Why do dogs love to climb on top of cars?

I'd just got myself a new car.

A shiny, sleek car, burnished a swish tomato red. The red was somewhere between the luscious hue of sun-dried tomatoes, and the metallic, fresh crush of a berry chutney. The red was the red of my adolescent dreams: sunny, oozy, and with just the right pop of irreverence.

And a day after I got my car, I saw a brown dog, plopped right on top of my red dream. I didn't know what to notice first: his thick tail which was going a cool "plonk, plonk" on the car roof; or his wide mouth, open in a grin; or his long, long nails which had undoubtedly made painful white scratches on the red, red roof.

"Get off." I said to the dog tersely, my teeth gritted. The dog thunked his tail harder. I imagined each stroke meticulously taking the colour off the roof.

"Get off my car," I said, louder this time, hoping sleeping dog would no longer lie. The dog stood up. It was thinking of a giddy game in its happy head. The nails seemed to etch themselves deeper in. He thought I wanted to play, but there was no way he was getting off his perch.

There was historicity to the humour with which dogs considered my disapproval and commands. A few years ago, in the summer of 2007, a golden, doe-eyed dog came and laid something at my feet. That something was a dead puppy. The doe-eyed dog, later named Genie, was a young bitch with five puppies to take care of. Her sixth had been killed by another dog. Starving and insecure, she was begging me for food. She didn't have to beg for long. I started feeding her and her pups each day. It was easy enough, and the rewards easier still. Coming home from work, I would be greeted with a beautiful, decidedly feminine dog-face, and a riot of blurry, wagging puppy tails.

Until the day that Genie got grievously injured. I still don't know who/what did it. She turned up one day with a deep gash on her face, suppurating, frightening, and out of the reach of her tongue. Food would no longer help, she needed antibiotics. And she needed to get better, so she would be able to lactate her puppies. I called the only animal shelter that listened, among the many calls I made. Friendicoes, an animal hospital and shelter under the Defence Colony flyover, came and picked up Genie and her puppies. My goal was to get her fixed and get the puppies adopted. Despite bursting at the seams and facing a perpetual fund crunch, Friendicoes took all six dogs in. The puppies were adopted, and Genie healed fully.

Later, I took her to Friendicoes again, and got her spayed. By the time I got her back (in an old white Maruti; this was a pre-red car era) all the dogs in the lane knew I was a "dog friend" and treated me with large doses of affection, and generous heaps of complete neglect to any "get off", "don't do that" and "how can you" commands.

No wonder then, that my car was a dog magnet. Some dogs peed on my new car tyres in a rather friendly way. Some slept under the car, often displacing Genie. And the brown dog always leaped and slept on top of my car. Genie meanwhile, had found a boyfriend. A richly black and especially naughty dog, he was an antithesis to Lady Genie's angelic behaviour. He always picked white cars to sleep on, and on most nights, he would sprawl on the most expensive car in the lane: a burly Audi Q6.

Why do dogs sleep on cars? I don't know and we may never have the answer. Maybe sleeping on cars at night gives them a vantage point they don't have during the day (when they normally crouch under cars or in nalas and gullies). Maybe being poised on cars makes them feel like colony chowkidars, saving the residents of the area from human thieves and superhuman aliens alike. Maybe they do it as it gives more reverb to their busy howling and night-time barking conversations.

But the fact is, they were doing it, and their "doing" - comprising light running, brisk leaping and lots of heavy thumping, on car roofs - is leaving indelible and indigestible marks on my new car. Also on many other cars in the neighbourhood.

Here is where I learnt two lessons. In the beginning, each scratch on my car felt like a scratch on my body. And here clearly was a dog that didn't get that. And that was exactly it. The grinning dog didn't get it, and would never get it. It was a dog, and the last thing it cared about was a new car, even if it was of a cool red colour. I had something to learn from this dog, and that something was tolerance. The other something was letting go. Who would see the top of my car? Who would know that my tyres were being peed on five times a day? (Actually, I could see the top of my car each day from the second floor of my residence, but I eventually decided the dog's cheesy grin was better to look at).

If I can look at life's adversities straight in the eye today, it is because I've learnt something from stray dogs. In every neighbourhood in Delhi, they are cuddled as puppies, and mostly abandoned as adults; some are fed, many are kicked and stoned. They have a difficult life; each day is an adventure, and not a very good one. Yet, the sheer cheer these animals have towards life's knocks is inspiring. It helps me place in perspective what is important: cars are important, but not so much that I lose my balance over a scratch. A stray dog can be kicked his whole life, but will open up a like a flower to the sun if you show him a little kindness (and a bit of food). Dogs are like soldiers in the battle of life, and even war-maimed veterans mostly come away singing paeans to life. Equally, dogs and cats on the road need more intensive sterilisation, because they reach tragic ends and sometimes over-stretch carrying capacities of a neighbourhood. It is cruel to have unsterilised dogs breeding puppies that get crushed or beaten.

The second thing I learned is that many, many people have learned exactly the same lessons I have from stray or abused animals. Friendicoes was never cash-rich, and recently it announced that it would have to shut down because of a fund crunch. Numerous crowdfunding and online donation lines were opened, and amazingly, several people have come forward to save the animal welfare organisation. Many people remembered that their dogs, cats and rabbits had been taken in by Friendicoes when others had said "no". Most did not want the barking, mewing spot of goodness that Friendicoes was, to shrink or disappear. So many people rallied together in so short a time that Friendicoes has now announced it doesn't need to shut down, though it still desperately needs money.

***

I still have the cool red car, and it may always be my favourite car.

I also have many scratches and a big bump on that red car. But the brown-dog-on-car is welcome, because he's taught me that life's scratches can be filled up with good humour. "Hakuna matata", from my brown dog to your inner brown dog.