The Tale of Blacky

Growing up in Sakleshpur, life was a vibrant chaos within our maternal joint family. Our home was bustled with fifteen people, accompanied by a range of animals—cows, chickens, hens, cats, dogs, and even a pig. While the rest of my family adored our animal companions, I never shared their affection. I couldn’t understand their joy in cuddling, feeding, or even glancing at them. Animals didn’t catch my interest and I never understood why.

I still remember the day when I was five years old, and we were celebrating the naming ceremony of my newborn cousin. The house was filled with laughter, food, and excitement. After enjoying the meal and a few drinks, my father and uncles decided to take the Jeep for a ride. When they came back, something caught my attention—my father, with a grin on his face, had something tucked inside his shirt.

I watched as he carefully pulled out a tiny, week-old puppy, covered as if it needed to be kept warm. It surprised me. I stared in wonder. Why would Pappa carry a puppy in his shirt? Maybe he thought the little one might feel cold on the way home. Whatever his reason, I couldn’t deny the warmth of the moment.

As soon as he stepped inside, Maai (my grandmother) quickly got some fresh cow’s milk in a small tumbler and fed the puppy with a spoon. Everyone loved him from the moment he arrived.

The puppy was jet black with thick fur, and was soon named “Blacky.” Nobody remembered who came up with the name, but it suited him perfectly.

Blacky became his loyal companion of my Pappa. But I was different I watched from a distance. I liked Blacky, but I didn’t feel the urge to play with him or take care of him. My heart just wasn’t in it.

Blacky, however, had a charm that couldn’t be ignored. He was sharp, almost human in his understanding. Our family became the talk of the village, as no one else had a dog like him. Though we never discovered his breed, Blacky was as friendly to us as he was fierce to strangers. He quickly proved his worth as more than just a pet—he was family.

Every morning, my Aaba (grandfather) would milk the cows and take them to the field for grazing. Blacky always went along with him, staying beside him all day. If Aaba left his lunchbox on the edge of the field to go and fetch grass, fruits, or something, Blacky would patiently guard it until he came back.

In the evenings, when Pappa returned from work, he would hum a simple tune and whistle in a rhythmic way. Blacky knew it was him, even from far away in the dark. He would quickly run out, wagging his tail happily, and he’d leap up as if asking, What did you bring me today?

Blacky was with us for twelve years, a faithful and caring part of our family. Sadly, we didn’t have a camera back then to take his picture, but his memory will always stay with me, forever remembered as a special part of my childhood.

This picture is from Google, just to show you all what Blacky looked like.