It seems strange to return to blogging. Had been a regular in the past. One would think that after working  in a newspaper for more than eight hours a day, I would not want to type anything other than an odd sms or a comment on Facebook. But then some habits die hard.
I would not have returned to blogging had not Martini and Portia breezed into my life. Or, in other words, if I had not got adopted by a pair of two-month-old Indian dogs. I had always loved dogs but had never been reduced to a bundle of emotions or felt any compulsive need to pet and coo the minute I saw them. I did want to have one at home right from my childhood though. Bred on a rich diet of Enid Blyton, I considered myself George (I also had a fiery temper like her) and wanted my Timmy. But my parents gave me a bird instead!
Timmy was a mongel too like my Portia and Martini. As Indian as my blood, I adopted them from a litter of six. The mother was S's favourite and had decided to deliver near our doorstep. Martini and Portia came home a month after they were born as their mom ( a perfect libertine) was not interested to nurse. Another  got adopted too while the remaining three were thrown away. Yes that's right! That is how Indian dogs are treated by neighbours. I hope Nepu, Dhusar and Mr Fox eventually get homes too in their new para (more about them later) and they get to wield the control stick just the way their two litter-mates are doing here.
And as for me, I finally get my two Timmys and see my life changing overnight. Hardly a homebody, am now forced to stay at home a little more and know my neighbourhood a little better. Not a bad experience. And that's what I plan to share here. Record every detail of my experience as a journalist-turned-dog mother who realises how it is better to stay at home with her pups at times rather than try to please the world. Cheers.