Sunday drives

Every Sunday evening at four o'clock, Minto, Daddy and me go for a drive to Rabindra Sadan. This has been a practice for the past few years and is almost a sacrosanct ritual, which we perform. Minto and me are usually in backseat, with the windows rolled down so that we can enjoy the sensation of the wind blowing against our faces. The ride is usually smooth with the occasional jerking. Along the way, Minto barks and scares his brethren, with instigation from me. They look around with a puzzled expression, not knowing where the source of their horror lies. Minto smirks, I smile.

With the car parked in Rabindra Sadan, Minto jumps out and immediately relives himself. He pulls me and off we go sniffing. His nose is on fire, with his olfactory senses sending a zillion impulses to his brain. He systematically marks his territory as we walk. All around there are couples snuggling under the shade of the trees. Watching them in the act, are solitary men finding vicarious pleasure. Minto invariably drags us to those sneaky corners, where couples want privacy and intimacy. So we pull him away, saving ourselves of the embrassment.

While Minto is busy at work, I deliberately hide behind a tree so that he can find me. Daddy eggs him into the act and immediately, he is frantically searching and smelling for any trace of me. In a matter of moments, I am found and we both hug each other in happiness. There is a sprite in his step, excitement as we walk back to the car.

Comfortable in the backseat, I can see Minto's small little tongue slide sideways. A smile breaks across his face. And happiness writ large over our faces.