See you later, Snout.

Zorro, my lovely black Labrador, died yesterday at the ripe old age of 13. He was a simple dog who valued his privacy and despite having touched the lives of many people through the years preferred a quiet funeral. I decided nevertheless that a eulogy of sorts was warranted and thought I'd publish it here.

I met Zorro in August 2005, a month before my 15th birthday. My mother picked me up from school one day and we went to meet Zorro at his old home. His owners didn't want him any longer and asked his vet if he knew anyone who was interested in adopting an 8-month old black Lab. The vet had visited us a few days earlier to administer an injection to our crotchety old Cocker Spaniel, Bandit, and told my mother about Blacky, as Zorro was then known.

I caught a glimpse of Zorro, black as night with a bright pink tongue, as I opened the gate to his owners' home. In the time I took to walk up to him, he planned his attack and sprung at me, knocking me over with a well aimed jump to my chest. He proceeded to lick, nip, and slobber all over me, making it clear that he approved and was ready to adopt us. He clearly knew what he was doing.

We packed him up into our car and drove home. Uncertain of whether or not he'd wreck my room at night, I tied his leash to the leg of my bed. I awoke the next morning to find him snuggled up comfortably next to me and the leash in tatters on the floor.

I like to think Zorro was simply meant to be our dog. My house was full of books, and Zorro quickly took to reading many of them. He devoured the Complete Works of Oscar Wilde and was a regular consumer of the journalistic efforts of the Economic Times and The Times of India. He sometimes suffered from indigestion, and I have little doubt which of these publications was the cause. He patiently worked his way through Anita Desai's The Village by the Sea but seemed to lose interest in reading after that. Having read the book myself, I can attest to the fact that Zorro must have found it hard to swallow.

He tried very hard to make friends with Bandit who was himself well into retirement when Zorro joined our family. Zorro lay down in front of Bandit with his tail wagging, but received only low-pitched growls in return. I like to think that Bandit and Zorro would fit perfectly into Ogden Nash's Two Dogs Have I. When Bandit suffered with gastroenteritis, Zorro sat by his side for days, gently prodding his stomach from time to time as if to check on him. When Bandit finally died, Zorro sulked for days at the loss of his mentor. He bravely took up Bandit's duties of demanding walks, being greedy, and generally behaving like an ass all the time. He excelled at the last of these, prompting us to call him Ass just as much as we called him Zorro, Black Blockhead, Snout, or any other of a number of names.

Zorro loved travelling in the car. He and my mother would drop me to the bus stop every morning before school, and Zorro would eagerly await the arrival of the bus so that he could occupy my seat in the front. This practice was so intriguing to passers by that I was asked about my dog by fellow students, the bus driver, and the bus conductor. Up to the very last day of his life, where he struggled to even stand up because of his weakness, Zorro's reaction to the jingling of the car keys was quite the spectacle: he'd almost jump off his mattress and bound to the door, grunting and hopping with excitement. Dogs can teach people a lot, but the most valuable lesson I've had from Zorro is to love life and use every opportunity to the maximum.

His love for travelling took him to Goa, Wayanad, Kolar, Ranganthittu Bird Sanctuary, and more. He blubbered at the sight of deer and elephants in Nagarhole National Park, swam to save his own life in Mobor Beach in Goa, and snouted at crocodiles in a Coracle in Ranganthittu. When we moved to Bangalore and settled into our new flat, we once took Zorro down to the swimming pool. When my sister and I jumped into the water, Zorro started to panic and jumped in to save us. Shortly after, a sign appeared asking swimmers to leave their pets at home. Hardly a week into his new home and Zorro had already made an unforgettable impression.

Not one to confine himself to a single set of interests, Zorro dabbled in dance and show business. His talents were soon noticed and he was invited to star in his own dance video where he performed Michael Jackson's Moonwalk to perfection. His humble and gentle nature however led him to eschew fame in favour of a life spent sleeping on his fat mattress, supervising my mother in the kitchen, and playing with toys that we brought him from as far away as The Netherlands and the USA.

We'll miss you, Zorro! Take care wherever you are and don't stop snouting, Moonwalking, and behaving like an ass!