Chapter 7

Chapter Seven : The Papaya Thief

Topsy had many interests.

Walking.

Running.

Following people around.

Being involved in conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

And, as we eventually discovered, food.

Not just normal dog food.

Not just the things he was supposed to eat.

Topsy believed that if something existed, it was worth investigating.

His curiosity extended to everything from slippers to pieces of paper.

So naturally, the dustbin was not going to remain unexplored.

It happened on an ordinary day.

My mother noticed that the dustbin lid was open.

She stopped.

Looked at it.

Then looked around.

Something had clearly happened.

The first suspect wasn't Topsy.

My mother thought perhaps a monkey had come into the house.

That wasn't an unreasonable thought.

Monkeys could certainly create chaos.

But there was one problem.

Where was Topsy?

My mother called him.

"Topsy!"

Nothing.

She called again.

"Topsy!"

Still nothing.

That was suspicious.

Whenever Topsy didn't respond immediately, there were usually two possibilities.

Either he was sleeping very deeply...

or he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

My mother began looking around.

Then she noticed something.

A small movement in a corner.

She looked closer.

And there he was.

Topsy.

Eating papaya peels.

He was sitting quietly, completely focused on his meal.

For a few seconds, my mother simply watched him.

She had been prepared to discover a monkey.

Instead, she had discovered a dog having lunch from the dustbin.

Topsy looked perfectly satisfied.

He didn't seem embarrassed.

He didn't seem worried.

He certainly didn't seem interested in explaining himself.

My mother took the peels away.

She threw them back into the dustbin.

Topsy watched.

His eyes followed the peels.

He looked disappointed.

Perhaps he thought his restaurant had been unfairly closed.

Then my mother noticed something.

He actually liked papaya.

So she took some leftover papaya and cut it into small pieces.

She gave them to him.

Topsy ate them almost immediately.

No hesitation.

No suspicious sniffing.

No careful examination.

Just—

gone.

He looked up for more.

My mother laughed.

"So that's what you were doing."

Topsy, naturally, said nothing.

But his expression was very clear.

Yes.

And?

From that day onward, we knew something new about him.

Topsy liked papaya.

It became one of his little favourites.

But there was something funny about the whole incident.

Topsy hadn't been searching for something harmful.

He hadn't been trying to destroy anything.

He had simply found food.

And, in his mind, the dustbin had apparently become a perfectly reasonable place to find it.

That was how his mind worked.

Humans had categories.

Food went in the kitchen.

Clothes went in cupboards.

Notebooks belonged on tables.

Money belonged to Nani.

Wool belonged in a ball.

Topsy disagreed with all of these rules.

For him, everything was negotiable.

If something smelled interesting, investigate it.

If something could be moved, move it.

If something could be eaten, consider eating it.

If someone objected, look innocent.

It was a surprisingly effective system.

And Topsy was getting better at it.

The papaya incident also revealed another side of my mother.

She could have simply scolded him for going through the dustbin.

Instead, she noticed what he liked and gave him some properly.

That was how she treated him.

She didn't just tolerate him.

She understood him.

She knew that behind his strange behaviour there was always some little reason.

Sometimes that reason was hunger.

Sometimes curiosity.

Sometimes boredom.

And sometimes, apparently, a deep philosophical interest in household objects.

Topsy was growing quickly.

As he grew, his confidence grew too.

The tiny puppy who had once carefully explored the house now behaved as though every room belonged to him.

He walked through the house without hesitation.

He knew where everyone was.

He knew where people kept things.

He knew which rooms were interesting.

And he had begun forming his own little routines.

Morning meant waking up and looking for everyone.

Walk meant excitement.

Food meant immediate attention.

Family gatherings meant participation.

And papaya meant happiness.

There was another thing he loved.

Being near Nani.

Nani didn't always show affection openly.

In fact, if someone saw only the way she scolded him, they might have assumed she was constantly irritated with him.

But Topsy knew better.

Dogs notice things humans sometimes hide.

Whenever Nani was nearby, he often stayed close.

If she went somewhere, he noticed.

If she walked behind us during his walks, he looked back repeatedly.

He wanted to know where she was.

One afternoon, during one of their walks, Nani and some of her friends stopped at a place with a beautiful view.

The scenery stretched out quietly in front of them.

Everyone sat down.

Topsy could have run around.

He could have explored.

He could have chased something.

Instead, he sat beside Nani.

For a while, he simply watched the view.

I remember that kind of moment because it showed another side of him.

At home, he was chaos.

Outside, he could sometimes become surprisingly peaceful.

Maybe he enjoyed those moments.

Maybe he simply enjoyed being beside Nani.

Maybe for a dog, the view wasn't important at all.

Maybe the important thing was who was sitting beside him.

Nani had become one of his favourite people.

And Topsy had become one of hers, even if she would never admit it in exactly those words.

Their relationship was strange.

She scolded him.

He ignored half her scoldings.

She called him.

He sometimes pretended not to hear.

She took him walking.

He kept looking back to make sure she was there.

It was an unlikely friendship.

And perhaps that was why it was so beautiful.

Topsy had a way of finding his place with everyone.

With my mother, he became a son.

With Nani, he became a companion.

With my siblings, he became a playmate.

With me, he became something slightly different.

He became the dog I went to when I didn't want to talk.

When I was sad, I could sit beside him.

When I had been scolded, I could hide beside him.

Sometimes I would gently place my head against his belly.

He would simply remain there.

Warm.

Quiet.

Uncomplicated.

There were no questions.

No explanations.

No advice.

Just his presence.

And somehow, that presence made things easier.

It is strange how a dog can spend half the day causing trouble and still be the one you turn to when you need peace.

Topsy was capable of both.

He could create chaos in the morning and comfort you in the evening.

He could steal food and then protect you from being scolded.

He could destroy something and then look so innocent that everyone started laughing.

He had somehow become a collection of contradictions.

Naughty, but gentle.

Mischievous, but protective.

Loud, but comforting.

Independent, but desperate to be included.

And completely convinced that every interesting object in the house belonged to him.

Especially papaya.

The papaya incident became another family story.

We laughed about how my mother had initially suspected a monkey.

We laughed about Topsy sitting in the corner eating papaya peels like a completely innocent customer.

And Topsy?

He simply continued enjoying his papaya whenever he got the chance.

He had no idea that his family was collecting memories of him.

He was simply living.

And perhaps that is why those memories became so precious.

Because none of us were trying to create memories.

We were just having ordinary days.

A puppy.

A dustbin.

Some papaya.

A family laughing.

And a little dog who had somehow become the centre of it all.