Puppy, Pills & Presence

I meditated for an hour in the shrine hall at the Ramana Ashram.

I sat silently. Not expecting, not wanting.

Thoughts came and went. They were what they were.

Some inspiration came through, crystal clear ideas for YouTube films.

So good. So direct. I smiled.

When I opened my eyes, an hour had passed.

I packed up my things and walked outside.

I sat down with my mate Krithin.

He’d been going through a significant transformation lately such is the power of Arunachala Ramana.

We were chatting about film and ideas when a Sadhu wandered up and sat with us.

He smiled at me and said, “You are special.”

I looked at Krithin, and he looked back at me.

“You must meditate,” the Sadhu continued. “It’s the only way.”

I smiled. So did he. The chai shop staff rushed over and tried to shoo him away, but he refused to leave.

He said he wanted a chai but they wouldn’t accept his money.

He was either drunk on God or drunk on alcohol.

And to be honest… the states aren’t so different.

The only difference is you come down from alcohol.

But there’s no come down from being drunk on God.

I knew this intimately. I’d experienced both.

He asked for a donation.

I offered him 10 rupees.

He asked for 20. I laughed. “I’ve got 10,” I said.

He accepted and immediately gave it away to a local flower seller who sits near the chai shop every day.

Then he wandered off.

I asked Krithin, “What was that all about?”

He said, “Don’t take any notice.”

But I had. It was just a little reminder. I would continue my meditation.

While we were chatting, another Sadhu someone both of us knew approached us.

We all started talking when suddenly we heard a yelp.

A young puppy had wandered into the chai area and was surrounded by the local dogs.

This was their territory.

The puppy looked distressed but the dogs didn’t attack.

Ram, our Sadhu friend, went over and gave the puppy some pats.

When he came back, he had a new companion.

The puppy sat with us.

I went and got her some puppy food and found a small container for water she was too small to drink from the big tub.

She was hungry. And thirsty.

After eating and drinking, she sat and looked at us, eyes shining.

While we were all taking in the scene, my friend E walked past.

I waved her over.

She immediately noticed the puppy. “She’s sick,” E said.

“She’s got mange. It looks a little advanced.”

I looked at the puppy. She looked at me.

“Well, I guess I’ll take her to the animal hospital.”

I’d been there once before with a badly injured pup, a blog for another day, I’m sure.

I already had plans to try and support the Tiruvannamalai animal hospital.

My website and vision, a slow burn, directed by grace.

I grabbed a shopping bag from the Ramana grocery store, popped the puppy in it, slung it over my shoulder, and jumped on my scooter.

The vet was busy with another dog, but when he finished, he looked at her.

“She’s got an abscess and mange,” he said. He gave her two injections and handed me two types of tablets.

“Half of each, once a day, for the next six days,” he told me.

“Can’t I leave her here so she can get better and be adopted?”

He smiled gently and shook his head.

“This place is only for serious injuries.”

I understood. “Thank you, sir.”

He said, “Take her back to where you found her.”

And I agreed.

I returned to the chai shop and found Krithin.

I told him the situation. He said, “Let’s give her the first dose now.”

I’d never done that before, so he offered to help.

“Go find her,” he said.

She’d wandered off, but I found her sniffing around and brought her back.

After some mucking around, Krithin managed to get the tablets into her mouth.

Now I had two halves of pills, no bag, and no clue what to do with them.

“We’re here every day,” I said. “If she hangs around, we can keep helping her.”

I went to the grocery store to ask for a small plastic bag.

They had none.

So I bought a chocolate bar and used the wrapper to store the medicine.

Outside the store, I gave the chocolate bar to a lady and her young child.

I had given them food and water the previous week, they were there again.

Suddenly the shopkeeper came running out, I had forgotten to pay for the chocolate.

I apologised, pulled out my card, and offered to pay.

But there was a ₹200 minimum.

So I grabbed two water bottles, some cookies, and another chocolate bar.

The shop lady didn’t know how to use the card machine but I did.

I guided her through the process.

We got it done. She smiled. She’d learned a new skill.

I paid what I owed.

The mother and child had something to eat and drink.

The puppy had her medicine.

And I had a wrapper full of half-tablets in my bag.

Grace in action.