to hours of anxiety while she was done up again.

Balu’s maternal instincts were always remarkable. Not only were her own pups well looked after, even when Lucy had her single pup, it was Balu who mothered him more than Lucy did. Balu would repeatedly try to gather the little Leo to her breast to feed him. She would be the one to tolerate and even make room to accomodate little Leo, allowing him to feed from her own bowl. She would be the one keeping Leo playfully occupied for hours despite his itchy young teeth puncturing holes into her. As grandmother, she would brave her daughter’s possive snarls and determinedly move in to lick the little balls of fur clean. Balu has always been the guiding light for Puply, stepping in as a playmate the very evening all puply’s siblings had gone to their respective homes. This playmate role between mother and daughter remained to her dying day. She has always led the way on her already ageing spindly legs when we went for walks at the lakes. Years ago, I remember her pushing her nose into the garden hose to show Puply that it was not something live to be scared about.

Balu was too independent in spirit to take kindly to being crowded. She managed to express clear and total faith in our ministrations if she was unwell but other than at such times, she would put up with our cuddles for a few seconds, purr deeply in her throat to express her appreciation of our being there for her and then get up and move away seeking her own space.

Balu’s periodic refusal of food had all family members and servants well versed in the ways of cajoling and coaxing and tempting her with goodies. Glucose drips have been administered time and again. Up she would jump after the drips and head straight for the kitchen. This is why we were waiting in vain for a repeat performance. But this time it was not to be. For her time was with us was over. It was a wonderful time of warmth and laughter with children growing up and dogs ditto, filling up the house with good cheer.

But time moves on and so must we.