The Autobiography of a Dog

             A wonderful career has been mine from the time I left my mother’s side and began a life of adventure in this little village of Midnapore. I am called Jimmy. I was born in an opening in a wall in one of the dark and dingy lanes of the village. A year after my birth, my mother left me alone and I lived upon the craps thrown by the people in the neighborhood. I do not recollect having met with any accident in my childhood, and the first six months of my life, after my separation from my mother, passed peacefully. I grew up to be strong, handsome and swift. I believe that was the happiest part of my life. I had no work to do, and could run about anywhere I liked. But that could not last long.

             One day a man, riding a donkey, came into the village and saw me eating a loaf of bread which I had stolen from a house. He seemed to take a liking for me at once and ordered one of his men to fasten a leather collar round my neck. My kidnapper then sold me for fifty rupees to a gentleman in a neighboring village. He, as it happened, was a man of means, took me home and gave me a good meal. I was very faithful to my new master and many a time saved his house and property from burglars. In course of time his children grew so fond of me that they would take me out for a walk and send me after a ball which they threw at a distance. When they fondled and patted me, I wagged my tail as a sign of gratitude. I never snapped at them even though they sometimes beat me.

             At last this good old master died, in a very advanced old age, and then I became the property of a certain Christian gentleman. This gentleman, giving me the name of Bob, took little notice of me. Luckily for me, his wife was a benevolent woman, who treated me with the same kind care and consideration us my previous master.

             After a few months’ stay I ran away and embarked on a life of adventure. One day I was crossing the main road, when suddenly there was a loud hoot and I had hardly time to spring for safely when a large and a silent motor car just grazed my tall. How careless!

             Now I am growing old. They say that a dog lives up to 12 years. I have no time to worry about death. The only thing that is worth worrying about is food. I have grown weak and helpless. I remain hungry all the time. I go about smelling the backyards of big houses. I get only kicks and stones. If by chance I lay my paws on a piece of bone, the younger and stronger dogs snatch it away. My old muscles avoid fighting. I now really lead a dog’s life, as the saying goes.