Member-only story
The World as Seen by a Dog
I was born in a small alleyway, tucked between two crumbling buildings in a Kolkata neighbourhood. My mother, a brown, scruffy country dog, had brought us here to escape the crowded chaos of the market where she used to scavenge for scraps. I don’t remember much about my early days, but I do remember the smells — the rich scent of earth after rain, the tang of spices from the street vendors, and the warm scent of my mother as we nestled close to her for warmth and comfort.
The first time I opened my eyes, the world seemed vast and endless. I would watch humans with wide eyes as they went about their strange, busy lives. They moved quickly, with a sense of purpose, their feet thudding against the ground, always in a hurry. My siblings and I would huddle near my mother, watching as bicycles whizzed by, their bells clinking like strange bird songs, and carts laden with vegetables creaked along the uneven streets.
The humans seemed to control everything — machines that roared and belched smoke, houses made of brick that towered over us like giants, and food that seemed to come from nowhere. I was fascinated by them, though I also knew to be cautious. Some would throw stones if I wandered too close, while others would offer a kind word or even a morsel of food.
