Puppy

One of these gloomy weather evenings I came about a little dog straying around the corner of the street where my quarter stands. It was a light brown, skinny mongrel who seemed comfortable in the company of his mother, who was much the same as him in looks except a little mature. That's just his looks described, the fascinating aspect of this weirdo tot was its ATTITUDE. Yeah!, this is a dog; What? Can't they have an attitude? Right! the plot goes like this; My kind disposition and generous humanitarianism moved me to believe that the pup was in dire need to be fed and, I immediately resolved to spare myself of a few rupees, of course, with characteristic gallantry, in exchange for few butter-biscuits in a nearby grocer. Seeing me approach them, the mother received me with good intentions (I mean wagging her tail), before she was alarmed by my struggle to open the plastic wrapper of the pack, and hesitated to further advance towards me and stood, churning the ground under her feet, praying, to whichever god she believes, that I must offer her the biscuit stock. I dropped her a few biscuits and soon won her trust that I was no kid seeking amusement in see her speed against approaching stones and turned to her pup, as she hounded on the strewn biscuits, who cared not for his hunger or for the biscuits as he wagged his little tail and played. Puppy wasn't interested in dinning, I had got it all wrong. He only seemed to want to play and did just that. Every time between his vivid plays he turned around to sight busy mom feeding and yet turned away to resume play. Upon closer examination, I found his body barely had any reasonable flesh, under his dirty coat, and ornate with scars from wounds that had hurriedly healed by the baking action of the sun and wind; And yet he was happy. No excuse given by his survival conditions, had made pup any more dejected. Deprivation hadn't made him to forget having fun, he was not even worried of losing his food. Perhaps he was sure that he will be served!! Im not trying to draw philosophical conclusions here, but still just wondering how could the puppy remain so happy in the face of the trials he's exposed to at such tender age. Or is it only true that I misinterpreted his emaciated body as an asking stomach? But, why in the end would he retire to have the biscuits if he wasn't hungry? It seems like a simple question to ask, and it is a simple question indeed, what on earth and sky and heaven made the untidy freak rejoice in the midst of what I perceived as his sorrow? The answer is clear. He had known that struggles are unsolicited orders life makes for us, and it's up to oneself to find those moments in life to unwind and make merry. For, however little we are granted we are never served so meager to forget the real pleasures of life. And if we could break away from our imprisoned notions about prerequisites for happiness, we would spend a larger part of our lives doing the things we liked to do, we cannot be failed by happiness. And by making our life meaningful to our-self, we unknowingly offer meaning to the lives of those who refer to ours, like what the puppy did to me. I'm not too eager to conclude without giving due consideration to the possibility that the pup's behavior could be a survival stunt in the new century. But, how could it be possible when it's still much the same dog of prehistoric times; lean, naked and friendly?