Dog Days

It was in the last couple of months that the dogs in my city achieved infamy.
Apparently, a large number of the streeties had decided to gang up and attack a four-year-old human (the name was Manjunath, I think) in broad daylight.
The child was mauled to death and consequently, the city embarked on one of its biggest kill-the-mutt campaigns — exterminating hundreds of dogs, many of which were presumably innocent of anti-human crimes. Experts, who excelled in baiting the canines with fish hooks and strings, were brought from neighbouring Kerala to end the ‘menace’.
Dogs ruled newspaper headlines for the next few days.
Dominating the other columns in the papers were animal rights activists, who claimed that the administration’s reaction was a little too extreme. There were rallies, with activists taking innocent-looking strays into the streets — large signs proclaiming ‘PLEASE DON’T KILL US’ and ‘NOT ME, SIR! I DIDN’T KILL THE BABY’ hanging on their necks.
I am a dog-lover, so I supported the animal rights campaign. My line of thinking went: So, if a gang of men kill a baby - do we exterminate the human race in general? Hell, I even wanted to go and join those people a couple of times.
That was about a month ago, before that fateful night happened.

The Incident

Like I may have told you earlier, my job as a journalist requires me to keep very late hours. And I generally ride home between 2 and 3 am, when desolation and plastic ghosts rule the streets.
Now, I have faced dogs earlier, like the time when I was working with The New Indian Express ... but I would bet my life it wasn’t as bad as this.
When I, mounted on my trusty GLX, turned into that particular Indira Nagar street, a scary sight greeted me. The streetlights were shot, and in the darkness I could see thousands of eyes lining the roadside. Staring at me. Unblinking.
I turned my bike lights on, and saw them. Dogs of all kinds — brown, light tan, dappled, black hairy, hairless — slowly climbing onto the road to block my path. And they were there to the very end of the horizon, which touched the HAL II Stage road.
The mutts were starting to bare their fangs now... their tails wagging slowly, from side to side.
I did the only thing I could in the circumstances— lifted my feet as high as I could, revved up the engine and tried to reach 80 kmph in 2.5 seconds. About the same time as the dogs pounced upon me, gnashing their teeth.
I was scared. Scared shitless, for my life and body. The bike zoomed ahead like a rocketship-gone-insane but still, the hounds from hell were everywhere. And apart from the dogs, there were puddles on the road too — one wrong swerve and I could go down in a blaze of glory.
In those fifty terrible seconds, Manjunath was not just some name in a newspaper. Manjunath was me. Running scared for his life.
At seventy-five kilometres per hour, I heard a bump. I had hit one of my attackers on its rump, and in the dwindling distance I could see it painfully pulling itself across the street. Strangely, I felt no pity, none of my usual holier-than-thou sympathy ... no, this time I was happy with what had happened.
The bastards drew first blood. That mutt got what he deserved.
The dogs were still around. My speedometer needle was fast approaching 85, when — suddenly — another bike came up right in front of me.
Even in the glare of his headlight, I could see his frightened face. The situation seemed to be scaring him too. Don’t have a problem with that but, hey, I am fighting for my life here — GET OUTTA MY WAY !!
Even as I heard hungry jaws snapping around me, I had this terrible vision — of my bike crashing into the other, both of us flying in the air before hitting the ground with a thud ... and then, the idiot dogs chewing on our remains.
Instinctively, I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes tight.
But nothing hit me, save for the wind. I looked around.... now there were no dogs on the scene, just a lonesome truck approaching from the distance. I had reached HAL road. Safe.
I could hear the canines in the distance, trying to get at the other guy ... who didn't seem to be enjoying himself either.
I don’t know if the doggie dearies realised it, but they had just lost a friend.

Post Script

They did it again last night, and the night before. Though I still don’t want them to be killed or castrated, ending up as dog food doesn't seem to be a very attractive option either.
Another day, another dilemma. As usual.