A Father’s Lessons: The Impact of Hunting Strays

In the heart of Victoria Colony, my father worked numerous jobs. But there was one he was particularly fond of—his night job. He found a certain thrill in hunting stray dogs that wandered through the streets. Every morning, Dad would clean the roads, paint the barren pavements, and clear the clogged gutters. But as the sun set, he’d slung his trusty shotgun over his shoulder and stepped into the dimly lit alleys to search for these dogs.

He often reassured me that it was acceptable to shoot these stray animals because they were feral. He claimed they were wild, lost creatures with no one to care for them. “They are all alone and have no mothers,” he would say, igniting an unsettling feeling in me. To him, they were mere empty bodies with no soul.

Dropping Out of School

When November arrived, I made the decision to leave school and join my father in his work. My mother was furious; she had big dreams for me. She envisioned a future where I had a stable job—where I wouldn’t be picking leaves or playing cricket with rich boys who spoke only English. She dreamt of better lives that came from education. Perhaps I could become a well-dressed clerk in a government office or an IT professional, like my Uncle Aslam, who had proudly completed a computer training course after his BA exams.

“I don’t shop at the landa bazaar now,” Aslam had remarked during his last visit to our quarters. Clad in a stylish green plaid shirt, he radiated success. My mother admired his new lifestyle, watching him thrive with a mix of envy and awe. Her life, tethered to cooking and running a household, was far from the opportunities she saw Aslam enjoying.

A Life Without Schooling

Mother was married at just fifteen to my father, who also had limited education. He often told me that he left school at seven, unable to bear his strict math teacher, who would smack students with a wooden ruler when they made mistakes. So, he returned home one day, leaving behind books and lunch boxes, and began working alongside his brothers, hauling sacks of wheat.

After marrying, my mother moved with my father to Lahore, hoping for a better life. They lost several children before I was born—a miracle baby. My mother would often say that my birth was a blessing, fueled by countless visits to shrines and colorful amulets.

“Mera beta,” she would sing, “My beautiful son. You were a gift from the big pir’s prayer. Don’t end up like your father; learn from Uncle Aslam.”

A Dichotomy of Influences

Dad had little regard for the life Aslam chose. He disliked his expensive clothes and flashy lifestyle. During one visit, after Aslam left on his shiny motorcycle, Dad spat his paan into the gutter and muttered something unkind in Punjabi. While my uncle embraced modernity and success, my father was rooted in pride and tradition.

At just ten years old, I struggled with my own identity. I was torn between admiration for my uncle and wanting to follow in my father’s footsteps. I liked the idea of zooming around Lahore on a slick bike, but I also found something alluring about my father’s simple life, working with his hands and earning a living through hard work.

Longing for Different Experiences

Despite everything, I envied the boy from Bungalow 17. He was just seven, but he had a shiny blue bicycle and rode it around his rich family’s circular driveway. His father—he called him “Daddy”—picked him up in a grand black car. After hearing his little songs in the corridor, I too began to call my father “Daddy.”

Dad would sometimes take me to Bungalow 17. He worked there, washing the driveway and chatting with the gardener. One day, the lady of the house noticed me and inquired why I wasn’t in school. My father explained, “How can a poor man pay for two kids’ schooling?”

To my surprise, she offered to cover my school fees if I agreed to attend. I felt a mix of hope and jealousy—I wanted to be like my sister, Rashda, who was studying for her matriculation exams.

The Road Ahead

Standing there, my heart was heavy with conflicting feelings. Should I accept this offer and step into a world of education and opportunities? Or should I remain by my father’s side, learning his ways and carrying on his legacy?

In a world where stray dogs roam, life carries many lessons, and every choice shapes the person we become. As I looked at the road ahead and the choices before me, I realized that the future was mine to create. Not just a life of hunting stray dogs, but one filled with possibility and choices.

Storytelling #FatherAndSon #LifeLessons #DreamsAndRealities #StrayDogs #Parenting #ChildhoodMemories #EducationMatters #Inspiration #DesiFamily

Original Text – https://scroll.in/article/1088478/short-fiction-a-father-teaches-his-young-son-to-shoot-feral-dogs-setting-devastation-into-motion?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=public