Fiction Academy: CAS' Never Ending Story 2022

|34| The Dog Catcher

The Dog Catcher 
by Calusa, Aiven Gwen

The ancient city emerges from the mist along the Buriganga River on a chilly winter morning, slowly weaving its way into labyrinthine alleys teeming with untold tales and histories. Having weathered the test of time, these alleys cradle timeworn houses adorned with frieze cornices and fretted eaves, along with worn-out wooden doors and casements. Mosques, with egg-shaped domes and towering minarets, stand as silent witnesses to the ebb and flow of local and foreign rule. Red forts, kattras, and landing ghats echo the footsteps of generations past.

Within these alleys, the pulse of the city quickens with life— bustling with people, shabby tea stalls, groceries, and trinket-selling vendors. Houses with mere one or two feet of frontage scrabble for sunlight year-round.

Throughout winter, residents spill onto the streets, gathering in narrow, twisted alleys, squatting by small fires. Children play hopscotch, chasing after stray dogs occasionally inoculated by dog catchers.

Today marks one such inoculation day. A group of dog catchers assembles at the crossroads of Dhakeshwari Temple Road, a faded blue jeep awaiting their mission.

Equipped with peculiar instruments;  three hand nets with wooden handles and large hoops, a long pincer with iron clamps and an outdated rifle fitted with darts to tranquilize vocal or diseased dogs.

Five dog catchers, adorned with white caps bearing the emblem "Mosquito Repelling Department," present a peculiar sight. Since the city lacks a dedicated Animal Control Department distinguishing between mosquitoes and canines, these men playfully assume the role of catchers for the entire animal kingdom, excluding their own.

The youngest among them, a boy in a grey sweater, carries a frayed leather bag filled with syringes and vaccine vials, enthusiastically emitting owl-like hoots.

The leader, a middle-aged man with a thick beard, reprimands the boy, slapping his head, "Save it for when you spot a dog, you little punk!" The other catchers, a mix of ages, groggily observe, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

A small crowd, entertained by the odd instruments and the boy's hooting, encircles them like bees. The blue jeep revs up, whooshing past the amused onlookers before halting abruptly. The little boy, in his grey sweater, hoots joyfully upon spotting two half-asleep dogs curled up on the pavement.

And so, the tale concludes near the three-and-a-half-centuries-old Lalbagh Fort as the blue jeep lingers, leaving the alleys and their stories to the undisturbed echoes of time.

The End