Last year in Delhi, sometime in April, my mother came to me looking very anxious and said that since the night before a dog had been crying outside our window. A bad omen, it means death. She said she was very worried that the dog was outside our window. I was somewhat surprised at her brazen superstition, and brushed the whole thing off. I told her not to worry about such ridiculous beliefs. The whole day she tried to keep that stray dog away but it always found a way to come back. The next day, my mother was even more worried – visibly so – because the dog was still there, crying.
A few hours later, the woman from the apartment upstairs came to our house. She had bad news. Her husband had had a sudden diagnosis of cancer, and had deteriorated to such a point that he was sent back from the hospital. They’d set up hospice. Only a few days, at most, remained.
He died the following day.
The dog left and never came back.
Beyond Six Rivers 