The dog was not in his best spirits. “Anything the matter?” I asked. He didn’t bother to look up. “The dog is not in good spirits,” said the wife to me. I nodded and waited for others in the house to make similar comment. “Listen,” I told the dog, “I don’t know what’s the matter with you, but they all think I did something to get you into this foul mood.”
He didn’t bother to look up.
“Take him to a psychiatrist,” said the wife.
“Dog psychiatrist?” I asked, “They charge by the second!”
“He needs professional help, he’s in deep depression,” said my elder one.
“We don’t need a suicide case,” whispered the wife.
“Dogs don’t commit suicide,” I said.
“It’s a wonder he hasn’t already,” said my younger one, “considering the kind of master he has.”
“I’m a kind, kind of a master,” I said stubbornly, mentally giving the dog a kick.
“Then take him to a counselor,” said the younger one.
“They charge by the second,” I said lamely again.
The dog counselor was a lady, at least she must have been one sometime, now she looked like a dog. “How do you do” I said politely.
“Woof,” she said to my dog, ignoring me.
“Woof,” my dog replied quietly.
“Dog’s in deep depression,” I said.
“Woof, woof,” said the canine psychiatrist to the dog, then turned to me, “He’s not happy with the political atmosphere.”
“So am I,” I said eagerly. “Elections, and corruption, opposition party infighting, communal tensions!”
“Not the country,” snapped the dog counselor testily, “The political atmosphere at your home.”
“Oh,” I said, giving the dog another mental kick. “I had no idea he had problems living with us.”
“He’s getting a minority insecurity.”
“He is, is he?” I asked gritting my teeth and giving him one more mental kick.
“Your tone is very condescending,” said the dog lady looking at me severely. “Do you know what it is to be part of a minority in a majority set up?”
“I’m sorry,” I said not wanting to get into a brawl with the dog lady. “What do you suggest I do?”
“Inclusion of his dog language as one of the spoken languages in your house, exercising his freedom to bark at only those he feels the need to bark at and not at anyone you feel threatened by.”
“Woof, woof,” said the dog happily.
“Woof,” said the lady, as she made out my bill.
“You don’t look in good spirits today,” said the wife to me next morning.
“Majority insecurity, about a minority presence!” I said, glaring at the dog.
“Visit a psychiatrist!” said the wife.
“Take the dog with you,” said the elder one.
“Woof, woof..!” said the dog joyously.
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