Hey Ravi this is wonderful. Look what i wrote in Instablogs:
O’ to be Obama’s Dog!
By: Rajbir Deswal
I woke up in the wee hours to eavesdrop on a unique Canine Conference. The venue was my backyard where nearly all the elite breeds of dogs were represented. They seemed to have unleashed themselves of all mundane shackles from the nearby houses, using their sixth sense.
also follow link http://www.tribuneindia.com/2008/20081229/edit.htm#5


The issue of ‘Who to be Obama’s dog?’ was being fiercely debated in dog-eating-dog projections, about suitability of various breeds (read races), to gain entry through the Pearly Gates of the White House. In the Chair was my own St. Bernard, appropriately called, Haider.

An Alsatian opened the plenary with the doggerel, “I am His Majesty’s dog at Kew. Pray Sir, whose dog are you?” “Hey you! Basically German (Shepherd)! Likes of you may not be preferred in the U.S.,” said the Staffordshire Terrier and added an all too acidic comment on even the hitherto silent Doberman, “You too. The one given a name after that blood sucker tax collector, in Germany.”

Not to be put down easily, both of the German breeds growled in a kind of jugal bandi when a Cocker Spaniel interjected, “We are more acceptable in the U.S. Remember the most popular language in that country these days is Spanish!”

“Stop all that non-sense on races and languages,” intervened the black Canadian Labrador from Newfoundland, “Didn’t you hear Obama likening himself to a mutt –of mixed breed. Shoo Shoo!” “Burr! Burr! Am pretty sure you aren’t talking about the other shoe” said the whacked one.

At this our own street dog Sheroo, sitting doggo all this while, stretched his limbs, turned his head away from the going on deliberations, and started singing a la Dilip Kumar in the movie “Sagina Mahato”—Bhole bhale lallua khayeja roti baasi; bara ho ke banega Sahib ka chaprasi! (O’ my innocent child, eating stale food, you will definitely grow up to be a peon, in attendance to an officer, one day.) None paid heed to Sheroo’s ecstatic outpouring dubbing it uncouth and enough desi.

“O.K., Okaay. No one needs to be a Pekingese Royal, theft of whom carried death penalty in 18th century China,” said a Chihuahua of Mexican origin. “You be quiet there. Sacred and edible stuff for the Red Indians! Don’t deserve to be dogs! Bow wow!” barked in the American Bulldog. “Remember we are the ones, after whom the dogmatic reassurance came from some human fella—The more I see of man, the more I love dogs!” said he, “And it suits us fine. But we need to act fast for Peru has already offered their breed ‘Ears’ from Incas to Obama.”

While all this was going on, I saw Sheroo cozying up with Tikki, a white exotic female. Turning away from the deliberations, I lent my ear to what Sheroo had to very endearingly tell an ‘expecting’ Tikki. “Aey Sweet heart, crossbreeds of whatever shade have a safe future in the U.S., and our ladle and ladlee—little ones—to be born soon, will surely find their way in the White House, for they will be hypo allergic mutts, as also the bald variety, suitable for Obama’s daughter Malia, who is allergic to the fur and hair.”

I don’t know whether the Canine Conference reached a decision with all that Bar(ac)king or not but the duet Sheroo and Tikki sang, while walking away from the dogged venue, still reverberates in my ears, confirming the sanguineness of the couple’s American dream—Jeevan ki bagia mahkegi, lahkegi, chahkegi; Khushiyon ki kalian, jhoomengi, jhoolengi, phoolengi! (Our life’s flowerbed will experience fragrance, blossoms and flourishing; our happiness buds will experience swaggering, swinging and thriving.)