My Dog Tosca

We did not delude ourselves that we owned her.

When we first moved to Sri Lanka in 2002, we rented a large plantation bungalow on the outskirts of Bandarawela in Uva province in the hill country. There were four huge bedrooms each with a large bathroom containing a deep bath with cast iron ball and claw feet. We strongly suspected that the house was haunted, but that is material for another article.

The owners claimed to be animal lovers but threatened to poison a couple of street bitches that hung around the place and ordered their workers to beat them. Those Christian people have since gone to their heavenly reward.

I noticed Tosca on my way to the kade. She had a horrible abscess hanging out of one eye but had a very benign expression. Dogs are not supposed to smile but she seemed to do so, beatifically. She seemed to take to us and, somewhat nervously started approaching our house. One night we noticed her sleeping in a drain near the house and she was not alone. A female companion, who later became known as Daisy, was huddling with her for warmth

.

We gradually, in the face of disapproval from the owners and the neighbours, adopted these two as our own, although we could not delude ourselves that we owned them.

Unfortunately, Tosca, in particular, became prey to the rampaging males of the area and was often subjected to gang-rape. One rather timid fellow we named The Suitor, was doing the business when Hendrick, a disreputable one-eyed old roué of an ageing rock star who lived on the estate and considered he had prior rights, urinated on The Suitor in mid-coitus. Some people pay good money for that in Moscow hotels (allegedly).

The result of all this attention was a litter of pups. One very small black and tan one died soon. Two of them were later found homes and given the names Lucky (a bad choice) and Sando (I had called him Tufton Bufton). More of those later. Silky remained with us and moved to a new with us.

When the pups were first born, Tosca was perhaps not an ideal mother. One got the feeling that she thought a different kind of life was her due. She remained rather plump after the pregnancy and she reminded me of one of those 1950s blonde pneumatic movie stars like Mamie van Doren or Jayne Mansfield (I’m showing my age here, readers). She would often abandon the pups and come to hide from them with us in the sit-out around the back of the house. The little monsters always managed to find her and squawk and bite and scratch at her abused undercarriage.

There was another pup at this estate outside this litter. We called her Spot, and she would sit on my feet while I was typing. She was not strong and did not survive.

Luckily, we knew a good vet and she was able to perform surgery at our home to remove Tosca’s abscess from the eye and to sterilise her. A lot of veterinary attention was needed. On one occasion, she seemed very ill and was hiding in the bushes. The vet thought she might have been poisoned. We took her to the Veterinary Faculty at Peradeniya University in Kandy, where she was admitted for observation. Tosca loved motor travel. In fact, she demanded to get in whenever we went shopping. Children looked in and told their parents there was a beautiful dog in the car. She serenely took such compliments as her due. If she saw another dog passing by, she would bark at it imperiously.

The journey to Peradeniya was not too difficult, but Tosca clearly did not think the accommodation at the veterinary faculty was up to the standards to which she had become accustomed. When we went to collect her after six days, she was very huffy and walked briskly to a white car and demanded to be let in. Unfortunately, it was someone else’s car.

When we moved to our own house, Tosca, Daisy, Hendrick and Silky came with us.

The intricate social dynamics of this ménage, particularly the antics of Tosca and Daisy in their lesbian love nest, must be the subject for another article (or scholarly thesis or porn movie).

We retrieved Sando from his adoptive parents. He was no longer the grumpy fellow we had known before. He was now a perfect gentleman, which caused Silky to bully him mercilessly.

Perhaps Silky should have been called Sando. She was always burying my footwear in the sand.

Sando was afflicted with an abscess to his eye just like his mother. Unfortunately, the loveable big brute died suddenly before we could get it sorted out.

Tosca continued to enjoy her status as motor-mutt with the plus of long walks through the tea estate and mud-baths, the dirtier the better.

She is no longer with us. Like most street dogs, she probably once had a home with humans who abandoned her and betrayed her. She endured with dignity. She survived a long time after being diagnosed with mouth cancer. I am not ashamed of appearing sentimental when I say that I hope we added something to her life.

In the New York Review of Books, Catherine Schine reviewed an animated movie version of JR Ackerley’s wonderful memoir My Dog Tulip.

“What strained and anxious lives dogs must lead, so emotionally involved in the world of men, whose affections they strive endlessly to secure, whose authority they are expected unquestionably to obey, and whose mind they never can do more than imperfectly reach and comprehend. Stupidly loved, stupidly hated, acquired without thought, reared and ruled without understanding, passed on or ‘put to sleep’ without care, did they, I wondered, these descendants of the creatures who, thousands of years ago in the primeval forests, laid siege to the heart of man, took him under their protection, tried to tame him, and failed—did they suffer from headaches?’