A Howl of a Night: The “Dead Dogs Day” Bash

The Ghostly Gala of Dogs Gone By

The sky was Labrador-black, and the moon shone like it was running for “Most Dramatic Celestial Body of the Year.” The wind howled a tune so catchy even tone-deaf dogs joined in, setting the perfect mood for Dead Dogs Day—the ultimate reunion for every doggy who’d ever wagged a tail.

At the helm is none other than the Dogfather himself—think Marlon Brando with paws and a penchant for chew toys.  His bark could flicker streetlights and make cats question their nine lives. Legend has it he once growled, “I’ll make him an offer he can’t pawsibly refuse.” No one knows what the offer was, but rumours say it involved unlimited belly rubs.

As the Dogfather takes centre stage, the night explodes into glorious chaos. Tails whip the air like caffeinated metronomes, tongues flop around like the ears of an overexcited spaniel, and growls harmonize into an impromptu karaoke session that even the moon might applaud.

The ultimate doggy networking event begins: a sniff-fest of such epic proportions it makes LinkedIn look amateur. Every pup dives nose-first into their favourite icebreaker — sniffing butts and decoding the ancient mystery of “who’s who.” Ah, canine socializing at its absolute finest.

But I’m not here just to enjoy the chaos—I have a mission. A reunion.

There are a few VIPs (Very Important Pooches) I absolutely must meet tonight. Because let’s face it, the next Dead Dogs Day isn’t until 2099. By then, I might be reincarnated as a dog myself, possibly howling at the moon and sniffing my way through awkward introductions.

First up, Browny. The Calcutta mischief-maker who turned every game of fetch into a one-sided heist when I was four. Browny had a gift for lounging regally while my friend Didi and I worked up a sweat trying to reclaim our own sticks.

Next, Gurno, the toddy shop mascot with a belly so round it deserved its own orbit. This guy had the swagger of a dog who knew his worth. Gurno could sniff out biscuits like a professional detective, eyeing me suspiciously every time Granny sent me to fetch toddy for appams. His belly was always full of snacks generously offered by toddy shop patrons, but somehow, he always seemed ready for “just one more.”

Then there’s the nameless Corgi, a Zen master of chill who lived the good life at my uncle’s house. His hygiene routine was… unconventional. My Aunty often reminded me he’d had exactly one bath—when he fell into a river as a puppy. Despite his unkempt aura, he was a cuddle magnet, loved from a respectful distance, and affectionately addressed as “Hey You!”

The snake-busting trio from Granny’s home comes next—a fearless squad of mongrels who made Indiana Jones look like a novice. They patrolled the coconut grove like a SWAT team, sniffing out snakes and dispatching them with their signature move: smashing the snake’s head against a tree as if it were a coconut in need of cracking. Absolute legends.

And finally, Patty. The Pomeranian crossbreed with a personality bigger than his bark. Patty’s defining moment? The day he spotted an open gate in our house in Ernakulam and made a run for it. No goodbyes, no second thoughts—just a white streak of fur and the faint echo of freedom. Rumour has it he’s still running!

Tonight’s Agenda is simple: reunite with these legends, wag tails, bark out epic tales, and laugh over old scandals. Like when Gurno was accused of toddy-drinking after a particularly wobbly afternoon nap or the time Browny chewed my shoe and sparked a debate about whether it was a “creative protest” against poor footwear choices.

This Dead Dogs Day promises to be the howl of a lifetime. The *best* night for the living and the dearly departed doggos alike. History is about to be made, one wag and woof at a time. Tonight, we howl!

Is my tailbone wagging already? You bet your biscuits it is!