It was 5:30 on a Tuesday morning. The air was quivering and the sunlight was yet to throb. By the time I was just about to arrive at the entrance of the joggers park ahead of a colony of dilapidated bare brick labor houses where the smell of hamaan took my by surprise, over a turn downhill, I saw a light brown (or whatever the exact colour is) dog (a labrador) run towards me. I normally get super scared at the sight of a dog starting to run towards me, and run for my life and paving way to a phenomenon known a chase.
But I didn’t. I was flabbergasted at myself. The dog leapt over me, with his forelegs reaching my upper abdomen. Then I heard his owner callout his name.
We’d given Casper to father’s former driver, Bobby uncle, for the reason that my parents were living separately and we were moving a lot for multiple reasons, so we couldn’t take care of him properly. I felt embarrassed to not have recognised such a lovely dog with whom, though I’d spent only a couple of months, I’d started belonging to him. Perhaps it was because I was sleepy.
Bobby Uncle didn’t recognise me either, Casper kept playing with me and I with him. I’ve never had a friend like this, who had recognised me so quickly and leapt over me with so much happiness. Casper had taken care of both my father and mother in separate times. I wish I could spend more time playing with him but I can’t, he’s gone. I’ll keep bumping him from time to time I guess. I just we want to keep my hand on his head and be grateful for his existence.