Dedication

To all the dogs who walked beside me,
with wagging tails, soulful eyes, and boundless love.
You were my companions, my teachers, and my healers.
This book is for you—
for the pawprints you left not just on the ground,
but forever on my heart.

 

 

I would also like to dedicate this book to my parents especially my mom who instilled in me the love for dogs and animals. She taught me love, compassion, trust and understanding.

Also this book is dedicated to all my animal lovers, rescuers all over the world some I met some I have never met but are connected to the same cause of rescuing and taking care of dogs.

Last but not the least I dedicate this book to Geeta Seshamani -Friendicoes -Seca, Crystal Rogers, Fizzah Shah, Sunita Shastri who were , are and will always be my inspiration.

Introduction

Dogs have always been more than just pets. They are companions, healers, protectors, and sometimes even silent teachers who help us navigate life’s most difficult turns. Surrounded by Dogs is not merely a collection of stories; it is a journey through the lives of dogs who left indelible pawprints on the hearts of those who loved them.

Each chapter in this book captures a unique bond—whether it is the loyalty of a street dog who found a family, the courage of a rescue animal, or the unconditional love of a companion who stood by in times of joy and grief. These stories are personal, heartfelt, and often emotional, but above all, they celebrate the spirit of dogs: their resilience, their loyalty, and their ability to love without conditions.

This book is for anyone who has ever paused to pat a stray, smiled at a wagging tail, or wept at the loss of a beloved four-legged friend. In these pages, you will find not just stories about dogs, but also reflections of your own heart and memories of the dogs you have loved.

So step into this world—sometimes joyful, sometimes bittersweet—where every bark, every nuzzle, and every wag tells a story worth remembering. After all, to be surrounded by dogs is to be surrounded by love.

Pawprints on My Childhood

My earliest memories are not just of people but of paws. Long before I understood the complexities of human relationships, I understood the simple, steady rhythm of a dog’s companionship. Their eyes spoke a language no textbook ever taught me—of trust, of curiosity, of unconditional love.

I grew up in a home where dogs were never considered outsiders. They were family. The mornings often began not with the ringing of an alarm but with the wet nudge of a cold nose or the thumping sound of a tail beating against the floor. Sometimes, it was a bark at the door, other times a gentle paw tapping at my arm, urging me awake. To a child, that was far more reliable than any clock.

There was one particular dog who shaped my earliest sense of belonging. I still remember his coat—warm brown, with streaks of gold that caught the sun like silk. He followed me everywhere, as if my shadow had grown fur. To play was to play with him; to cry was to bury my face in his neck; to celebrate was to dance with him circling at my feet, tail wagging as though he, too, shared in my joy.

Dogs, I realized, have a way of teaching children about safety. When I ventured too far down the lane, he would bark insistently, as if reminding me of invisible boundaries only he could see. When strangers passed by, his body tensed, and I knew, without a word spoken, that I was protected.

But more than safety, what I remember most was the comfort. On days when the world seemed too big and my fears too loud, I found silence in his company. He would sit beside me, no questions, no judgments—just presence. Sometimes that was all a child needed: someone to stay, simply because they loved you.

Looking back now, I realize those early years, padded with pawprints, laid the foundation for my life. Dogs were not just companions of my childhood; they were my teachers. They taught me that love could be steady, uncomplicated, and true.

It was only the beginning. What I didn’t know then was that I would grow up not just loving dogs but truly living surrounded by them.

 A Friend Who Listened

Every child has secrets. Some are tiny—like stealing an extra sweet from the kitchen jar—and some are heavy, too big for a young heart to carry alone. I was no different. But unlike other children who whispered their secrets to siblings or best friends, I had someone else to confide in: my dog.

He wasn’t just a pet; he was my most trusted companion. There was something liberating about pouring out my heart to someone who could not repeat a word of it. I would sit cross-legged on the floor, my hand buried in his fur, and tell him everything—from the fights at school to the dreams that felt too wild to share with anyone else. His eyes, deep and steady, made me believe he understood.

When I cried, he didn’t try to fix things. He simply pressed closer, offering warmth instead of advice. Sometimes, I think dogs are wiser than humans in this way. They know that comfort is not always about answers; sometimes it is about silent company.

One particular evening remains etched in my memory. I had come home after a day of failures—scolded by a teacher, ignored by a friend. My young world felt like it was collapsing. I ran to the backyard and sat under the guava tree, hot tears rolling down my cheeks. Before long, I felt a familiar weight settle against me. My dog had followed, resting his head on my lap as if to say, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

I remember stroking his ears until my sobs slowed. By the time the stars appeared, my sadness had softened. He had healed me in his quiet way, teaching me something profound—that the act of listening, even without words, can mend a broken spirit.

Over time, these conversations became a ritual. Whenever I felt the world was too harsh, I would find him. And in those moments, I began to understand something children rarely realize early in life—that love does not always need to be spoken, and friendship can thrive without language.

Even today, when I look back at those evenings, I smile at the thought of how my dog patiently absorbed all my little dramas, heartbreaks, and dreams. He was my diary with a heartbeat, my counsellor with a wagging tail.

Dogs don’t just listen with their ears—they listen with their presence. And in those tender years, I found in him the kind of friend every child longs for: one who never judged, never left, and never stopped believing in me.

 The Street Dogs Who Chose Me

Not all the dogs in my life came with collars, names, or a place they called home. Some came from the streets—thin, dusty, often wary of humans. And yet, somehow, they found their way to me. I often joke that I never chose them; they chose me.

The first one came quietly, almost like a shadow. She began waiting at the corner of our lane, her ribs showing beneath a dull coat. At first, I only noticed her when she wagged her tail as I passed. Something about her eyes stopped me—they were cautious, but hopeful. One day, on an impulse, I bent down and offered a biscuit. She took it gently, and from then on, I had a new friend who waited for me every day.

Soon, word must have spread in the mysterious way dogs communicate, because others began appearing. A black-and-white stray with intelligent eyes. A mischievous pup who always tugged at my shoelaces. A timid one who kept her distance but followed me from afar. Before I knew it, I had a little procession of wagging tails behind me each morning and evening.

Feeding them became part of my life. Sometimes it was leftover rotis, sometimes rice mixed with milk, sometimes just scraps I could save from the kitchen. I didn’t have much, but they never complained. They ate gratefully, as if each morsel was a treasure. In return, they gave me something far greater—the kind of loyalty that cannot be bought.

I remember one afternoon when I was walking home from school, books heavy in my arms. A group of boys started teasing me, blocking my path. I felt small and helpless, unsure what to do. But then, almost as if on cue, the street dogs appeared. They circled around me, barking fiercely, their stance protective. The boys scattered in fear. I walked home with my unlikely guardians, my heart swelling with gratitude. From that day, I understood: family is not just who lives under your roof—it is who shows up for you when you need them most.

Over time, the neighbours grew used to the sight of me with “my pack.” Some frowned, some pitied, some smiled knowingly. But I didn’t care about their opinions. To me, these dogs were not strays. They were souls with stories, companions with no voice except the language of loyalty.Even now, when I think of them, I don’t remember their hunger or their scars. I remember their wagging tails, their eager eyes, and the way they made me feel—chosen, trusted, loved. Looking back, I realize those street dogs taught me one of life’s greatest truths: you don’t need a pedigree or a perfect home to give and receive love. Sometimes, the purest love comes from the ones who have the least to offer, yet give it all.

  Lessons in Loyalty

If there is one word that defines dogs, it is loyalty. Not the kind that shifts with moods or circumstances, but a loyalty so fierce and unshakable that it humbles you. Every dog I have known has, in one way or another, taught me what it truly means to stand by someone.

One of my earliest lessons came from a dog who waited. He would sit by the gate every evening, long before I returned from school. No one told him the time, no one explained the concept of hours and minutes. Yet, he knew. And there he would be, tail thumping against the ground the moment my figure appeared in the distance. That daily wait was not just habit—it was love expressed in the purest way.

Another time, loyalty revealed itself in protection. On stormy nights, when thunder cracked the sky, I would often hide under the blanket, afraid. But my dog never left my side. He would sit close, his body a reassuring weight, his presence a silent promise: Nothing will harm you while I am here. In his eyes, guarding me was not a duty—it was his purpose.

There was also the loyalty of forgiveness. Dogs never held grudges. Even on days when I was distracted, when I forgot to play, when I came home late and tired, their welcome never wavered. They greeted me with the same joy, the same wagging tail, as though every reunion was the best moment of their lives. From them, I learned that love is not about keeping count—it is about showing up again and again, no matter what.

I cannot forget one particular incident. A neighbour’s dog had been injured in an accident. Though he was in pain, he dragged himself home, determined to reach the one person he trusted most—his owner. The sight of his bloodied paws, yet eyes shining with recognition when he saw his family, stays with me even now. That was loyalty in its most heart-breaking form—the instinct to return to the ones you love, no matter the cost.

Over the years, I began to see how their loyalty changed me. It made me reflect on my own relationships, on the way humans often fail each other with excuses, betrayals, or silences. Dogs, on the other hand, never falter. Their love is steady, uncomplicated, and enduring.

Perhaps that is why I have always felt safe surrounded by dogs. They do not ask who you are, what you earn, or what mistakes you have made. They ask only this: Are you mine? If yes, I am yours forever. Dogs taught me that loyalty is not about words or promises—it is about presence. It is about showing up, staying, and never leaving, even when the world does.

  The Playful Years

 For all their loyalty and wisdom, dogs are also clowns at heart. My childhood and growing years were stitched together with laughter, thanks to their endless mischief. If loyalty made me feel safe, playfulness made me feel alive.Every dog I have known has had a unique style of play. One loved to chase shadows on the wall, convinced they were real creatures waiting to be caught. Another was obsessed with my shoelaces, tugging at them until I finally gave up trying to tie them. Then there was the one who had mastered the art of stealing socks—never shoes, just socks—and parading them around like trophies.

The games weren’t always initiated by me. Often, they invented their own rules. I once had a dog who loved to play “hide and seek.” He would grab something forbidden—usually a handkerchief or a slipper—and run just far enough for me to chase him. If I stopped, he would pause too, look back with sparkling eyes, and wag his tail as if to say, “Come on, don’t give up now!” What began as annoyance would soon turn into laughter, and we would both end up exhausted, sprawled on the floor, happy in our little game of chase.

Mealtimes were often turned into comedy shows. One of my dogs, a clever trickster, had the habit of pretending he wasn’t interested in food. He would sit quietly, eyes half-closed, as though the plate of rice and vegetables in front of him was beneath his dignity. But the moment I looked away, he would gobble it down at lightning speed, licking the bowl clean and then returning to his “I didn’t touch it” expression.

There were, of course, disasters too. A toppled flowerpot here, a chewed-up book there, shoes mysteriously reduced to pieces. Yet, no matter how chaotic the scene, it was impossible to stay angry for long. One glance at those guilty, innocent eyes, the ears folded down, the apologetic wag of the tail—and all was forgiven.

Dogs have an extraordinary ability to turn scolding’s into laughter. The most unforgettable moments, however, were the spontaneous ones. Like the time a sudden shower began, and instead of rushing indoors, my dog leapt into the puddles, splashing water everywhere. I joined him, and soon we were both soaked, spinning and running in the rain, careless and free.

Looking back, those playful years remind me of something I often forget as an adult—that joy doesn’t always need to be planned, and happiness can be found in the simplest of things. Dogs live in the moment, and through their games, they taught me to do the same.

In those years, life was not measured by responsibilities or deadlines. It was measured by wagging tails, muddy paws, and the sound of laughter that echoed every time a game began.

 Silent Conversations

Words are often overrated. We spend so much of our lives tangled in them—explaining, justifying, arguing, defending—yet so much remains unsaid. With dogs, it was different. There was no need for explanations, no search for the right sentence. Our conversations happened in silence.A look, a tilt of the head, the flicker of an ear—that was enough. I knew when they were hungry, when they wanted to play, when they were sulking, or when they simply wanted to sit close. Their eyes were entire chapters of emotion, and I learned to read them the way one reads a favorite book—slowly, carefully, with love.

I remember one evening, sitting quietly after a long, tiring day. My mind was cluttered with worries, my body heavy. I hadn’t spoken a word, but one of my dogs came and placed his head gently on my lap. No barking, no fuss, just presence. It was his way of saying, “I know. I understand. I’m here.” That silent gesture brought more comfort than a thousand sympathetic words could have.

There were playful conversations too. The way a dog would run halfway across the yard, then stop and look back, tail wagging, daring me to follow—it was an invitation to play, unspoken yet irresistible. Or the way they would sit by the door, ears pricked, eyes fixed, telling me clearly, “It’s time for our walk. Don’t you dare forget.”

Silence also spoke during moments of grief. I can never forget the way one of my dogs sat beside me the day I lost someone dear. He did not move, did not demand attention. He simply stayed. His quiet presence was a reminder that love does not always need to fill the air—it can simply be.

Sometimes I wonder if dogs understand us more deeply than we understand ourselves. Perhaps it is because they listen beyond words. They sense the rise and fall of our breath, the heaviness in our steps, the tone of our voice even when we are trying to mask it. They catch what others miss.

From them, I learned that true communication is not always about speaking—it is about connection. It is about listening with the heart, noticing what lies between the lines, and honouring silence.

Dogs taught me that you don’t need a common language to understand one another. All you need is presence, trust, and love. And in those quiet, wordless conversations, I found some of the deepest bonds of my life.

Losses and Goodbyes

Loving dogs also means learning to say goodbye. It is the hardest part of sharing life with them—the knowledge that their time with us is heartbreakingly short. Every dog who entered my world left pawprints, and every farewell carved its mark on my heart.

I still remember my first loss. I was too young to understand death fully, but I understood absence. One day he was there—running, playing, nudging my hand for food—and the next, he was gone. I kept looking at the gate, expecting him to return. For weeks, I would wake up to silence, my heart confused, my hands reaching out instinctively for a presence that was no longer there. That was my first lesson in grief: it comes quietly, through small empty spaces in your routine.

The older I grew, the more I realized that each goodbye carried its own kind of pain. Some were sudden—an accident that left no time for last words, only shock and tears. Some were slow—old age creeping in, steps faltering, eyes clouding, until one day, their body could no longer carry their spirit. Those goodbyes were gentler but not easier. Watching a beloved companion fade is a different kind of heartbreak, one that demands both love and courage.

What struck me most was the loyalty of dogs even in their final moments. Many of them held on, waiting for me to return before they let go, as if they didn’t want me to feel guilty for not being there. Some passed quietly in their sleep, leaving me to wake to a silence deeper than any I had known.

I cried each time, and each time people would say, “It was just a dog.” But to me, it was never just a dog. It was family, it was a friend, it was the keeper of my secrets, the partner of my laughter, the comforter of my tears. How could that ever be just anything?

Grief, I have learned, is the price of love. And though the pain of losing them was unbearable, I would never trade away the years of joy we shared. For in every goodbye was hidden the proof that the love had been real, deep, and unconditional.

Even now, when I think of them, I don’t only remember the endings. I remember the wagging tails, the muddy pawprints, the countless moments of joy. Their absence hurts, but their memory heals. They may be gone from my sight, but never from my heart.

I have come to believe that dogs never truly leave us. They stay in the way we smile when we hear a bark on the street, in the way we pause to pet a stranger’s dog, in the way our hearts soften at the sight of wagging tails. Each one I lost still walks beside me, unseen but deeply felt. Goodbyes with dogs are not endings. They are pauses in a bond that continues beyond life. And though the pain lingers, so does the love—forever.

Healing Through Fur and Friendship

After every loss, I used to believe I could never love another dog again. The pain felt too raw, the silence too heavy. My heart would whisper, “No more. I can’t go through this again.” And yet, life has a way of mending us, often in the very places we thought were broken beyond repair.

Sometimes healing came on its own, slowly, through memories softening with time. But more often, it came bounding in on four legs, with wagging tails and curious eyes. A new dog would arrive—not to replace the one I lost, but to remind me that love never runs out.

I remember the first time after a painful goodbye that I let a puppy curl up in my lap. At first, my hands trembled. Part of me held back, afraid of loving again, afraid of facing the same heartbreak years later. But the little one had no such fears. He licked my hand as if to say, “I’m here now. Let’s begin.” And in that moment, something inside me softened. My heart, though scarred, opened again.

Each new dog brought its own kind of healing. One taught me to laugh again with silly antics, pulling down cushions and running away with stolen socks. Another taught me gentleness, curling beside me when I was weary. Some healed me through play, others through quiet companionship. All reminded me that love is not diminished by loss—it expands with every bond we form.

It wasn’t just my own dogs who healed me. Even the strays I fed after a long, lonely day gave me comfort. Their wagging tails and grateful eyes were like small doses of medicine for the soul. They didn’t know my sorrows, yet they eased them simply by being there.

With time, I began to see loss differently. Each goodbye left me with grief, yes—but also with gifts. A lesson, a memory, a way of loving more deeply. And each new dog who came into my life helped weave those lessons into something whole again.

Healing, I realized, does not mean forgetting. It means carrying forward love, even when it changes form. The ones I lost remain in my heart, and the ones who came after gave me new reasons to smile. Together, they built a circle of love that was never broken—only widened.

Dogs have an extraordinary gift: they heal us not by taking away our pain but by walking beside us through it. They don’t ask us to move on. They simply remind us to keep living, keep loving, and keep opening our hearts, no matter how many times it breaks.

 A House Full of Paws

If peace and order are the hallmarks of a home, then mine often failed the test. But if warmth, laughter, and unconditional love are the true markers, then my house passed with flying colours. For at one time, my life was exactly what the title of this book promises—I was truly surrounded by dogs.It began innocently enough, with just one or two. But dogs have a way of multiplying in your life.

One stray who refused to leave the gate, another puppy someone abandoned near the house, yet another rescued from an accident—before I knew it, the house was filled with wagging tails, clattering paws, and a symphony of barks.

Mornings were never quiet. The day began not with an alarm but with a chorus—one barking to go out, another howling because he wanted breakfast, yet another jumping onto my bed, insisting it was playtime. Even before I had brushed my teeth, I had been licked awake, pawed at, and loved more thoroughly than most people are in a lifetime.

Meals were never simple either. Feeding so many dogs was like conducting an orchestra—ensuring each one got their turn, keeping the greedy ones from stealing extra, coaxing the picky eaters, and shooing away the mischievous ones who tried to sneak into the kitchen. By the end of it, I was exhausted, but I never minded. Their wagging tails, their satisfied sighs as they settled down, were worth more than the finest compliments.

Of course, chaos was inevitable. Shoes vanished mysteriously. Cushions were shredded like confetti. The floor was never spotless; pawprints decorated it like an unending pattern. Guests were often greeted with such enthusiastic leaps that they had to be rescued before they were smothered in kisses. Yet, in that chaos was a joy that no perfect order could ever give.

What I loved most was the way the dogs created a world of their own. They had friendships and rivalries, games and arguments. Two would team up to chase a ball, while another sat aside, pretending to be disinterested until the ball rolled too close. At times, I would watch them and laugh at the politics of my canine family—it was like running a household full of children, each with a distinct personality.

Evenings were my favourite. After the madness of the day, they would all gather around me, some lying at my feet, others pressing close to my side, their breathing filling the room with a kind of rhythm. Surrounded like that, I often felt richer than the wealthiest of people. For what greater treasure could there be than to be the centre of so much unconditional love?

Yes, it was noisy, messy, and unpredictable. But it was also warm, alive, and endlessly giving. My house full of paws was not just a home—it was a sanctuary of love, loyalty, and laughter. And even now, when I look back, those days feel like the happiest kind of abundance life could ever offer.

   What Dogs Teach Us About Life

If I were to write down everything dogs have taught me, it would fill more than one book. In their quiet, unassuming way, they have been my wisest teachers, showing me truths that no classroom ever could. Each pawprint on my journey carried with it a lesson about living, loving, and letting go.

Live in the moment.

Dogs do not worry about tomorrow or regret yesterday. They find joy in the simplest of things—a ball, a walk, a scrap of food, a gentle pat. I remember one evening when rain began pouring unexpectedly. While I groaned about my plans being ruined, my dog leapt into the puddles with uncontainable glee. Watching him, I realized happiness is not in waiting for perfect conditions—it is in embracing what the moment offers.

Forgive quickly.

I have scolded my dogs many times—for chewing shoes, tearing cushions, or making a mess of the garden. And yet, within minutes, they would be back at my side, tail wagging, love intact. Humans, on the other hand, hold grudges for years. From them I learned that forgiveness is freedom, and that love, if true, does not keep score.

Loyalty is love in action.

Time and again, my dogs proved that loyalty is not about words—it is about presence. Like the dog who would wait at the gate for me every day after school, or the one who refused to leave my bedside when I was unwell. They taught me that being there—steadily, without fail—is the purest way to show love.

Grief is love’s shadow.

Losing them was devastating, yet each loss reminded me that pain is only as deep as the love that preceded it. They taught me that grief is not a weakness—it is a testament. To hurt is to have loved deeply, and to heal is to carry that love forward.

Be kind, even when you have little.

The strays I fed on the streets had nothing to offer but their gratitude, and yet their eyes glowed with love. They taught me that kindness does not need reward. Giving, in itself, is enough.

Joy is contagious.

The way a dog greets you at the door—with pure delight, as if you are the best thing that ever happened—reminds you of your worth. They never let you forget you are loved. Imagine if we humans welcomed one another with even half that enthusiasm—what a gentler world this would be.

Above all, dogs taught me that love is simple. It does not demand perfection. It does not waver with time. It does not disguise itself in conditions. Love, in its truest form, is steady, forgiving, and joyous—exactly the way a dog loves.

Looking back at my life, I realize that while I may have given my dogs food, shelter, and care, they gave me something far greater: a way of seeing the world. Through their eyes, I learned that life is not about possessions or achievements—it is about connection, presence, and love that asks for nothing in return.

Perhaps that is why, even now, I feel at peace knowing that no matter where life takes me, I will always carry their lessons in my heart. And if I live even a fraction of the way they did—present, loyal, forgiving, and full of joy—I will have lived well.

 LESSONS LEARNT IN ANIMAL WELFARE

 The term Animal Lover is one that is often used by many of us in our day to day life. In general, we relate an animal lover to someone who is caring, loving, and devotes his/her time selflessly to the cause of animals.

But many a times the cause is forgotten, neglected or takes a back seat and we find people making profits, money in the name of animal welfare…it may shock you but it’s the deep truth. In my experiences in the animal field, I have come across number of people who claim to be an Animal Lovers yet when they visit an animal shelter they will stand and stare aghast at the sight of a maggot infected animal, or a sick dog with mange etc…and I have actually seen these so called animal lovers covering up their faces and noses with their dupattas or kerchiefs-why because they can’t take the smell coming out from these poor animals. They have never petted a stray animal, said a kind word to the animal, or fed a sick animal- if you still think and feel they are animal lovers-then my friends you are mistaken.

I have been lucky in my life to have met and encountered some genuine animal lovers who have made a difference in my way of looking and caring for animals and left their imprints deep in my heart and will always have a place of respect & love in my heart.

To begin with, Mr. & Mrs. Dady a Parsi brother and sister couple in Pune, I still remember the day I was passing by SPCA Pune and could hear dogs barking and that led me into their premises where I met this wonderful couple who changed my life. The first sight which touched me and brought tears to my eyes was the sight of Mr. Dady gently and lovingly removing maggots for the head of a stray mangy dog with his own hands and a twezzer and speaking lovingly to the animal.

The trust and confidence in the dog’s eyes is something one has to experience, he knew he was in caring and loving hands while he rests his weary head on Mr. Dady’s lap. Together, we were able to cure, heal, and save many animals we thought may not survive, I still remember the nights we have stayed beside the animal and being there in its last moments…In the other room I met his sister who was preparing the evening meal for the animal and was surrounded by puppies and kittens vying for the milk, bread and egg. It was a matter of minutes that I decided to come and volunteer with them at SPCA Pune and my 3 years there are a volunteer and later as Shelter Manager was something unforgettable.

I learnt a lot from this couple and with their guidance and love healed many dogs and cats, treated their wounds with my hands, applied medicine. fed them, carried them when they were too weak and at times did the most difficult thing –yes put the terminal cases to sleep. It was heart-breaking to see he trustful eyes and head resting on your lap while you prepared the lethal injection, sometimes I could read their eyes and expression-which said why me??? And at times a quiet thank you for releasing them from the pain and suffering.

I wish I could have saved them but sometimes we can only do our best. Mr. & Mrs. Dady taught me love, giving, caring for animals and working selflessly for the cause of animal welfare. They were my guiding stars in my early years in animal welfare …Thank you for introducing me to the wonderful world of animals.

Another lady who influenced me a lot was Mrs. Lazarus from SPCA Pune, she must have been in her 60’s then but what a lady- her face was always smiling, ready to welcome any animal into the shelter and into her life…she spent her entire life in SPCA and lived in a small dingy one room attached to the shelter filled with sick dogs, cats, puppies, kittens whom she cared for regardless of the fact that she could barely sustain herself. Her selfless attitude moved me so much when I saw her feeding the animals first irrespective of the fact that she had been without food for days and living on just tea and biscuits.

We shared many a moments in her room and through her I learnt the important lesson of giving without expecting anything in return. The last image I have of her is seeing her walking to her room followed by dogs and cats, she always had a gentle word for everyone and if there is a real genuine animal person it’s her.

The sad fact though is that these unsung heroes in the animal world went away without anyone realizing it and were never acknowledged, awarded or rewarded for their passion and work, not that they expected it-no never-each and every donation which came their way was used for the animals, medicines and food, they never misused the donations for their benefit…that’s the beauty of them and that’s what makes them Genuine Animal Lovers.

You don’t have to brag about the work you have done, how much you have contributed to the animal cause or who you are- What is more important is the silent, devoted, selfless, caring work you have done cause you believed in it and that was what gave you happiness, satisfaction and made you a true human being.

I wish there were more people like them in today’s world Some others I can recall are –Mrs.Parulekar who runs an animal centre at her home in Queens road Pune, Zarine Patel a lady whose world was surrounded with animals till the end, she worked selflessly for their cause in Pune.

I can still recall her 7 Great Danes and the week I spent looking after them what a joy they were, Crystal Rogers of CUPA who I had the opportunity to meet and interact with – a truly compassionate lady, Sunita Shastri –ex director of Sanjay Gandhi Animal Care Centre-New Delhi for whom animals interest came first and foremost, Amritika Phool who runs an animal shelter in Defense Colony Delhi who is always on hand 24×7 and her house is like a mini zoo filled with puppies and kittens abandoned by people and left to die in roads, she gives them shelter and helps in their adoption and she herself houses 5 wonderful dogs and cats all rescued. She does all this without any donations or aids-remarkable lady indeed.

These are the people I salute to today, they are the real heroes in the animal world and I am thankful and glad I was able to interact with them and have learnt so much from them and through them. Whatever I am today, I owe it to them and last but not the least to my mom-who shares the same love and compassion for animals who has been my partner in rescuing puppies and kittens from overflowing drains in rains in Delhi, taking in stray puppies and looking after them…I am so enriched today with all the knowledge, love and teaching I have got from these wonderful people of the animal world…..God Bless You All and may you continue to shine in this field.

 SHORT STORIES

The Free Dogs of Colva

My neighbour once remarked, “That’s not a status pet you have there, it’s a pariah dog. There are thousands like her running wild all over the streets.”

I looked at Tara—my black-and-white beauty from the golden sands of Colva, South Goa—and smiled.
“She is not just any dog,” I replied. “She is a Colva Hound.”

She laughed. “A hound? But there’s nothing hound-like about her. She looks like a street dog. What’s her bloodline?”

“Oh, she comes from a long line of illustrious Free Dogs,” I said. “They are endowed with survival instincts, territorial awareness, enduring loyalty, hardy immune systems, and above all, a poise and character that can charm anyone.”

I still remember the first time I met Tara—a roly-poly black-and-white puppy tumbling in the shade of palms with her mother and Toffee, her brown aunt. Not far away was Boy, Tara’s father—a handsome fellow with infinite patience, always ready for a roll in the sand, a splash in the sea, or a wild race against the lifeguard’s jeep as it zipped down the beach.

But life was not always playful for the Free Dogs of Colva. Not all of them loved the water—for many, the sea was death. When locals considered the dogs a nuisance, they would drive them into the surf, pelting stones until the waves swallowed them. The monsoon too brought hardship. As the shacks shut down, so did their only source of scraps. Hungry and desperate, they fought for survival in back lanes and near restaurant doors. Some perished, while the strongest survived on the half-dead sea life washed ashore by the storms. One such season, Toffee lost her fight. The sea bore her away.

When Tara was born, she was one of six. Three quickly found homes, leaving behind Lady, Tara, and Annie. Lady, a large fluffy brown pup, had light-brown spectacle markings around her eyes. Tara was smaller, playful and inquisitive. Annie, the runt, always had a perpetually lost look in her tiny eyes. Tara came home with us to Pune, while Lady and Annie were adopted by the Roque family.

During our stay in Colva, we anxiously awaited the litter of another beach dog, Puppy. Heavy with young, she shuffled from shade to shade, often arriving at our doorstep in the evenings for her special treat. One evening, she dug a pit in the sand and settled herself. By dawn, we heard tiny squeals—seven little lives had entered the world.

Puppy looked up at us with tired but loving eyes. She wagged her tail, accepted her food and milk, and seemed to say, “Look—my little ones.”

There, nestled beside her, lay seven squirming, squeaking beauties—welcomed into a world of sun, sand, and sea. A world that promised joy but also hardship. A world where survival was never guaranteed.

And yet, in each of them, I saw the same fierce resilience, the same spark of loyalty, and the same quiet dignity that made me proudly call Tara—and all of them—The Free Dogs of Colva.

 Letter From A Betrayed Pet Yet Forgiving Soul

When I first entered your home, I was just a puppy—cheerful, mischievous, full of energy. I made you laugh with my antics, even though I chewed shoes, tore pillow covers, and left muddy pawprints all over the house. Still, you called me your child. In time, I became your best friend.

Whenever I was naughty, you would wag a finger at me and ask, “How could you???” But you always forgave me, wrapping me in hugs, kisses, and belly rubs. Oh, how I loved being the apple of your eye. At night, we snuggled close, and I listened to all your secret dreams and stories. Life felt perfect with just you and me. We went for long walks, ran in the park, enjoyed car rides, and even shared ice cream on special days. I would nap on the verandah, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

But gradually, things began to change. Your priorities shifted. You became busier—with your career, your friends, your life. Still, I waited for you. I comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never judging you for your mistakes. At the sound of your car, my joy was boundless.

Then one day, you fell in love. She wasn’t a dog person, but I welcomed her into our home anyway. I obeyed her, loved her, and hoped she might love me too. When she became pregnant, I was suddenly seen as a danger. I spent most of my time confined to another room, or locked in a crate. I became a prisoner in my own home.

When the children were born, my heart leapt. I loved them at first sight. They clung to my fur, tugged my tail, climbed all over me, and smothered me with kisses. I adored them and vowed silently to protect them always.

But for you, something had changed. Once, you proudly showed my pictures to friends and told them my stories. Now, I was no longer “your dog.” I had become “just a dog.”

Then came the transfer. I thought I was coming with you, riding in the car as always, my heart racing with excitement. But instead, we stopped at a place that smelled of fear, cages, cats, and dogs. A shelter. You completed the paperwork, avoiding my eyes. Your son screamed, “No, Daddy! Don’t leave him here, please!” But you gave me only a hurried pat on the head, leaving behind my collar and leash. I was a senior dog by then, and I realized I had been left behind.

Days turned into weeks, then months. No one wanted me. I lost my appetite, my playfulness, my joy. I sat watching cars pass by, hoping against hope that you would return. I became a shadow of myself, waiting quietly in a corner for some kind of savior.

One day, footsteps came. A kind woman approached, her voice gentle, her hands warm as she stroked my ears. She said softly, “Don’t worry.” My heart pounded—was this the moment you were coming for me? But no. She lifted me onto a table, tears streaming down her face as she tied a tourniquet around my leg. I licked her hand, the way I used to lick yours. She whispered apologies as she slid a needle into my vein.

I felt the cool sting of liquid spreading through me, and my body grew heavy, my eyes sleepy. I looked at her with gratitude and whispered silently with my gaze: How could you???

But she understood. “I’m so sorry,” she said, hugging me tightly. “I’m sending you to a better place—where you will never be ignored, abandoned, or unloved again. A place filled with light, joy, and love.”

With the last beat of my tail, I tried to tell her that my “How could you” was never meant for her. It was meant for you, my master. You were the one I thought of in my final moments. You were the one I waited for, endlessly loyal.

Even now, wherever I am, I wait for you still. I will never abandon you, no matter what. And I pray that the people in your life show you the same loyalty I gave you until my very last breath.

  Bruno and Daisy

Some friendships arrive quietly, without fanfare. They don’t announce themselves with loud laughter or dramatic beginnings. They simply slip into your life, steady and unshakable. That was how Bruno and Daisy found each other.

Bruno was a stray, one of the many nameless dogs who wandered the streets of our town. His body bore the marks of survival—thin, scarred, and cautious. He never asked for pity, never sought attention. He was the kind of dog people crossed the road to avoid, not out of cruelty but indifference.

And then there was Daisy. Golden-coated, gentle-eyed, she belonged to a family who cared for her. She had a bed, meals, and comfort, yet she often looked beyond her gate as if searching for something the walls of her home couldn’t give her.

The first time Daisy saw Bruno was near the park bench where he often rested. She wagged her tail and sat down a few feet away. There were no barks, no chasing, no fear. Just a quiet acknowledgement, as though they had known each other in another time.

Over the weeks, Daisy began slipping away from her gate. Sometimes she brought food, sometimes she simply brought herself. Bruno didn’t chase her off. He accepted her company in the same way he accepted the rhythm of the street—with quiet patience. And in that silence, something beautiful began to take shape.

They were different in every way: Daisy, playful and affectionate; Bruno, wary and reserved. Yet together, they found balance. She reminded him of joy—nudging him to chase leaves, daring him to run. He taught her courage—standing between her and the careless cruelty of boys who once frightened her in the park. Their friendship needed no words. It existed in glances, in wagging tails, in the simple act of walking side by side.

Years softened them both. Bruno’s fur turned grey, his steps slowed, but Daisy’s devotion only deepened. When his time came, Daisy lay beside him, her head resting against his, keeping vigil until his final breath.

Even after he was gone, she often returned to the porch at dusk, sitting in the exact spot where they had shared countless evenings together. It was as if she knew friendship doesn’t end with death—it lingers in the air, in the memory of shared silences, in the invisible thread that once tied two souls together. Bruno and Daisy’s story has stayed with me. It reminded me that friendship doesn’t always come in familiar shapes.It doesn’t need words or promises, sometimes it is simply the recognition of one heart in another

 The Day Oscar Entered My Life

There are certain days in life that remain etched in memory—not because they are grand or celebrated, but because they quietly change the course of your heart. The day Oscar entered my life was one such day.

I hadn’t been looking for a pet. Life was already full, in that messy, unpredictable way it often is. But sometimes, love doesn’t wait for permission—it simply arrives, unannounced. And Oscar did, in his own quiet, unforgettable way.

He was small, almost fragile, with fur soft enough to melt into your palms. His eyes were the kind that stopped you in your tracks—wide, innocent, yet carrying a spark that hinted at mischief. When I first held him, he wriggled and squirmed, unsure of me, testing me in his own little way. Then, just as suddenly, he went still. His head rested on my arm, his body warm against mine, and in that moment, a bond was sealed without words.

From the very first day, Oscar gave the house a heartbeat. His tiny paws made the floor come alive with their restless patter. The silence I had grown used to was replaced with the jingling of his little collar, the thud of a toy bouncing across the room, the rustle of him nosing through corners he shouldn’t. It was as though the house itself woke up and began breathing again.

Oscar wasted no time in showing me who was truly in charge. His first mischief came within hours. While I was making tea, he discovered the doormat. By the time I returned, he had shredded it into a proud little pile of confetti, tail wagging furiously as though he had gifted me a celebration. Another time, he tugged at the curtains with such determination that they swayed like sails in the wind before I could rescue them. And yet, no scolding could last more than a minute—his innocent face, tilted slightly as if to say, “Are you really upset with me?” always broke my resolve.

Nights were the most telling. I had imagined he would sleep in his little basket, tucked away with his blanket. But Oscar had other plans. The first night, I woke up to a soft warmth pressed against my side—he had quietly climbed onto the bed and curled into the crook of my arm. He snored gently, his breath steady, and I realized then that it wasn’t just I who needed him. He needed me, too.

Days with Oscar blurred into lessons I hadn’t expected to learn. His insistence on play reminded me to pause. His stubborn tug on the leash forced me to be patient. His unwavering gaze, always tracking me as I moved around the room, reminded me of the simplest truth: love, in its purest form, is just presence.

Looking back, I don’t remember the small details of that day—what the weather was like, what I had planned, or what worries I carried. But I remember Oscar. The feel of him in my arms, the way his tiny body trusted mine, the unspoken promise that he would never again be alone, and neither would I.

The day Oscar entered my world, he didn’t just become my pet. He became my shadow, my companion, my laughter in quiet rooms, and my comfort in silent hours. From that day forward, the ordinary became extraordinary, simply because he was in it.

The Bench by the Streetlight

The night was heavy with silence. A cold wind wandered through the empty street, rattling a loose tin sheet and tugging at the man’s thin jacket. He sat hunched on a broken bench beneath a flickering streetlight, staring at the ground as though answers might appear in the cracks of the pavement. His hands were rough, his eyes hollow. Once, he had belonged somewhere—he wasn’t even sure when or where it had ended—but now, he was simply a shadow in the world.

From across the road came a faint shuffle of paws. A stray dog, ribs pushing against his skin, limped hesitantly into the circle of light. His fur was patchy, his tail low, yet his eyes still carried a trace of hope—as though he was still searching for the faces that had once fed him, once loved him, before they disappeared without goodbye.

The man noticed him and gave a tired smile.

“Hungry, aren’t you?” he murmured, voice hoarse from disuse.

The dog tilted his head, then stepped closer, cautious but drawn to the warmth of the man’s presence. He sniffed around, found nothing, and finally sat down a few feet away. The man watched him in silence. Something about those sad, searching eyes mirrored his own.

Slowly, the dog edged nearer until his head rested on the man’s knee. For a moment, the man froze. Then, with trembling fingers, he stroked the animal’s ragged fur. It was rough, dirty, but alive—alive in a way that reminded him of his own struggle to keep going.

“I know how it feels,” the man whispered. “To be left behind.”

The dog let out a deep sigh, a sound of surrender and relief. He curled into the man’s lap, as though he had finally found a safe place to rest. The man’s throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, tears slipped down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried in years—what was the use? But here, in the quiet company of a creature as abandoned as he was, the tears came freely.

“Maybe…” the man choked, “…maybe we weren’t meant to be alone.”

The dog nuzzled closer, his warm body pressing against the man’s cold hands. The world had cast them aside, but here, in the glow of a flickering streetlight, something new began.

That night, the bench was not just a bench. It was shelter. It was comfort. It was the fragile beginning of home. Two forsaken souls had found each other, and in that meeting, they were no longer forgotten.

 When Samson Met Delilah

You have all read about human love stories and may feel we animals don’t fall in love, don’t feel love etc , well that’s not true we too fall in love, have our crushes, heartbreaks and sometimes a happy endings.

 Well, I am Samson, a black Labrador about 6 yrs old and I have been with my family since I was 6 months old. I was adopted by my human family from a shelter and have become a part of this family which loves me adores me and pampers me.

 My entry to my home was dramatic I was brought in on a dark gloomy rainy day and was wrapped up in a warm blanket and was in the arms of my momma who was cuddling and kissing me . I soon got used to this amazing family and was having the time of my life … from stealing their shoes, socks to getting treats when I was not meant to just by rolling my eyes and making them so sad and teary that anyone would melt and share their meal with me.

In short I was enjoying my life, had a huge big garden to run about, went for long walks, car drives, ice-cream treats and a nice warm bed with loads of toys to play with.

 I must have been around 4 when I noticed a new entrant in my neighbourhood infact next door, one morning I was busy sniffing the bushes and chasing the birds when I heard a bark, at first I ignored it thinking it must be some stray dog on the road, but the bark continued and being curious I poked my nose into my neighbour’s garden and saw a puppy golden coloured running wildly in the garden chasing butterflies barking away.

 I barked from my side and the puppy looked around startled wondering where the bark came from, she couldn’t see me but I could and it was love at first sight …my heart went boompity boom boom at the sight of her and I couldn’t control myself and jumped with joy happy that now I had a new friend.

 The next day, I ran to the fence and looked out for her, I heard a woman’s voice calling Delilah and then I say her again wagging her tail, tongue hanging out and running towards the woman. I gave her a welcome bark and she looked around ,then the lady came over to the fence and picking up Delilah said, Hey Samson how are you buddy? …Meet Delilah aint she pretty??. I nodded my head and replied she is beautiful.

 In a few days we became best friends and were allowed to play with each other and were teased by both families. I would spend hours just sitting by her side and she would look at me with such soulful eyes that my heart would melt , one day I even broke off a flower and gave it to her and she was happy holding it in her mouth.

 Our love story was the talk of town and many days and evening were spent with her. It was as if time has stopped by for us when suddenly I noticed that I hadn’t seen her for few days and I was getting worried and looked up at my family, “ what is the matter, where is Delilah? They too noticed that I was quite and missing her and comforted me by petting and giving me treats but all I wanted was Delilah by my side.

 Then a few days later I heard the bark again and went rushing to the fence and what do I see… My Delilah with four small puppies… I was so excited that I could have crashed through the fence when my parents took me across to Delilah, I kissed her and circled her round and round and she was excited and happy to see me too. I sniffed at the little puppies and licked them and said, “are they ours???” She snuggled to me and lay with me while the puppies snuggled with us.

 I knew at that moment that we had found each other just like humans and now we had a beautiful family of our own to love and cherish …. This proves that we too can love and marry and have a family and be happy just like humans and you don’t always need words to show …sometimes actions speak louder than words….

 THE COCKTAIL GANG – WHISKY, VODKA TEQUILLA & MARTINI

 You must be wondering what I am talking about, but what I am going to tell you all now is a true story of four Indie dogs that my friend adopted and today they are are the members of a beautiful family, loved by all who meet them….

 It was somewhere in 2015, that my friend Shelly who is an animal lover came across these four abandoned puppies on her way to work in Goa. She had just parked her car outside her office in Panjim and was about to enter the office when the watchman called out to her, “Madam please come here soon, someone has dumped four puppies in the nearby garbage bin and they are crying” Shelly rushed there and what she saw made her cry, bundled in a dirty stinking cloth where four puppies barely few weeks old, obviously seperated from their mother, crying out loudly and in a very bad mal-nourished state.

 Shelly asked the watchman to help her pick them out and they carried them in a cardboard box to her car. She then drove them to the nearby hospital and showed them to the doctor there, he examined them and said they were malnourished and hungry and had been feeding on their mother’s milk but had been snatched away from her and dumped.

 The staff of the hospital were kind enough to clean them up and feed them milk and keep them in a safe place for the time being. Shelly came back to her office but the whole day her mind was on the puppies and she just could not concentrate … she knew some decision had to be taken immediately as the hospital could not keep them there for long.

 She called the hospital in the afternoon and enquired about the puppies and was told that they were okay and sleeping peacefully now. In the evening Shelly went back to the hospital and by that time she had decided that she was going to keep all four of them with her in her home . She lived alone in an ancestral house in the village and she knew this was the perfect place for them, plus she already had four rescued dogs and eight cats in her house and knew that they would welcome the puppies.

 She reached the hospital just as it was about to close and collected the four puppies and drove them home smiling… Once she reached home, all the other dogs were curious to see what was in the cardboard box as they could hear the whimpering . Shelly lowered the box slowly and allowed her pets to investigate the new puppies, they were at first a little hesitant but after some time they began smelling them, licking them and soon they accepted the new comers.

 In a few days they were happy with the other pets and her home was a happy place… I asked her once why she had named them after drinks and she smiled at me sipping her vodka and said, these are my favourite drinks and now these babies are my favourite babies.

 WHERE DID I GO WRONG??

 Hi, I am Rocky, I am 13 yrs old today and I thought I would be spending my birthday with my family with a special birthday cake, balloons, lots of toys and loads of love, hugs and kisses but it is now 3 yrs since I have seen my family it seems that they have forgotten me completely but I can never forget them.I was taken in by my family when I was a few weeks old and I felt I was in heaven when I entered my new home, a lovely warm family, kids to play with, a big garden to explore, long walks,rides and vacations….I said, “hey I have a perfect life”

 There was never a dull moment in my new home, upto mischief always I was punished yes, but a gentle punish no one could be angry with me for long, my sweet melty eyes and wagging tail would melt my family in minutes and I would be hugged and kissed and all my mischief would be laughed away and forgotten.

 Everyone I met fell in love with me and wanted to pet me, play with me, the paper boy would ring his cycle bell for me and wait for me at the gate and hand me the paper daily which I would give to my father gently and get a pat… so with the courier guy who would sometime give me treats in short I was the apple of the eyes of all and no body could find fault with me.

 This went on and soon I was growing up fast and when I was 10 years old I realised slowly but surely that things were changing, no one would pet me, kiss me or love me, if I pushed my nose or head into their laps I was pushed off , all day long I would lie in the corner of the house all alone, all the toys were of no use to me as I had no one to play with, everyone was busy in their own work, no long walks, no long drives and no vacations which I used to love especially feeling the wind on my face .

 I wondered what I had done wrong and couldn’t get any answers and one day my owners took me out for a drive and I said”hey all is normal I was just worrying for nothing here we go “ We reached a secluded pathway and they took me out and after petting me they tied me to a tree nearby and told me to wait and that they would be back soon.

 I waited obediently for them for 4 days but no sign of them, I would look hopefully at every passing car thinking they have come back, since I was tied I couldn’t escape and I had no water or food , I was lonely and scared and wept myself to sleep….

 On the 5th day a car stopped by and though I was weak I wagged my tail and looked up thinking my owners have come, but a strange lady got out and approached me and sat down next to me , she gently petted me and I could see she was crying , she released my leash and took me in her car to a nearby shelter and that’s were I have been living since.

  I may have died if this lady hadn’t come by and I always think of her with gratitude. The people in the shelter are nice and kind but it is not the same as my home…

 I still have no one to play with, sit with me, cuddle and hug me …I have food and roof over my head and I am safe but I still need the answer to the question-”where did I go wrong???”

 BEST FRIENDS : OSCAR & WHISKY

 Its not only humans who can become best friends for life or have the good luck to find life-long friends…animals can have too … This is a true story of two friends Oscar and Whisky who were best friends till the end.

 The first time Oscar met Whisky was funny, till then our neighbours had no pets except for our right side neighbour who had a Pomeranian which didn’t interest Oscar too much as he was

mostly indoors and was not the friendly type… so when Oscar heard a new bark one day he was surprised, I remember him tilting his ears all alert to hear the bark again, it wasn’t the pomerian barking but seemed like a bark of a big dog like him. Since he was tied he couldn’t explore and investigate where the sound was coming.

 In the evening, we suddenly heard loud barking across the fence and we rushed to see what the commotion was thingking it could be monkeys or snake or someone jumping over the gate. On reaching the fence I saw the most handsome German Shepherd barking furiously and Oscar the pointer replying with equal fervour.

 Somehow we managed to control both of them and that was my first introduction to Whisky and his owner Tanya. It was a task to control them as they just refused to stay still running from one end of the fence to the other chasing each other and we were just hoping and praying that they don’t bring the fence down.

 I think it was an instant contact and friendship between these two and both Tanya and me felt they had their own way of communicating with each other and in many ways I felt they conversed and understood each other better than us humans.They would wait patiently for either one of them to appear and then the chase would begin and when tired would sit across the fence and stare at each other. I remember how Whisky would smell me all over when I visited him and Oscar would pretend he was angry with me when he would smell Whisky on me.

 It was a beautiful friendship and the were jealous if either Tanya and me played and patted and showered love vice versa. Their lovely friendship lasted for I think 5-8 years and one day Oscar who was much older nearing 14 fell sick and had jaundice and we took him to the vet and I remember Whisky sitting near the fence watching us carry Oscar to the car and drive off…he was silent no bark as if he knew he would not see his friend again.

 Unfortunately, we lost Oscar that day and we brought him back home and buried him in the garden near the fence and Whisky stood by silently watching us bury his dear friend..

 That evening when I went to see Whisky he was not his usual chirpy self , he guess what had happened and when I hugged him and cried for Oscar I felt him tongue licking my face as if telling me I miss him too … you are not alone I am there for you.

 He put his head on my lap and comforted me. Even after all these years we still remember these two friends and talk about them ..such friendships and bonding are rare and happen once I a blue moon. I am sure they both must be running free across the rainbow ….

 STORY OF AN ABANDONED PET IN A SHELTER

Most of the readers hate reading stories of abandoned pets as they feel it’s a sad ending , they love happy endings but life is not always a bed of roses…it has more thorns than roses.

I am 14 years old, my name is Rocky and I am a labrador….I was brought to the shelter by a kind hearted lady who found me tied to a tree in a park on hot afternoon. I still remember that  day ..it was like any ordinary day in my life …I got up was petted and loved by the family, given my daily meals , walks etc and was resting in the cool breeze of the cooler in the room when the servant boy who usually feeds me, bathes me and takes me for a walk, came in to take me for a walk around 11 am.

He took me to the nearby park , it was a hot day and temperature must have been 40 +  and I was panting and tired as I was not getting younger anymore… we were sitting in the bench under a tree and then suddenly he got up and tied me to a tree nearby saying ,”stay here I will be back soon”

I wagged my tail obediently and sat down under the tree and waited… the wait turned our to be a nightmare as the heat increased and I was thirsty , there was a bowl of water but since I was tied I couldn’t reach it and was wondering why I was left here all alone in this heat.

After a few hours, I guess I must have dozed off I heard a lady calling out to me , she looked like a kind soul and patted me and exlaimed,” oh poor baby your body is so hot and you must be thirsty, saying this she gave me some water which I lapped up happily.” She looked around and tried searching for my owners and after some time realized that I had been abandoned .She called up some one and in a few minutes a van arrived and she helped me into it…I was scared but she reassured me and I thought that maybe my owners sent this van to bring me back home….little did I know that thay day was that last time I saw them .

 I soon arrived at a place that looked like a shelter and saw many dogs like me …some tied up, some left loose , I was scared as they came close sniffing at me and some snarled and growled too. I was put in a room, where I was given water and some food and I just sank on the floor and slept as I was tired out.

The next day I got up and saw I was in a new surrounding ..gone were my toys, beds, cuddles and hugs instead I was in a small dingy room . Someone came and took me out, fed me and gave me a bathe and I was tied in the shade … sitting silently I watched this new world of mine and my fellow being and I realised that they too had been left and abandoned here by their owners. I could see the pain and tears in their eyes, every car passing by, every visitor coming and going was painful as they were all looking for their owners.

Humans think we have no feelings, no emotions, no love and hence they treat us as toys and commodities to be bought and sold and done away with as they wish. Their usual statement is – “come-on its just a dog” why make a big issue of it.. we had our fun with them when they were young, now they are old, diseased, and pain in the neck for us. We don’t have time to take care of them… so lets put them in a shelter after all what are shelters for.

If only they would stop and think …the years of love, joy, companionship we have given them , the loyalty we have bestowed on them, we waited for them then and we are still waiting for them to change their minds and take us home where we belong.

Abandoning a pet is a crime not only against the animals but society too.. the pain, torture, sadness and eventual death they suffer while waiting for their owners is heart-breaking and heart-wrenching. Think twice, thrice before adopting a pet and whenever the thought comes in your mind to abandon them imagine yourselves in their shoes …maybe you will see the light …

 An Abandoned Dog Story In His Own Words

 This story is not only mine, but also of thousands of abandoned breed dogs. I know humans have no time for long stories, but I am writing this thinking of someone would come to give me a life and people would understand how we- abandoned dogs feel. 

 Hi, I am Jack.A 4 year old Labrador dog who was betrayed by my human. Like many other breed dogs, I was born to my mother who was in custody of a greedy breeder who made use of my mother as a mere puppy producing machine. Her whole life was inside a small kennel, often got impregnated forcefully to get pure breed puppies. She never knew love and freedom. Without knowing anything about the outside world, my siblings and myself were enjoying mother’s warmth and milk.

 Suddenly, one day, when we were hardly one month old, we were taken away from our mother and separated to a very small cage in a shop. We had no idea what was happening when people came and rated us. Some days passed and a family came to the shop. Paying ‘my price’ they bought me like a commodity from the shop and took me to their home.

 Initially I was worried of my siblings, but as the humans started playing with me , I started forgetting everything else. I was very cute and they spent of lot of time with me. I got toys to play with. I was allowed even on their bed. I believed they would give me the best life. I started growing up. My chubby body changed, my small ears’ shape started changing and I was becoming a big boy. But I had no idea it would change my life. Declining my beauty caused my life in kennel. They put me inside a kennel . Again inside a small kennel. My beauty had been declining, my body got became weak and ticks started attacking me. I have not  even get proper food. Slowly my hair started falling. But no one cared.

 One day my human parents took me on their motorcycle. I was very happy thinking that they would take me for a ride. They drove the vehicle and stopped somewhere. I could not understand where it is. Stopping the vehicle, my lady parent made me walk some steps and commanded me to stay there. While I stayed, she ran backward and got on the motorcycle and they moved away. It was dark night , strange place and I thought they would come back soon. I fall asleep waiting for them. 

 In the morning, a gate was opened in front of me and some humans found me. They took me inside and gave me food and applied some medicines on my body. I wanted to tell them that I should wait outside as my human has commanded me to stay there and they would come back soon to take me. But by the time the new humans have found out from the CCTV camera that I was abandoned. I could not believe I am abandoned because I have not did anything wrong but only loved my owner. They brought me to a place where there were dozens of dogs inside kennels. I was wondering if everyone was abandoned like me. 

 Slowly I understood they would not come back. All dogs who were there for treatment went back to the places after treatment. But I had no place to go. I felt heartbroken when I see dogs go back to their homes or local care takers come to see their community dogs. I had no one. I dream of someone will come and take me to a loving home as a family member.

 Everybody wanted me when I was a cute baby but no one wants me now. I have no where to go. No one to love. I can not go back to street and find  food myself as I never had been to street.  Please adopt an abandoned dog. Please do not buy a dog. Each time you buy from a breeder, you are donating to animal abuse and losing the chance of another dog to live. Adopt. You people have enough choices but we do not have. Do not contribute to cruelty. Adopt a homeless pet. 

 WHY OUR “DOGS” OUR “BEST FRIENDS “ FOR LIFE?

This is the story of an “indie-dog” called Sheru…It is a story that will question the reader at the end whether the statement above of Dogs being our best friends for life is true and can we vouch on their loyalty forever.

We have all read and seen the movie, “Haiku” about the loyalty, love and trust of a dog who waits for his master’s return everyday. Many of us who have seen the movie have cried their heart out including me and the movie leaves a sadness and void in all of us.

Sheru was found by a couple who were rag-pickers in a shanty area of Mumbai. They found him in a garbage bin where they were looking out for some garbage which would be useful to them. Obviously Sheru had been abandoned and left to die in the garbage bin, he was hardly few days old and the couple having no kids of their own decided to adopt him and took him to their shack.

Soon Sheru grew up in the loving home and made friends with the other dogs and children and was loved by all, he would go with the couple on their rounds of garbage picking and happily eat the bones thrown in the bin and could be seen carrying a small bag filled with thrash in his mouth.

The couple inspite of being poor loved Sheru as their child and made sure he ate first before them, many a times giving their share of food to him and sleeping hungry. He would sleep at their feet at night guarding their door ears and eyes alert for any sound… in short they were a happy threesome.

One day when Sheru was around 5 years old, the couple were in the house when suddenly there was a lot of noise and commotion and everyone was running around shouting “Fire Fire” … Sheru not knowing what was happening went out and started barking and running. In a few minutes the entire shanty was ablaze and people were running helter skelter and there was total chaos and Sheru was seperated from his family.

The tragedy was so immense that many people lost their life, their belongings, their familes and children and in this chaos the old man and old woman were not to be seen.The entire shanty was in ashes and in this the old man lost his wife who was burnt to ashes.

The old man somehow managed to survive but had severe burns all over his body, he was taken to the nearby hospital for treatment . In a few days he recovered and realized that his wife had died in the fire and the next thing he asked the nurse was about Sheru… they thought he was asking about his son and when they came to know he was asking about him dog  they were both amazed and surprised and some even laughed and said he has gone mad.

In the meanwhile, Sheru came back to the shack which was all burnt down and started looking out for the couple, he has also suffered some burns on his body and legs and could be seen limping around. He sniffed at the remains of the fire and lay down on the mat where the family slept with tears in his eyes. He howled for days would eat nothing and just lay quietly his eyes and ears watchful for his owners.

 The man meanwhile recovered and decided to come back to the shack in search of Sheru, where he reached the shack he was shocked to see the condition of the shack it was completely burnt and nothing was left, he started calling out for Sheru , suddenly he saw  a dog standing far way watching him, he approached it and called out Sheru… Sheru was at first confused and then slowly approached the man, sniffed his hand and smelled him and then did a twist and suddenly jumped on him wagging his tail and licking him and barking with joy.

Both the man and Sheru hugged each other and cried loudly and people around watched in amazement … they told the man that Sheru had not left the place since the day the shack burnt down… and he would just sit and lie down on the mat waiting and watching out for you.

Such loyalty and love and gratitude is something very rare and if one has a pet that is loyal, loving and trustful…you have the greated treaure of your life…. keep it safe and preserve it , hold it close to your heart and soul… and remember you got a true loyal friend…

 THE JOY OF MY LIFE

Hi, my name is Joy and I am a Saint Bernard, many people confuse me for a big cuddly teddy bear, some find me cute and huggable and others are terrified of me… I am 3 years old today and much loved by the family which adopted me 2 years back from a shelter.

I still recall the rainy day 2 years back when I was shivering and hungry wandering aimlessly on the roads, avoiding the speeding cars, sometimes the cars would rush past me in such speed that I would be drenched and I would think I was drowning. How I reached the roads I don’t recall guess someone left me there to die  … but I was lucky for a good samaritan saw me struggling in the deep waters and waded across to me. At first I was scared and tried to run away but soon the soothing words  of my saviour convinced me that help was close by and I allowed my saviour to hold me … she carried me safely in her hands and her soothing words were like music to my ears .

On reaching her car she took out a cloth and wiped me dry and wrapped me in the cloth and drove me to my new home the shelter. On reaching the shelter I was terrified to see so many dogs and puppies like me …all came running to me, sniffing me …she shooed them away and took me to a room that looked like a hospital where a doctor examined me and gave me an injection on my bum.. I yelled as it hurt .

In a few days I was quite comfortable in this new home and made new friends…everyone was kind and loving to me and I got food, a warm place to sleep and was safe and secure.

Then one day a family came to the shelter and their daughter saw me and clapped her hands in joy and looking up at her parents said,” I want that pup…I love him” .The shelter manager took me out and the little girl held me in her arms and hugged me and said” hi friend… will you come home with me and be my friend”?? I wagged my tail in joy and licked her face and that day my life changed in minutes and I was happily adopted by this family.

I drove with them in their car sitting in the lap of the girl who was talking to me, her mother looked back smiling at us and said, so what are you going to name your new friend??? the little girl smiled and said … he is “ Joy” …her mother asked why “Joy” …the little girl said…because the moment I saw him the heart filled up with joy…

Today I am 3 years old and I am actually having a birthday party with a special birthday cake, loads of bones, toys , ballons and other dogs and puppies… I never knew my life could change in seconds… and when I think of the night in the rain all alone scared and thank God and my saviour for who knows what would have happened to me …Not all owners are bad and not all endings are sad … we just have to choose the right ones…

 THE DAY I MET MARIE

I never dreamt that Marie would ever enter my life so suddenly… but I guess you can say that she just dropped into my life from up above and from that day on my life changed.

I met Marie at a shelter I used to volunteer for… some one had as usual dumped her in the shelter after realising that she was blind …she must have been hardly few months old …tiny,scared and homeless. I thanked that atleast they were considerate enough the drop her in the shelter and not leave her in the streets or worse garbage bin which was usually the case.

It was love at first sight and this tiny fluffy bundle of black and white  took to me instantly… the  moment I entered the shelter I saw this puppy playing by itself and running here and there in the puppies pen. I approached her slowly and she was hesitant at first, unsure of surrounding and I was wondering why she is so cautious when my colleague said, ‘That’s a new entrant just came, her owners disowned her because she is blind….” I was stunned and had tears in my eyes I just couldn’t understand how they could be so cruel. I picked her up and cuddled her and in a few minutes she was happy and sleeping in my arms I guess she felt safe there.

The next day I bought her a collar with a bell and had a small bell with me too which I would ring and she would come running to me. Our friendship grew over the weeks and she trusted me and I  knew she wouldn’t last long in the shelter so I decided to adopt her and bring her home and that’s how Marie came home to me.

She soon adjusted to my place and was a naughty bundle of joy and laughter and all my friends loved her,pampered her and she was always cuddled and kissed. She would come with me to work daily and spend the entire day with her friends in the shelter and return home in the evening with me. She slept next me me and would wake me up every morning with her kissed and gentle barks.

She was with me till 14 years when old age and other ailments took over her and she was unable to walk, move around and eat and had to be fed by hand. The day before she died..she was constantly with me like a shadow wouldn’t leave me for a second it was as if she sensed she was not going to be with me for long… I carried her in my arms and laid her beside me on my bed and kissed her saying- goodnight Marie…sleep tight…” The next morning I woke up to find her lying next to me…peacefully and I knew she had gone peacefully  knowing she was loved and cared for.

I miss her cuddles, morning kisses and barks but what I miss the most is the ringing of her bell …

 A Love That Will Never Fade Away

It is a cold, grey morning. We get up early-late. Hatchi’s room is shut. We are afraid to open it. Because Hatchi is no longer there.

In earlier times, much before it was light, he would be up, wanting to sit outside on the stairs and watch the morning world go by. We would put out his little rug and he would settle on it. And Watch.

When it was light, either Rita or I would take him out for a walk. As dogs are wont, he had his pet sniffing spots. He would linger around those points, looking up every now and then. The moment he saw another dog his body was on alert, tail up and tugging towards the other dog. Strangely, on this bleak morning, no stray dogs were to be seen? From his spot, Hatchi would bark without a break when the garbage collection boys turned up and the neighbourhood would know that the garbage truck was there and those who had forgotten would rush out with the garbage bags.

In winter, we would cover Hatchi against the cold and he would snugly remain in his “bed” only to bark at any passing dogs. It would then be time for Hatchi’s meal which he would eagerly await and promptly dispatch. Now with Hatchi gone, this routine faces permanent disruption. The task of getting his morning meal ready rendered redundant. It was a labour of love and will be much missed.

It struck me that morning how pets transform a house into a home: their presence, their routine, their just being there. Even potted plants with time become an integral element of ‘home’. You learn their names and begin to greet them. Balcony birds too. Gradually we begin to feed them. A bowl of water, constantly replenished attracts birds, resident and passing, like a magnet. Over time the resident birds, as they become confident of their balcony home, begin to explore nesting possibilities. And before you realise it some are busy building their own nests. A home within a home! The birds often pinch your doggy’s left overs, eat and prune themselves on the balcony plants and rest on them too. On hot afternoons some can be seen taking a quick bath in the water bowl! Hatchi would sit in the sun and watch and sometimes jump at the birds making them scamper for cover.

Hatchi’s presence and constant patrolling is gone forever and our balcony and home remain silent….

 The Fence Between Us

On a quiet evening, when the air smelled of jasmine and the world softened into twilight, a pedigreed dog named Caesar sat behind the tall iron gates of a grand house. His coat gleamed like polished gold, brushed daily by his owner. A velvet collar encircled his neck, and a silver bowl of food waited nearby.

Across the road, limping slightly, came a street dog named Kalu. His fur was rough, patched in places, his ribs faintly showing. But his eyes were alive—sharp with stories, restless with roads travelled.

Kalu paused by the gate. Caesar lifted his head, curious.

Kalu: “That’s a fine home you have there. Soft bed? Warm meals? Always someone to pat your head?”

Caesar: with quiet pride “Yes. My master takes good care of me. I have comfort, safety, and love. And you? Where do you sleep?”

Kalu: shrugging “Anywhere the night lets me. Under trees when it rains, by the market when I’m lucky. Some days I eat well, some days not at all.”

Caesar: softly “That sounds… lonely.”

Kalu: “Lonely, yes. But free. I chase the wind with no chain. I choose my own roads. My hunger is mine, my joy is mine. Even pain is mine. No fence holds me in.”

Caesar lowered his eyes, thinking.

Caesar: “Freedom… I wonder what that feels like. I’ve never run without a leash. Never wandered beyond these walls. I am loved, yes—but watched, ordered, owned. My world is this yard. Sometimes I dream of fields I’ve never seen.”

Kalu’s ears twitched, and for a moment, pity touched his gaze.

Kalu: “Strange, isn’t it? I look at you and wish for your full bowl, your warm bed, the gentle hand that never strikes. And you look at me and wish for my sky, my wind, my stars.”

Caesar: nodding “Perhaps neither of us is truly free. You are chained by hunger, I am chained by love.”

They sat in silence, separated by iron bars and the weight of fate. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows.

At last, Kalu stood.

Kalu: “Maybe freedom and comfort are not meant to live in the same skin. But if we could trade places for a day… perhaps we’d understand the gift in what we already have.”

Caesar: gazing out through the bars “Yes. Perhaps.”

Kalu trotted away into the night, his silhouette vanishing into the dark streets. Caesar lay back on his soft bed, but his dreams that night were filled with stars and open fields.

And somewhere under those very stars, Kalu dreamed of a warm hand on his head, whispering his name with love.

The Last Watch

Raman was an old man now, his hair white, his hands trembling. But whenever he looked down, he found comfort—Kittu, his faithful dog, always at his feet.

“Ah, Kittu,” Raman would smile, scratching behind his ears, “you’ve stayed with me longer than any friend ever did.”

Kittu wagged his tail, resting his head on Raman’s lap. If he could speak, perhaps he would have said, “I don’t need anyone else. You are my world.”

Each morning, Raman walked slowly to the market, leaning on his stick. Kittu trotted beside him, alert and proud, like a soldier guarding his king. When Raman paused to rest, Kittu nudged his hand as if to say, “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

One cold evening, Raman dozed off in his chair on the veranda. Kittu sat close, watching the rise and fall of his master’s chest. But this time, the breath grew softer, slower—until it stopped.

“Kittu…” Raman’s lips whispered faintly, almost in a dream. “Stay close.” And Kittu did.

When neighbors came and carried Raman away, Kittu barked once, then lay down by the door. They tried to feed him, to pull him away, but he wouldn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the gate, waiting for the man who had promised to return after every errand, every journey.

Days passed. Hunger and cold gnawed at him, but Kittu never left his post. In his heart, he seemed to hear Raman’s voice, gentle and kind: “You’ve been my truest companion, my last joy.”

On the seventh morning, as the sun broke through the mist, Kittu sighed deeply, curled up in the same spot, and closed his eyes. It was as if he had finally decided—if his master would not return, he would go to him instead.

When the neighbors found Kittu, still and peaceful, tears filled their eyes. In his silence, the dog had told them a truth no words could: loyalty does not end with life—it carries on, quietly, faithfully, beyond even death.

Muthu – My Furry Sibling Who Taught Me Lessons of Will-Power and Compassion

The house felt unbearably quiet after we lost our beloved pet. His absence lingered in every corner, in the empty cushion on the sofa, in the leash hanging by the door, in the silence that replaced the cheerful bark that used to greet us. Grief clung to us like a heavy curtain, and for days, it seemed as though nothing could lift it.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Muthu walked into our lives.

The first time I saw him, he was small and a little unsure of himself, but his bright, curious eyes gave him away. His tiny paws made hesitant steps across the floor, his wet nose twitched at every new smell, and his tail wagged with a rhythm that carried a spark of joy we hadn’t felt in weeks. Little did we realize that this scruffy, playful pup would not only become a part of our home, but also our healer, our teacher, and the most mischievous “youngest child” of the family.

From the very beginning, Muthu made sure he belonged. He took it upon himself to be part of everyone’s daily life. Dad could never do his morning newspaper puzzles in peace without Muthu poking his nose into the crosswords. Mom soon found herself with a curious little supervisor in the kitchen, who watched her every move as though he were her apprentice chef. And me? Muthu was my silent study partner. He would sit by my side as I wrestled with textbooks, occasionally nudging me as if to say, “Don’t stress, take a break.”

But Muthu’s story wasn’t just about playful antics. He came to us with a difficult past. Before becoming ours, he had battled Canine Distemper, a cruel viral disease that leaves many dogs with lasting nerve damage, if it doesn’t claim their lives altogether. We were told that his recovery was nothing short of a miracle. His strong Indie genes, resilience, and sheer determination had pulled him through. When I looked at him then, full of energy, chasing his tail, and refusing to let life slow him down, I saw more than a pet. I saw a survivor.

That survival instinct became his gift to us. He showed us that life, no matter how harsh, can be lived with joy. Muthu didn’t dwell on the suffering he had endured. Instead, he wagged his tail at every sunrise, chased butterflies in the garden, licked away our sadness, and reminded us, every single day, of what it meant to be grateful. His never-say-die attitude was infectious.

Living with Muthu taught us compassion in the truest sense. We learned to slow down, to pay attention to the little things, to find happiness in the simplest gestures — a sloppy kiss, a playful tug of war with an old shoe, a head resting on your lap after a long day. He reminded us that strength isn’t always about fighting battles; sometimes it is about smiling through scars and giving love, unconditionally.

Years have passed since he first came into our home, but Muthu continues to be the heartbeat of the family. His goofy, drooling smile still brightens even the dullest day. When I look back, I realize he didn’t just choose a house to live in — he chose a family to heal, to guide, and to walk alongside on a journey of love and gratitude.

To anyone who has ever wondered whether bringing a dog home is worth it, let me say this with all my heart: it is. Adopt, foster, or rescue — and you will discover what it means to be loved without condition, without judgment, without expectation. A dog doesn’t just share your home; he becomes your family.

Muthu, in his own little way, has left me with one life mantra that I carry everywhere:
“Adopt, Don’t Shop.” Because sometimes, the dog you rescue ends up rescuing you.

 Sylvie – Full of Spirit and Love

If there is one dog who embodies both suffering and survival, it is Sylvie. Today, when you see her bounding about Friendicoes SECA with her glossy coat, sparkling eyes, and a tail that wags with endless enthusiasm, it is hard to imagine the agony she endured only a few years ago. She is playful, mischievous, overflowing with affection, and has become the most adored member of the family at Friendicoes. But her story is one of cruelty that almost broke her — and the extraordinary love that saved her.

Almost five years ago, Sylvie lived in a house in Vasant Vihar. To an outsider, she appeared to have everything a dog could want: a family that doted on her, children to play with, a big open space to run, bowls full of food and water, and a cozy bed to curl up in at night. For a while, she must have believed she had found her forever home.

But the illusion didn’t last. As she grew into a spirited young dog, Sylvie displayed the very traits of her age — nibbling on shoes, chewing table legs, shredding papers, scattering balls and toys across the floor. Full of energy, she would wait all day for her family to return, her tail wagging, body ready to leap into play. Instead of laughter, she was met with anger. Instead of understanding, there were scoldings, outbursts, and punishments. Slowly, the warm home she had known turned cold. She was tied up more often than she was free. Walks stopped, food and water became irregular, and she was reduced to a lonely figure chained outside, ignored and unwanted — more a watch dog than a beloved pet.

The cruelty reached its peak when the family left for a fifteen-day holiday. They tied Sylvie to a window in their garage and abandoned her there — no food, no water, no light, no air. For days she must have cried and whimpered until her voice grew hoarse.

It was a neighbor who first noticed. He heard faint, desperate whines coming from the garage and, climbing up to a small dirty window, glimpsed a dark form lying lifeless on the floor. Alarmed, he broke open the window. What he saw broke his heart — Sylvie, a shadow of the playful dog he once knew, reduced to skin and bones, lying in her own filth. The chain had cut so deep into her neck that the wound was festering. Frightened and traumatized, she crouched away from him when he tried to touch her.

But kindness can break even the hardest fear. The neighbor coaxed her gently, gave her food and water, and called us at Friendicoes SECA. Our team rushed to rescue her, and that was the day Sylvie truly began a new life.

I still remember her arrival vividly. She came in weak and trembling, her eyes dull with mistrust. Every sudden sound made her flinch. She clung to me like a shadow, afraid I might leave her too. That night, I gave her a warm bath, a bed beside me, and the comfort of a full stomach. For the first time in what must have felt like eternity, she slept peacefully.

Day by day, Sylvie began to heal. Slowly, her wounds closed. Her strength returned. She began to mingle with other dogs, first hesitantly, then with growing confidence. Soon, the playful pup we had only heard stories of began to re-emerge. She stole food from bowls, tugged at toys, and led her friends on merry runs around the shelter. It was as though she had decided to reclaim her lost childhood.

Watching her transformation was nothing short of miraculous. From a fearful, broken soul, she blossomed into a vibrant, loving dog full of mischief and joy. Every time I see her today — chasing after a ball, wagging her tail at visitors, or greeting me with that look of pure affection — I feel grateful. Grateful that she was saved in time. Grateful that she found her way to us. Grateful that she reminds us, every single day, that love can heal the deepest wounds.

Sylvie is no longer just another dog at the shelter. She is our mascot, our spirit, our reminder of why we do what we do. Her story is a beacon of hope for every abandoned or mistreated animal. She tells us that second chances are real, that love can rebuild trust, and that no matter how broken the past, the present can still shine.

Sylvie is, in every sense, full of spirit and love — and she continues to teach us, every day, what resilience looks like when paired with compassion.

 

 Freddy – The Giant with a Soft Heart

Freddy. Even now, the name brings a lump to my throat and a smile to my lips at the same time. What can I say about him? He was a giant, yes — a Saint Bernard with his massive frame and soulful eyes — but to me, he will always be remembered as the gentlest, softest-hearted companion I ever knew.

Most people, when they hear the words Saint Bernard, imagine a fierce, aggressive guard dog, intimidating in size and demeanor. But Freddy was the exact opposite of that stereotype. He was cuddly, affectionate, and endlessly gentle — a giant wrapped in love.

I first met Freddy when I was working with Wildlife SOS in Delhi. I had just returned from a rescue call, still carrying the dust and weight of the day, when I saw him. He was sitting beside Mrs. Geeta Seshamani, the founder of Friendicoes SECA. She was stroking his great head with such patience and tenderness, and Freddy was leaning into her touch, his eyes half closed in contentment.

The moment he lifted his head and looked at me, something stirred within me. It was as though we had known each other before, in some other time, some other place. Without thinking, I walked straight to him, bent down, and wrapped my arms around his huge body. I kissed his head, and in that instant, a bond was sealed.

But Freddy’s story was not without sorrow. He was found wandering the busy markets of Greater Kailash on a sweltering summer afternoon — starving, weak, his coat ravaged by mange, his body covered in ticks. Just skin and bones, he was a heartbreaking sight. A kind passerby informed Friendicoes, and he was brought to safety. From his condition, it was obvious that his family had abandoned him, unwilling to deal with his illness, age, and fading strength. Instead of care, they had chosen to discard him. Freddy was already eight to ten years old when he came to us — an age when most dogs need the most comfort, not cruelty.

Despite his suffering, he carried himself with quiet dignity. Over the next few weeks, with food, medicine, and the kind of love only animals truly appreciate, he began to heal. His coat improved, his energy returned, and soon he found his favorite place — at my feet by my work desk. Like a lamb, he followed me everywhere, his enormous body trailing faithfully behind me. He was fiercely protective, never allowing anyone else, human or canine, to come too close. First, a warning look. Then, if ignored, a firm bark that ensured everyone kept their distance.

For those few months, Freddy became the heart of our extended Friendicoes family. Everyone adored him — his goofy expressions, his slow but steady steps, his gentle presence that filled the room. To us, it felt like he had always been there, as though he was sent especially to remind us of love in its purest form.

But life has its own plans. One cold winter, Freddy developed a stubborn cough. Despite all our efforts — medicines, care, warmth, and love — it grew worse. He became weaker with each passing day, and yet, his eyes never lost that spark of affection.

I will never forget the last evening I spent with him. It was around seven o’clock. We had just brought him back from a short walk. After settling him in his warm bed, we prepared a bowl of hot chicken soup to comfort him. He struggled to take a few spoonfuls, his breath heavy, but his tail wagged softly. He placed his great head gently on my lap, looking up at me with eyes that spoke more than words ever could.

We covered him in a warm blanket that night, believing he would rest and recover some strength. We left with heavy hearts but hopeful spirits, imagining we would see him wagging his tail at us the next morning. But fate was unkind. At 5 a.m., the phone rang. It was Geeta ma’am. Her voice broke as she said the words I dreaded — Freddy had crossed the Rainbow Bridge in the early hours, quietly slipping away from us.

The grief that washed over us was indescribable. That morning, with sobbing eyes, we carried Freddy to our center in Gurgaon. There, among other beloved friends who had gone before him, we laid him to rest. It felt impossible to believe that the giant who had followed me like a shadow, who had leaned against my legs with all his trust, was gone.

Even today, Freddy’s presence lingers. Sometimes, I imagine I feel the weight of his head on my lap, or catch the memory of his mischievous, twinkling eyes. To us at Friendicoes, he wasn’t just another rescued dog. He was a blessing, a reminder that even the most broken souls can give the most unconditional love.

We remember him, always, as the Giant with a Soft Heart — with his wagging tail, welcoming smile, and eyes that shone with affection until his very last breath.

 

SYLVIA: FORGOTTEN DOG RE-UNITED

 She had seen her for the first time that morning. It was a mid winter morning a cold damp day, when she noticed a dog brown in color, medium –sized was tied to a pole outside a shop. Assuming that the owner was inside, she walked by resisting her urge to ruffle the short fur between its ears and pet it, she had always longed for a dog of her own but her parents refused to keep one.

She noticed the dog again at lunch time ,still tied to pole on the busy pavement which was alive with sound of passing cars, strollers and workers busy with their work. As he gazed at the dog it looked back at her and it was then she realized it was quite old, dark eyes and grey flecking its muzzle, g her lunch she entered the shop and asked,”whose dog is that outside?” When she got no response, she again asked, “Excuse me -the dog outside, do you know whose it is?”No, he replied, it’s been there since morning.Well, shouldn’t you call someone , a rescue centre or something, it might be dumped and abandoned.

“ Do you want me to call or can you please, the cashier reached below the counter and produced a phone and rang up a number. She thanked him with relief. She went out to the dog, petted him and said, someone will be here soon to take care of you and feeling guilty started on her way home.

At around 8 pm she passed by the shop, her eyes searching anxiously for the dog and did not find him, suddenly she winced as she saw the dog lying down now on ice cold pavement, as she neared him, the dog looked up at her and wagged his tail weakly remembering her.

Her hands found the sleek fur of dog’s head once again and it was ice cold to touch, she glanced around and found no one there. Taking out her phone she dialed the rescue centre and explained the situation, the voice replied, “someone will be there in an hour” I can’t believe anyone can be so cruel .

Okay she said to the dog and opened her umbrella above both of them and said, don’t worry with an hour both will be somewhere warm, the dog stared at her doubtful.Soon she was numb with cold and fatigue.The dog’s head hung limply between his paws.The dog’s head suddenly shot up, the skin between its eyes knitted together in confusion.

STORY OF AN A WAITING ABANDONED DOG MOLLY

A dog is a man’s best friend.They love us more than we can expect and imagine and they demand just love and attention in return, but the sad fact is that we are not always able to reciprocate their awesome paw some love.

This is the story of an abandoned aged Pug called Molly, whom we found roaming on the streets.We tried looking out for his owner but there was nobody around, all we found was an old dirty room, torn mattress, bowl of dirty water when we felt the dog stayed alone.

We soon realized that he was not able to see and hear properly and was craving for love , affection and touch.His hind legs also had some problem as he dragged them while walking.

We soon found out from a worker nearby that Molly had been abandoned by his owner because he was old and disabled. The hard truth and reality hit us that just because he was old, had damaged hind legs he was left to die in the streets.The image of him sitting near his old house door all alone waiting thinking his owners would come back for him someday soon was chilling and sad as little did Molly know that his owners were too busy with their lives and were heartless for him.

Puppies are always cute, cuddly and adorable when small, but when they grow old, they too age like us and need support more than we do.We can talk and express our feelings and emotions but they can only speak through their eyes and they depend on us for their whole life.

Do not bring a dog home if you cannot take care of him until his last breath and be thereby his side in both happy and sad times.Abandoning them on the streets, leaving them alone and helpless is nothing less than a crime.

 STORY OF MYRA WHO NEVER GAVE UP

 In our rescue stories of pet dogs there are many stories which make us teary-eyed, sad, angry, so many emotions that it is difficult to describe them but what really makes us happy is when we see a abandoned dog getting a new lease of life.

This is a true story of Myra a beautiful Labrador mix girl about 8 months old. Myra was taken in by an excited family when she was a cute cuddly adorable baby.

As always initially she was the apple of the eye for all, no body could resist her wagging tail, smiling face, her hugs and her naughtiness. She was loved and cared for and seeing her one would think “what a lovely dog and bless the family who took her in”

But all this changed in a few months, as Myra started growing up, and she was no longer the apple of the eye, running helter skelter, tearing up shoes, biting into furniture etc all this began to irritate the family and they stopped loving her and paying attention to her.

One fine day, when they felt enough was enough, they decided to kick her out of their warm loving home and decided that they will raise her on the street. Myra was shown the door and way out and she sat outside the door of her house wondering what wrong she had done.

Soon Myra realized that she had been thrown out and one day as lying on the pavement near a shop she got hit in the chest and legs by stones thrown by some people. On hearing her cries, the family came out and seeing Myra in this condition they now completely washed off their hands and responsibilities.

One day Myra tried climbing up the stairs of her house and seeing her coming up , the family kicked her down the stairs which resulted in her hind legs getting fractured, the poor girl had to drag her body as she was unable to walk.

One day when she was out in the streets searching for food, a car hit her from behind, Myra lay motionless on the street for five whole days and all she managed to eat was mud and dirty water.

Some good samaritan who saw her brought her to our shelter, at the time she was suffering from a terrible mouth infection, deep cuts on her tongue, fractured limb and rib. Myra had lost her vision and sense of hearing too. She had tick fever and was anemic.

It was her sheer will power that Myra with the loving care and attention of the staff recovered, she never gave up, even in the tough times, her eyes would sparkle and tail would wag and she would lick your hands as if saying “thank you”

Slowly she began to trust humans again and with some help started walking and regained her appetite. She gained her full vision too in both her eyes. Her legs could not be healed completely but that never stopped her from running and playing with her friends.

Today I am happy to say she has been adopted by a loving family and is once again the apple of the eye . Her zest for life and never die attitude makes us realize that even when we are cruel and inhuman towards animals, they forgive and forget all this as soon as they find a loving, caring trusting family and have a home forever.

 WHEN MOLLY CAME AND CAPTURED ALL OUR HEARTS

 A rescue worker or a shelter worker’s life is never easy, we all have our days of heartbreaks, happy days seeing a shelter dog adopted, sad days seeing pets being left outside the shelter by owners, in short not all days are the same …. Each day is a challenge and you knew a heart full of compassion, love , caring and understanding to receive an animal and make them feel safe and secure , loved and cared for.

It was a rainy day and we were all busy trying to keep the dogs in the shelter away from the downpour especially the pups who seemed to be enjoying us chasing them and thought it was a new game much to the amusement of the staff.

We got a call from a young lady who said that there was a young female puppy who may have delivered some weeks back and was crying away , someone had left her tied to the railway track with the obvious intention of her being killed by passing train.

We rushed to the spot and sight we saw saddened us and made us angry at the people who may have left her there. We saw a young brown Lhasa Apso completely drenched in the rain, covered with mud, tick infested, skin disease and under nourished lying on the railway track.

She could hardly lift her head up , it seemed she had given up on life and was waiting for her end to come. We managed to bring her to the hospital where first aid was given to her , after being cleaned and fed we kept her in isolation in a warm blanket and let her have a peaceful sleep the first I guess in the many days that passed by.

The next day as I entered the shelter I could hear a quaint barking which at first I couldn’t place as we usually identified all the dogs with their barks, I went to the room where the barking was coming from and the sight I saw made me jump with delight and cry at the same time.

There I saw a clean, well-fed , happy puppy our Molly recovering from her trauma wagging her tail and eagerly wanting to lick my hands. I entered the room and she came running into my arms, licking me as if saying,” Thank you for saving me , you are my savoiur I love you”

Molly soon became the queen of the shelter and in a few weeks gained some weight and we were ready to get her adopted, we put out fliers and sent the message across and one day a family came to adopt a pet and it was love at first sight for them and Molly .

I met Molly again after a few months at her new home , the moment I entered the house she was watchful for a moment trying to sense who I was , but when I called out to her, she came charging to me and was so excited seeing me and I hugged and kissed her and said a silent thank you to God for giving Molly the family she deserved .

We all dream of happy ending for our shelter dogs and some stories just melt and make you teary eyed and that day I cried but they were tears of happiness and gratitude.

 STORY OF GABBAR, VEERU, SHEERU AND BASANTI

You may think I am about to narrate a story from the movie “ Sholay”… but this is a true story and four abandoned Great Danes who came to our shelter in Pune and left to live a care-free life in a farm house in Lonavala.

I still remember the day these lovely creatures entered our shelter and our lives. It was a cold wintry day and I was on my way to the shelter, as I reached the gates of the shelter, I heard a faint whimpering , I looked around but could see nothing amiss.. still I stopped and looked around and then I noticed a garbage bin.

As I approached it, the whimpering grew louder and I peeked in and saw to my surprise and dismay a gunny bag which had been tossed in and it was moving… I immediately pulled in out and opened it and saw four beautiful eyes looking up at me …

I knew immediately that they had been abandoned, I carried them into the shelter and put them in a warm enclosure, they must have been hardly few weeks old and in a terrible shape and skins and bones.

Warming them up with some hot milk and biscuits which they lapped up happly in second they went off to sleep comfortably in warm blanket blissfully. In a few weeks time they were healthy enough to run around and after examining them I realised they were perfectly healthy puppies, no illness, no deformities and I wondered why someone would throw such beautiful souls in a dustbin.

It struck me later that maybe the owners were ignorant of the breed and felt they were just some strays thought it was better to get rid of them at the earliest as to my knowledge majority of the owners are not aware of breeded dogs but prefer them due to status symbol or kids insistence.

Anyways soon it was time to get them adopted as soon as possible before they caught any infection as they used to mix and play with other inmate. It was by chance that one day a family happened to stop by and they told me they were looking out for some big breed for their farm house in Lonavala.

I took them immediately to the pen where these four great danes where playing and they fell in love with them immediately…but the problem was they wanted only two… I told them how I had found them abandoned and that they had always been together and I wouldn’t want to separate them.. after a long discussion they said they will come back the next day.

I had lost all hope of getting them adopted and was just wondering about them when they came back the next morning and gave me the good news that they had decided to take all four. I was thrilled and happily introduced them to the four …

The husband and wife were thrilled and the husband being a big fan of Amitabh Bachan and he had seen Sholay more than 10 times immediately named them after his favorite characters – thus my four babies were christened – Gabbar, Veeru, Sheru and Basanti.

Today they live happily in Lonavala and run freely ….and are loved and adored by the entire family.

Some dogs are destined to be part of your family and when they do become a member of your family they bring love, joy, happiness ….

MY FRIEND – NOEL

 On December 21, 2016,  I was walking home after lunch. It was a warm winter afternoon and I  decided to take the scenic route home through a park. I came across a lot of dogs on the way and being a complete animal lover, have a habit of stopping to pet every dog I meet, and that day was no different. I was walking home petting every dog in sight  and was thinking about the fact that there were so many street dogs around but hardly any puppies.

Then, almost immediately I caught sight of a very tiny puppy run outside from the park into the open gate of a temple complex. I squealed with excitement and we followed him. As I approached the puppy, I  saw that he was very scared to come near us. When I tried to hold him he yelped and I let go. He ran to a water tap inside the temple and lapped up the dirty water that had collected under it. Since i had a water bottle on I  decided to give him clean water to drink. I picked him up again and tried to make him drink. He was shivering from fear. The men in the temple complex saw the little puppy running about  and told us to go out. I  picked up the puppy and took him out. At that moment, seeing the malnourished and fear stricken state of the puppy I decided to take him home on a whim. The moment I picked him up and in a few moments he comfortably slept in my arms I knew that I had to keep the little guy.

Later that  I took the puppy to a nearby vet to determine his age, sex and treatment plan. The vet did a preliminary exam and told us that the puppy was very weak and had thin chances of survival. He gave some medicines and told us to watch him for 48 hours. He said if he survived in that time, he’d have greater chances at survival. I did everything I could in those two days to help him cope. Wrapped him up in a towel, put a hot water bottle near him, cuddled with him most of the day. He began to eat and drink by end of the first day and when he willingly crawled into my lap, my heart welled.

It was a true Christmas miracle and hence, I  decided to name him Noel; french for Christmas. He was 2 months old when he came into my life, and now, he’s a 6 month old healthy and happy puppy. It was a struggle to make my parents agree to keep him, but they warmed up to him over time. He is family now and we love him.”

That day I realized that adopting Noel was the best decision I had made in my life and the perfect gift from Santa Claus.

 ZOMBIE, LULU & APRIL

Zombie, our first dog, was a malnourished little fellow, who we found prancing around our older home. He was just a little puppy, very thin and wants food and love. I doubt he would have survived if he had stayed on the street. He is my first dog and I like to think that I adopted him, but I think he really adopted me. We used to pet the regulars in the area and at that time we didn’t recognise this new face. He came scampering at us when we stopped to look at him. He submitted to us and allowed us to pet him silly.

We fed him for the next couple of days, and thought that maybe we can keep around and nurse him to health. We chained him to the gate, because we weren’t sure that the landlord would allow us to adopt him. Zombie would cry every night, and eventually we succumbed, convinced our landlord and brought him home.

Lulu, our second dog, followed a year and a half later. We had found her bouncing about near our office, mindless of vehicles, hyperactive and playful. As I played with her, I realized she’d be a perfect playmate for Zombie. We also realized that such a spirited dog would not survive on the streets and is most likely to come under a car in her playfulness. We brought her home that day and the two have been inseparable ever since.

April our third dog, came in a year later and is a very special case. She was grievously injured in a bike accident that had fractured her skull and put her into a coma for 7 days. She was barely 3-4 months old, and was left to die on a pavement. She had a broken jaw, a fractured skull and was completely blinded in one eye, with barely any vision left in the other. She survived but her vision remains impaired. Her fosters were furiously looking for a home that was willing to adopt her.

Her pictures of adoption appeals were being floated around on the interwebs for a good 3-4 months, and every time I came across them, I would sink. Eventually, we took the plunge. We realized that we were taking on an enormous amount of strain upon ourselves, as at that point in time, we stayed in the outskirts of the city, had no support system and travelling to any place was pretty hectic.

There was also the problem of socialising a blind dog with two territorial dogs, not to mention the biggest problem of them all – having a blind dog adjust to you, and you to her. We somehow pulled through it though, and countless pitfalls and hurdles later, April is happy and settled! All our doggos are our lucky charms and we cannot imagine a life without them, Our world revolves around them and we wouldn’t have it any other way! The dogs have  they’ve brought out the best in us.. They’ve tested our stamina to sustain hardships and in the bargain, have made us realise what we are capable of. They’ve give us a new lease of life, and every day is a new day of discovery with them. They’ve made us more compassionate toward each other.

 SNOWY

 I think for me, I can never say that I or family adopted Snowy, it was more an effort on our part to allow to get live inside the house. She adopted us, and for me she is my love at first sight… You would understand if you ever had to look into those gorgeous chocolate almond that she has for eyes.”

“In 2011, I had been working out of Bombay for a couple of months when I returned back for a 4 day gap to see my parents. I walked walk around St. Andrews church area and back to my parents house, I met a skinny bald maingy scale skinned wide eyed happy faced little dog on the road. Me being me HAD TO stop and play with her. She was full of licks and hind leg stands and ever ready to play. She followed me home while I walked. This isn’t the first dog/cat that has followed me home, my parents are used to this by now. I played with her that day, snuck some food out of the house and fed her. She didn’t leave for those 4 days that i was in town. I left and went back to work for another 45 days.

Everyday that I was away my mother would call me and say – ‘the dog is sitting and waiting for you on the doormat’…soon my mother would call and say that she gave the dog some food and that the dog greets them when they go in and out. I came back after 45 days to permanently stay and the dog was right there. We started to play together everyday. She was over friendly and a very happy one, but she had a skin disease that needed to be checked. Soon I gained her confidence and got her to go for a rickshaw ride with me… I took her to the vet who gave me some cream and shampoo to bathe her with.

The next weekend I bathed her under the building tap, made a complete mess of myself because don’t forget – all she wanted to do was play. But i did manage to out the medicine on her skin and continued to do so for the next few months.

In those months she would come into my house in the daytime when only my mother was there, we would feed her, play with her, and we would shove her back out before the rest of the family got home from work because they were dead against this dog in the house. My mother was against it too because it was an apartment and she didn’t think that a dog would be happy within the walls of an apartment.

Soon this became a regular thing and this dog started to heal. Her fur started to come back and everyone was falling madly in love with her.

The days I would be out at work, when I got home in the evening, I would go to the window and whistle and within 5 minutes there’d be a ‘scritch scritch’ on the door and we knew she was outside.

It was then that Snowy was hanging out in the house till bedtime on the condition that she would be put out at bedtime. Within a month of this rule my mother decided that is was killing her to put this baby out of the house at night while I peeped through the peephole to see her sleep on the doormat and just like that Snowy became the 3rd sister in the house. She picked her own spot by my parents bed to sleep at night and became the only kid that ate so well that my mother had. But she was always my baby.

She knows when I’m coming home when I’m at the gate and she stands at the door and whines to let everyone know. She greets each person coming from out like she missed them for years, evening if you just went down in the building to pick something you dropped out of the window.

Today this chapatti-loving white fluff ball who was once bald lives with me in Andheri and visits my mum and dad every other weekend for holidays. She gets more christmas presents from my dad than we ever got.

She loves a snuggle but also loves her own space. She loves her Nut-a-clock which a tradition of hers and my father – 5pm she wakes him up from his afternoon nap to remind him that he has to give her nuts and she won’t stay quiet about a late dinner either.

She has the cutest paws, the waggiest tale that’s so fluffy (my mum calls it the maharajas punka) and her heart shaped nose is so cute I could just die. She’s superbly disciplined, will scratch the bathroom door to let you know she wants to go in there and a peepee. Sleeps on her own bed with a blanket every night and will whine if you don’t cover and tuck her in and place one of her favorite toys besides her.

A lot of people see her and ask where we got her from because she’s a pure white Spitz (please don’t mistake her for a pom). She’s tall like a female Alsation (only maybe a few inches shorter) and pure white with chocolate almonds for eyes…but the truth is I don’t know where we got her from except for the day that she followed me home (which we celebrate as her birthday). So I always tell people that she adopted us. There were some people on our street who tried really hard to catch her because they wanted to keep her and give her a home but she always refused.”

 STORY OF A STREET DOG – MOTI

Well, let me introduce myself. I am Moti, and you may call me a street dog, a stray, a pariah… a dirty, filthy animal. Call me what you will—it doesn’t matter anymore. In the end, I will still remain the same: a street dog. A pariah in your eyes.

Do you want a peep into my life? Then listen closely…

Every morning, around 6 a.m., I am woken not by kindness but by kicks, stones, or sticks from the sweepers. That’s my alarm clock. I shake off the dream of the night gone by and drag myself into a new day, searching for food. Sometimes it’s stale bread, old rotis, or—if I’m lucky—a half-eaten piece of chicken or a mutton bone. But nothing comes easy. There are many of us fighting for the same scrap. Many times, I get bitten or wounded in the battle for a mouthful. That’s life for a street dog—you grab what you can, or you go hungry.

Not all days are cruel. Once in a while, I come across a kind family. They give me biscuits, milk, maybe even a pat on the head. Their soft words warm me, and I wag my tail in gratitude. A full belly and a little love—those are the best days. But too often, it’s the other way around. Stones, shouts, and abuse fly my way. Children chase me for fun, and I hide under filthy drains to save my life—all for a piece of bread.

What puzzles me most is this: so much food is wasted by people every single day, and yet they never think of feeding us. God finds a way to give us something to eat, but why must it come wrapped in man’s anger?

And then I see the “pets.” The lucky ones. The breeded dogs. They are given warm food, clean water, coats in winter, even air-conditioned cars and soft beds. While we shiver on the cold streets, huddling together for warmth, they sleep soundly under blankets. While we drink from dirty drains, they sip milk from shiny bowls. When we dare to walk too close, we are kicked, beaten, or chased away—by the same humans who call themselves “dog lovers.”

Why this difference? We are the same species. The same heart beats in all of us. Why is one loved and the other hated? Is it really such a big crime to be born a street dog?

The hardest times are when sickness strikes. No one comes to help. When we are too weak to walk, too frail to find food, we just lie there—waiting for hunger or a speeding vehicle to end our suffering. That is our reality. Lonely. Cruel. Forgotten.

And yet… I find small joys. Running free with my friends. Tugging at each other’s tails. Barking at strangers. Chasing a car just for fun. For those few moments, I feel alive, happy, and free.

If I am reborn, I don’t mind being a dog again. But perhaps God could be a little kinder—maybe give me both lives: one on the street, tough and free, and one in a home, surrounded by warmth, love, and belonging. A life where I am not hated just for being who I am.

Until then, I will live, fight, share, and dream… because that’s what keeps me going.

And as for the word “PARIAH”—let me tell you what it means to me:

P – Pretty and Perfect
A – Adorable
R – Reliable
I – Intelligent
A – Alert and Lovable
H – Humble

I am Moti. A street dog. A survivor. And yes… a pariah.

 NAWAB – THE LIGHT OF OUR LIVES

I still remember the day my little black bundle of love and joy entered my life. Nawab was just a four-month-old Labrador pup. The very first time I visited him, he came running towards me, tail wagging furiously, eyes shining with mischief. At that moment, I knew it was love at first sight. I had to take him home that very day.

When he arrived, Nawab wasn’t in the best of health—he had fleas, dandruff, and itchy skin. But despite all odds, he was an instant hit in my house. My husband, my son, and even our helpers fell in love with him. Within months, his coat turned glossy and radiant, and he grew into a handsome young man.

Our home echoed with his energy, his antics, and his boundless affection. For his walks, we bought him a bright red collar with tiny bells and a matching jacket. He looked like a little “Red Riding Hood” as he pranced about, loving every moment of his outings and hating the thought of coming back home. He had to sniff every pole, investigate every corner, and proudly leave his mark on every car tyre in sight! In no time, he became the darling of our park—playing with children, entertaining the elderly, and charming everyone with his joyous bark and wagging tail.

Life with Nawab has never been dull. He is full of surprises—our own MTV Unlimited! When he’s guilty of some mischief, he hides under the table, out of reach but never out of sight. When he wants attention, he brushes against us lovingly. Often, he picks up a rag, stands in front of us, and with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes says, “Hold this end—let’s play tug of war!” He adores belly rubs, lying flat with his legs in the air, and his latest obsession is plastic bottles—he demands one every day and won’t rest until he has flattened it with great satisfaction.

Nawab is not just a pet—he is family. He waits every morning with the most touching look in his eyes for someone to take him for his walk. He knows when to put on a sad, mournful face and when to bounce around with uncontainable excitement. He even knows exactly whom to approach to get what he wants! Expressive, naughty, and endlessly loving—he is truly our bundle of joy.

Sometimes I wonder what our lives would have been like without him—dull, boring, and monotonous. I thank God every day for sending Nawab my way. A pet changes your outlook on life, and I have seen this miracle happen at home. My husband, who was never fond of dogs, is today so attached to Nawab that he cannot imagine a day without him.

Nawab not only changed our lives, but he also taught us to love, to laugh, and to embrace animals as a part of our family. He truly is the light of our lives.

 

STORY OF MIRACLE : (FULL OF GRIT AND DETERMINATION TO COME OUT A WINNER)

Ask anyone working in animal welfare and you are sure to hear your share of heart-breaking, rescue and abandoned stories.Cases of neglect, abuse, severe mange,fractured limbs, embedded collars,starvation …list goes on and on.

The same is the case of Miracle who lay suffering all alone on the railway tracks close to friendicoes seca. A tight wire wrapped round her hind leg which was slowly cutting into her

flesh and cutting off her blood circulation.As her pain increased she began gnawing away at the area desperate to free herself.

With every painstaking movement of pull and tear, more of her flesh began to peel off from the bone.Some one saw her suffering and immediately informed the staff at Friendicoes and they rushed to rescue her. Once they had a good look at her it was apparent that the poor girl had been tied by a tight piece of wire which was embedded deep into her leg.We believed she chewed off her won leg to escape this horrific situation she was in and pain she must have endured must have been excruciating, how she survived from blood loss is a miracle…

Once rescued, she was in a pretty bad shape with a piece of bone hanging out of the skin and whatever was left of the limb was dead. We were able to perform a pretty routine amputation at the hip, and within a couple of days she was fully healed and ready for adoption. We’re very pleased with how far she’s come.”

Miracle was ready to begin her new three legged life. She was a survivor and hence named “Miracle” by the staff as it was really a miracle to see her come out of this turmoil.

Her heart-wrenching story is one of courage and survival and is a reminder that all animals regardless are worthy of a second chance in life. Miracle once fully recovered was lucky to be adopted by a kind and loving family who immediately fell in love with her affectionate personality and lovable attitude towards life.

Today thanks to the doctors, staff and adopted family, Miracle is leading a life she would never have imagined.Going for walks, road trips, sleeping under the overs of their warm bed,having a belly full of food, toys to play with and a warm safe haven called “Home

 SIMBA – THE LOYAL FRIEND

When I returned from my travels abroad, I was greeted not by garlands or fanfare, but by a tiny one-month-old Alsatian pup. He had been gifted to my daughter by a family friend. To begin with, Simba—as I chose to name him—saw me as an intruder in his little kingdom of my wife and children. He slept in their room upstairs, and I was just another stranger in his eyes. But very soon, something shifted. Despite my wife being the one who fed him, bathed him, and took him to the vet, Simba chose me as his master. From that day on, we belonged to each other.

Simba was not just a dog—he was as human a companion as one could ever hope for. At night, he would nuzzle my ear as though asking permission to join me. I always gave in, and with a deep sigh of contentment, he would haul himself onto my bed, taking up more than half of it. His presence was both a comfort and a joy.

He was quick to share in our emotions. If we pretended to cry, Simba would press his muzzle to our faces, his soft whimper rising into a mournful wail that matched ours. And when he was naughty, a gentle reprimand—“Go to the corner!”—would see him shuffle away, head bowed, eyes full of guilt, until forgiveness was granted.

Evenings were his favourite. With patient persistence, Simba would rest his head on my lap, his eyes pleading: “Isn’t it time yet?” When ignored, he would fetch his leash, dropping it at my feet, and if I still resisted, he would drag my walking stick onto my book or newspaper, leaving me no choice. His excitement before a walk was uncontainable—he trembled with joy. On the road, head thrust out of the car window, he barked at every passing dog, cat, or cow, asserting himself with great gusto. Our holidays in Mashobra and Kasauli were his paradise. He was happiest in the mountains, especially in Kasauli, where he could chase entire troops of monkeys and langurs to his heart’s content.

Simba’s loyalty went beyond the ordinary. Once, when my wife and I went abroad, we left him with a dear friend. My wife returned before me, and though Simba greeted her joyfully, he refused to accompany her home. A day before my own return, he walked five kilometres on his own, scratched at our door, and announced his arrival. He knew—without being told—that I was coming the next morning. Such was his bond with me, an instinct beyond explanation.

Years passed, and Simba aged with dignity. His muzzle turned white, his eyes clouded with cataracts. Some nights he ran a fever, and my wife would sit for hours with his head in her lap. At over thirteen years old, his legs finally gave way. The vet, seeing his pain, told us gently that he would not last. One morning, he slipped away quietly.

If I were to count the closest friendships of my life, Simba would stand first. He was not merely a pet—he was family, confidant, companion, and friend. Since his passing, I have never brought another dog into my life. For once you have loved and been loved by a soul like Simba, no other can take his place.

 A HEARTFELT CONVERSATION

It was a scorching summer afternoon. The streets shimmered with heat, and people hurried past, too busy to notice an old man sitting alone under a tree. He sat quietly, watching life rush by, hoping that someone—anyone—might pause to ask about him, to speak a kind word.

As he drifted into his thoughts, a frail, weathered dog ambled by. The dog paused, turned back, and with a tired wag of his tail, came and settled beside the old man. Startled at first, the man smiled and said softly,
“Hey, what is a good-looking fellow like you doing on the streets?”

The dog looked up, his eyes clouded with sorrow, and replied,
“Good-looking? Those days are long gone. Once, I was young, strong, and loved by all. But now I am old, useless, and unwanted. Nobody cares for me anymore.”

The man’s eyes welled with sadness. He gently stroked the dog’s head and whispered,
“My friend, we are in the same boat. I too was once young and handsome, blessed with wealth, a family I adored, and children I trusted. Life was kind to me. But the wheel has turned. Today, I am homeless, cast aside, left to survive on scraps and memories.”

The dog sighed and rested his head on the man’s lap.
“Why are humans so selfish and cruel?” he asked. “Why do they shower love on us when we are young and strong, only to abandon us when we grow weak? What wrong have we done to deserve this?”

The man chuckled bitterly. “That, my friend, is the irony of life. We are often betrayed by those we love most. I’m sure your family adored you once—you were their joy, their protector, their pride. But when you grew old and frail, you became a burden. They forgot your loyalty and love, and cast you out without a thought. Just as my family did to me.”

The two sat in silence, bound by the pain of betrayal. After a moment, the man said gently,
“I have nothing left—no money, no food. I was thrown out with nothing but these rags. It has been days since I ate. But what I can give you is my companionship, my bed under this tree, and my arms to keep you warm. Tomorrow may bring nothing—or it may bring hope. For now, let’s rest together.”

The dog wagged his tail faintly and curled beside him. The old man put his arm around the dog, and for the first time in a long while, both felt less alone.

“Come, my friend,” the man whispered, “let’s call it a day. They say a dog is man’s best friend. Today, I have found mine.”

 

ONE LAST TIME…

I still remember the day I brought you home. You were so tiny, so soft, your little paws padding clumsily on the floor. You pranced around the room, yelping with joy, as if to say, “I’m home at last.”

You made a mess of everything—chewing shoes, tugging at cushions, grabbing whatever your mouth could hold. And when I scolded you, you would bow your head with those big innocent eyes that seemed to whisper, “I’m sorry I messed up…but I’ll probably do it again when you’re not watching.”

As you grew, you became my shadow, always beside me, always protecting me. You barked at strangers, stood guard by my side, and every evening, no matter how tired I was, you were there at the door—tail wagging, eyes sparkling—saying, “Welcome home. I missed you.”

Through all those years, you never asked for much. Just a pat, a hug, my companionship. That was enough for you.

But time moved on, and you slowed down. The leaps became steps, the bark a little softer. Until one day, your legs gave way, and you couldn’t stand anymore. I knelt beside you, stroked your head, and in your tired eyes I saw it—the first and only time you ever asked me for something. One last favor.

With a breaking heart, I lifted you into the car. As I drove, you rested your head on my lap, just as you always did. At the hospital, when the vet came forward, you could not stand, but you turned back once—just once—to give me your final look.

And in that look, you said, “Thank you…thank you for taking care of me.”

My tears blurred everything as I whispered back, “No, my friend. Thank you—for being my companion, my protector, my shadow, my joy. Thank you for taking care of me.”

One last time.

 WAITING FOR YOU…

It’s been two whole days and nights since you left me here—on this road, all alone. I thought we were going for a ride, maybe a walk in the park like always. But instead… you drove away.

I don’t understand. I’m scared. The noise of passing cars makes me tremble, the shouts of strangers make me shrink back. Still, I wait, because I know you’ll come back. You have to.

This morning a car pulled up. My heart leapt—it must be you! But no, it was a stranger. A kind-looking lady. She tried to coax me into her arms, but I wouldn’t move. Didn’t she understand? I wasn’t waiting for her. I was waiting for you.

She lifted me up anyway. I fought with all I had—I growled, I cried, I even bit her. I peed out of fear, hoping she’d put me down and let me stay. She didn’t understand that by taking me, she was separating me from the one I love most.

At her house, I was sick with worry. I vomited, I refused food, I wanted her to take me back. Because you… you would come, and you’d see I wasn’t there, and you’d think I abandoned you. But I never would. I never could.

Today, I finally ate—just because my tummy hurt too much. I slept on a soft bed. My tail wagged once, just a little. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. The lady is kind. She calls me Milo. She says I can stay forever.

But I already have a name. The one you gave me. When you come back, you’ll tell her. You’ll explain it was a mistake. And she’ll understand.

Because you are coming back for me…
Right, Mommy?

  Hope

I first met her on a blistering afternoon when the air itself felt heavy. A call had come in—“A dog’s been hit by a car. She’s been lying there for hours.”

When I reached the spot, I saw her—motionless by the side of the road, her body covered in dust, her hind legs twisted unnaturally. She wasn’t crying out, she wasn’t even moving. Only her eyes spoke, and they spoke of pain. Passersby had thrown glances, maybe even pity, but no one had stopped long enough to help.

As I bent down, she growled weakly, baring her teeth. That growl wasn’t aggression—it was fear. She had learned, perhaps, that humans meant more harm than help. So I sat on the hot pavement beside her, not touching, not forcing, just speaking in a low, steady voice. “It’s okay… I see you… you’re not alone.”

Minutes turned into an hour. The traffic blurred around us, but I stayed. Slowly, her growl faded into silence. She allowed me to place a hand near her head. Her body trembled under my touch, but she didn’t pull away. That was my sign—she was ready to trust, just a little.

With the help of a kind stranger, I lifted her into my car. Every bump in the road made her whimper. At the clinic, the vet shook his head. “Both hind legs are crushed. She’ll never walk normally again.” His words stung like a wound. But I wasn’t ready to give up—not when she had just given me her fragile trust.

We began the long journey of healing. Bandages, medicines, physiotherapy—days blurred into weeks. At first, she wouldn’t eat unless I sat by her side. I remember one night, she rested her head on my lap, her eyes half-closed, and for the first time, her tail moved. Just a tiny wag, hesitant and unsure, but it was there. That wag was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

She never regained full strength in her legs, but she learned to walk with a limp. She learned to play, to bark at passing strangers, to stretch out in the sun. And she learned to love again. I named her Hope, because that’s what she had given me—proof that even in the face of suffering, life can begin again.

Today, when I see her hobble-run across the yard, tail wagging furiously, I don’t see her limp. I see her spirit. She reminds me every day that healing is not about perfection—it’s about resilience.

Hope was once a broken, discarded body on the roadside. Now, she is joy, courage, and the living embodiment of her name.

 The Flood Rescue

The sky had been threatening rain all day, but no one expected the storm that came that evening. Within an hour, the streets were rivers. Drains overflowed, trees bent low against the wind, and the city seemed to be drowning under a dark, furious sky.

That was when the call came. “There’s a sack in the canal. It’s moving.”

I rushed through knee-deep water, my heart pounding. By the time I reached, the rain was hammering so hard it stung my skin. A crowd had gathered near the canal’s edge, pointing at something bobbing helplessly in the churning water. I saw it then—a dirty gunny sack, caught in the current. It twisted and jerked, and from inside came the faintest, most heartbreaking sound: whimpers.

Puppies.

Without thinking, I waded in. The water was cold, heavy, pulling at my legs with a force that made me stumble. People shouted from the bank—“It’s too risky!”—but all I could hear were the cries coming from inside that sack. My body screamed against the current, but my mind screamed louder: If I don’t reach them, they’ll die.

When I finally grabbed the sack, it was heavier than I’d imagined, waterlogged and sinking. I dragged it to the edge, my arms burning, my chest heaving. With trembling hands, I tore the rough jute open—and out spilled five tiny, soaked puppies, gasping for air, eyes still closed. They were barely weeks old. Someone had tied them up and thrown them away as if their lives meant nothing.

I wrapped them in my wet shirt, cradling them against me as I ran to my car. My heart was still racing—not from the current I had fought, but from the thought of how close they had come to never knowing life.

At home, I placed them under blankets, rubbing their frail little bodies, trying to coax warmth back into them. One by one, they squeaked weakly, then louder, and then began wriggling, alive with new energy. The relief that washed over me was indescribable. Tears mingled with the rain still dripping from my hair.

I kept all five for weeks, bottle-feeding them, cleaning them, watching them grow from fragile little beings into playful, mischievous pups. Slowly, they found homes—families who welcomed them, who promised never again to let them feel unwanted.

Even now, years later, whenever it rains heavily, I think of that night. I remember the weight of that sack, the fear in those cries, and the incredible feeling of seeing those five tiny lives safe in my arms.

That rescue taught me something I will never forget: cruelty may exist in this world, but so does courage, and so does hope. And sometimes, all it takes is one leap into the storm to turn tragedy into survival.

 The Blind One

He was sitting by the garbage dump when I first saw him—a frail, white-coated dog with eyes clouded in a misty blue. At first, I thought he was just another hungry stray scavenging for food. But then I noticed how he moved—tentative steps, head lowered, nose working frantically, bumping into stones, bins, and even people’s feet. That was when it struck me—he was blind.

The sight broke something inside me. A dog on the streets has little chance of survival, but a blind one? That is a death sentence. He must have once belonged to someone; his fur, though dirty now, carried the faint memory of a collar. And yet, here he was—discarded, like an old piece of furniture that had outlived its use.

When I approached him, he froze, ears twitching. He couldn’t see me, but he could smell my presence. His body trembled, as though he was bracing for a blow. I crouched down and whispered softly, “It’s okay, boy. I’m here.” He tilted his head, uncertain, then slowly stretched his neck forward to sniff my hand. That was all it took. In that small gesture, he chose to trust.

I lifted him into my arms, his thin body shivering against me. At the clinic, the vet confirmed what I already knew—complete blindness, irreversible. “He’ll need special care,” the vet said, almost apologetically, as though trying to warn me that he wasn’t worth the trouble. But when the dog nuzzled his face into my arm, I knew he was worth everything.

I named him Shyam, because his world was one of eternal night.

The first few weeks were difficult. Shyam paced endlessly, circling anxiously whenever he found himself alone. He often bumped into walls and yelped in fright. I would sit beside him for hours, letting him rest his head on my lap, stroking him gently until his breathing steadied. Slowly, he began to understand that the world around him wasn’t as hostile anymore.

I noticed how quickly his other senses sharpened. He learned the exact sound of my footsteps, distinguishing them from anyone else’s. Even if I came home late at night, the moment my key turned in the lock, he would rush to the door, tail thumping against the wall, guided only by sound and scent. His nose became his compass—he could follow my trail from room to room, as if my presence left an invisible map just for him.

Daily routines became his comfort. The food bowl was always kept in the same corner, his bed always near the window where the breeze carried familiar smells. Soon, he memorized the layout of the house. He would trot confidently from the living room to the kitchen, avoiding furniture with an instinct that amazed me. Once, when I moved a chair absentmindedly, he stumbled into it and gave a startled bark. That day I promised myself never to change his world without warning.

What melted my heart most was how he played. Blindness didn’t take away his joy. He would chase squeaky toys, guided only by sound, pouncing clumsily but triumphantly. Sometimes, he’d bound toward me, overshoot, and crash gently into my legs, looking up with an expression that seemed to say, “Did I get it right this time?”

Every night, before sleep, he would find me. No matter where I sat, he would sniff his way to me, curl at my feet, and sigh deeply. That sigh became my lullaby—the sound of a dog who finally felt safe.

There were moments when I wondered how someone could abandon him—how a family could turn away from such pure faith. But perhaps, in a way, his blindness was his shield. He never saw the cruelty that left him at the dump. All he saw—or rather felt—was love, once it finally came.

Shyam taught me something profound: vision has nothing to do with eyes. He saw me more truly than anyone else ever had. He trusted me with a depth that words cannot capture. And every time he rested his head in my lap, I knew that though he had been abandoned in darkness, he had finally found his light.

 Raju – The Silent One Who Found a Family

When I first met Raju, I almost missed him. While the other dogs barked and leapt at the kennel doors, eager to be noticed, he remained hidden in the farthest corner. His brown coat was dull, his ribs showed through his skin, and his eyes carried the kind of emptiness that only comes from betrayal. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. His silence was heavier than the loudest cry.

The staff told me his story. One rainy night, he had been tied to the shelter gate and left trembling in the downpour until morning. No one knew how long he had lived with his family, or why they chose to abandon him. But I could see the truth in his body language—flinching at sudden movements, shrinking back from hands, refusing food. Somewhere along the way, he had learned that people could not be trusted.

I couldn’t walk past him. Something about his stillness demanded patience. So I began sitting by his kennel each day. I didn’t force contact, I didn’t coax him with treats. I simply sat and spoke softly, letting him get used to my presence. At first, he ignored me completely. But after a week, he lifted his head, just once, and looked at me. That look was the first crack in his wall.

The next morning, I offered him a biscuit. He hesitated, sniffed, and then—slowly, carefully—took it from my hand. My heart leapt. From that moment, he began to return to life.

Over the following weeks, his tail wagged again, cautious at first, then more freely. He began to follow me in the yard, his eyes always seeking reassurance in mine. The dog who had once hidden from the world was learning to trust again.

Then one afternoon, a family came looking to adopt. The parents admired the energetic puppies, debating which one to choose. But their young son wandered toward Raju’s kennel. Quietly, Raju walked forward and placed his head gently on the boy’s lap. The boy’s face lit up, his small hands clutching Raju’s ears. In that instant, the choice was made.

As they drove away with him, Raju turned once to look back at me. His tail wagged—not desperately, but proudly. It felt like he was saying, “You waited with me until they found me. Thank you.”

 Amar – The Old Warrior

Amar came to the shelter quietly, without drama, as if he had walked many roads before and knew this was just another stop. He was older than most of the dogs we saw, his muzzle dusted with gray, his eyes lined with age. His body carried scars, faint lines across his fur, the kind that tell stories of survival—street fights, hunger, nights spent searching for scraps. But his gaze was steady, almost dignified.

While younger dogs barked furiously at the gates and puppies scrambled over one another to be noticed, Amar sat still. He didn’t fight for attention. He didn’t beg for affection. He seemed to know that life wasn’t about winning hearts with noise—it was about waiting for the right one.

Visitors overlooked him. They wanted playful companions, not an old soul who spent most of his time lying in the shade. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. Each time another dog left for a home, Amar remained, his quiet figure a reminder of how easily the world forgets its elders.

Yet Amar never gave up. He had a way of leaning into me when I sat beside him, his heavy head resting on my lap, a deep sigh escaping his chest. That sigh spoke of trust, of gratitude, of quiet companionship. He didn’t need words, or even a wagging tail—his presence was enough.

Then one afternoon, a retired gentleman visited the shelter. He wasn’t looking for energy or playfulness. He was searching for companionship—a kindred spirit who understood silence. His eyes fell on Amar. They looked at one another for a long time. Amar stood, walked over slowly, and rested his head against the man’s knee. No bark, no leap—just a simple gesture of connection.

That was it. No further words were needed.

When Amar left the shelter that day, he didn’t look back frantically, nor did he tug at the leash. He walked calmly beside his new companion, as though he had finally reached where he was meant to be. Watching them go, I realized Amar hadn’t been waiting for any home. He had been waiting for his home. And when it came, he knew.

Chotu – The Boy Who Waited

Chotu was born in the shelter itself. His mother, heavily pregnant, had been rescued from the streets just in time. She gave birth to five healthy pups, each one fluffy and round. One by one, families came and took the puppies home—except Chotu.

Chotu was smaller than his siblings, with no fancy coat or striking features. He was plain, scrappy, and often pushed aside when families came looking. His brothers and sisters were praised for their “cute looks” or “playful nature.” Chotu was overlooked again and again.

But he never lost his spirit. Every time the shelter gates opened, Chotu was the first to run forward, tail wagging furiously, eyes bright with hope. Families would pat his head kindly, but their hands would soon move to another pup. Chotu would watch them leave, his wag slowing, his ears drooping—but never once did he stop waiting.

Weeks turned into months. His siblings’ pictures arrived—curled on beds, playing in gardens—while Chotu remained at the shelter, still waiting. His eyes grew a little sadder, but his hope never truly dimmed.

Then one afternoon, a young girl walked in with her parents. She crouched down where Chotu sat, quiet and forgotten at the edge of the yard. He bounded into her lap without hesitation, licking her face as if he had been waiting just for her. The girl giggled, hugging him tightly. “This one,” she said firmly.

Her parents tried to persuade her toward other pups, but she shook her head. Chotu had chosen her, and she had chosen him. That was all that mattered.

When they left together, Chotu turned back once, tail wagging with pure joy. His long wait had ended. And in his eyes, I saw the truth—sometimes love takes longer, but when it arrives, it is exactly the love you were meant to have.

 Meera – The Broken Girl Who Learned to Love Again

Meera was a Labrador, her golden coat dulled by neglect, her spirit broken by abandonment. She had once belonged to a family, but when they moved abroad, they left her behind at the shelter. For a dog who had known love, the loss was unbearable.

When she arrived, she refused to eat. She turned her face to the wall, shutting out the world. Other dogs barked and played, but Meera lay in silence, grieving. Her eyes were hollow, her body limp, as if she had already given up.

I couldn’t bear to see her fade. Every evening, I sat by her kennel. At first, she didn’t even look at me. I read softly, hummed songs, sometimes just sat breathing quietly, letting her know she wasn’t alone. For days, nothing changed. And then one evening, when I slid a bowl of food toward her, she sniffed it and took a small bite. My heart leapt. It was the first step back.

Over the weeks, her spirit slowly returned. She began to greet me with gentle nudges. Her eyes brightened. She even started playing again—chasing a ball across the yard, her bark echoing like laughter after months of silence.

When a kind family finally came to adopt her, Meera bounded across the shelter yard with joy. But before she left, she stopped. She turned back and looked at me for a long moment. That look carried everything—gratitude, trust, and love.

As the car drove away, I wiped my tears. Meera had taught me a lesson I will never forget: broken hearts can heal, given patience, kindness, and time.

 Ramu – The One Who Never Left

Ramu was a street dog brought in after a car accident left him with a broken leg. He healed well under our care, becoming strong and healthy again. By all rights, he should have been adopted quickly. But families overlooked him time and again.

Puppies were chosen first. Fancy breeds were picked next. Ramu, an ordinary brown street dog, was always left behind. At first, I pitied him, watching his hopeful tail wag each time a family walked past, only to see his eyes dim when they chose someone else.

But over time, I realized something. Ramu wasn’t unhappy. The shelter had become his home. He welcomed new arrivals, licking their wounds and calming their fears. He played with the pups, guarded the timid ones, and greeted us each morning as if we were his family. The other dogs loved him, the staff adored him.

One evening, I sat beside him in the yard as the sun dipped low. He leaned against me, his warm body pressing into mine, and I realized he wasn’t waiting anymore. He had found what he needed here: safety, belonging, love. He didn’t need to leave—his family was already around him.

Ramu stayed with us for years, the heart of the shelter. Not every story ends with adoption. But Ramu’s story was still a happy one. Because rescue isn’t only about finding a home—it’s about giving a life worth living, wherever that may be.

 When I Had Sunny

It has been years since Sunny left my side, but even now, when the golden light of evening falls across my balcony, I catch myself expecting to see him lying there, his head resting on my knee, his tail thumping lazily against the floor. Memories of him don’t fade—they only grow gentler with time, wrapping around me like a familiar blanket.

I still remember the day we met as if it were yesterday. It was a cold winter morning, the kind that seeps into your bones. I was walking through the park, weighed down by loneliness and the endless churn of routine, when I heard a faint whimper. I followed the sound and found him—just a small golden pup, shivering under the bushes, his eyes full of fear and hope all at once.

When he crawled into my palm that day, I thought I was rescuing him. But the truth is, it was Sunny who rescued me.

I named him Sunny because that’s what he brought into my life—warmth, light, joy. He filled my empty apartment with laughter, chasing after socks, clumsily toppling over flowerpots, and bounding toward me each evening as if my return was the best part of his day. For the first time in years, I had someone waiting for me, someone who cared without condition.

But Sunny’s greatest gift wasn’t his playfulness—it was his presence. He had an uncanny way of knowing when my heart was heavy. On those days, he would quietly curl up beside me, his eyes meeting mine with a depth of understanding that no words could reach. In his silence, I found comfort. In his loyalty, I found love.

Sunny was with me through milestones—the day I nervously switched careers, the day I moved into my first home, even when I stumbled and faltered. He was always there, tail wagging, reminding me that life was never as lonely as I once believed.

When the years finally caught up with him, and his steps slowed, I tried to be the strength for him that he had always been for me. His last days were gentle ones—filled with quiet walks, soft strokes of my hand, and whispered thank-yous for a lifetime of love. When he finally drifted away, a part of me went with him.

Yet, even in his absence, Sunny remains with me. I see him in the golden warmth of the sun, in the quiet comfort of evenings, in the unspoken reminder that love doesn’t die—it simply changes form.

People often say I gave Sunny a good life. But if you ask me, it was Sunny who gave me mine.

 From Garbage Bin to Heartbeat

The morning I first heard them still plays in my memory like a haunting melody. I had stepped out of the house to buy vegetables. The air was thick with the familiar stench of the overflowing garbage bin at the end of my lane, something I usually hurried past with a covered nose. But that day, amidst the rustle of crows and the clang of metal, I heard a sound I couldn’t ignore.

A cry. Thin, fragile, but desperate.

At first, I thought it was a kitten. But when I leaned closer and brushed away a torn plastic bag, I froze. Two tiny puppies lay huddled together, their little bodies shaking, eyes half-shut with grime. They looked so weak, so worn down, as if life had given up on them before it had even truly begun.

Someone had tossed them there like rubbish.

For a few seconds, I stood motionless—part of me horrified, another part unsure what to do. Then instinct took over. I scooped them out of the filth, pressed them to my chest, and walked back home. Their whimpers vibrated against my heart, and I whispered without even realizing it, “You’re safe now. I promise.”

The Early Days

Those first nights were the hardest. They were so small, they could barely drink milk from a bowl. I fed them drop by drop with a syringe. They cried often—sometimes from hunger, sometimes, I think, from loneliness. I made them a bed out of an old towel in a cardboard box and sat beside them, touching them gently until they fell asleep.

I named them Lucky and Maya. Lucky because survival itself felt like a miracle for him—always restless, always squirming out of my lap as if testing the world. Maya because she carried a strange calmness, an old soul’s depth in those puppy eyes.

There were visits to the vet, countless washes to get rid of the fleas, and sleepless nights spent worrying if they would make it. But with every sunrise, they grew a little stronger. Lucky started wagging his tail when he saw me, and Maya began to nuzzle into my neck like she was already home.

Learning Each Other

As the weeks passed, they discovered the house—and I discovered them.

Lucky was a whirlwind. He would chew on anything he could find—slippers, newspapers, even the corner of my chair. He had a habit of dragging socks under the bed and barking ferociously at his own reflection in the mirror. Maya, on the other hand, was quiet. She loved sitting by the window, watching the world outside as if lost in thought. She wasn’t demanding; she simply wanted to be near me.

They followed me everywhere—into the kitchen, the garden, even the bathroom door, where they would scratch until I returned. No matter how tired or frustrated I felt, the sight of their tails wagging furiously at my mere presence melted everything away.

The Bond Grows

Soon, we built a rhythm together. Mornings started with their eager barks, as if they couldn’t wait to greet the day with me. Walks became an adventure—Lucky pulling at the leash, determined to sniff every corner, while Maya walked calmly beside me, always glancing up to make sure I was still there.

They taught me to notice the small things: the joy of a rustling leaf, the excitement of chasing a butterfly, the simple pleasure of lying in the grass and feeling the sun on your face. They reminded me of the beauty in the ordinary.

And in return, I gave them what I could—love, safety, food, a home. But truthfully, what they gave me was far greater.

Healing Together

I hadn’t realized how lonely I had been until they came. Days that once felt quiet and heavy now echoed with the sound of little paws running across the floor. Nights that used to feel endless were now filled with their warm bodies curled beside me, their soft snores a lullaby.

There were evenings when I sat on the floor with tears in my eyes—tears I didn’t even fully understand—and Maya would quietly rest her head on my knee, licking away the sadness. Lucky, sensing the heaviness, would climb onto my lap, nudging my face with his nose until I laughed.

They weren’t just dogs. They were my companions, my confidants, my healers.

Mischief and Memories

Life with them was never dull. Lucky once dragged half the laundry basket into the garden and sat proudly on top of the mess as though he had built a throne. Maya developed a habit of stealing my pillow the moment I left the bed, her tiny body sprawled across it as though she owned the world.

We celebrated festivals together—Maya terrified of firecrackers, hiding behind me, while Lucky barked bravely at the sky as if he could chase the sound away. We traveled to my ancestral home once, where they ran wild in the fields, their joy contagious.

Each memory, each little quirk, stitched them deeper into my life.

What They Taught Me

Looking back, I realize that I thought I was saving them that day by the garbage bin. But in truth, they saved me.

They taught me resilience—how to keep moving forward even after being discarded. They taught me forgiveness—because despite their cruel beginning, they loved without hesitation. And they taught me unconditional love—the kind that doesn’t question, doesn’t demand, doesn’t judge.

They became my family. My shadows. My best friends.

The Treasure in the Trash

Sometimes, when I walk past that same garbage bin, I pause. I think of that day, of the sound that made me stop. If I had hurried on, pretending not to hear, I would have missed the greatest gift life has ever given me.

From that filth and despair came Lucky and Maya—two little lives who transformed my world. They remind me every single day that love is not something you find in perfect places. Sometimes, it is hidden in the most unlikely corners, waiting to be discovered.

Those puppies, once discarded as nothing, became everything to me. They are not just dogs—they are my story, my companions, my teachers, and above all, the beating heart of my life.

 The Day I Found the Drenched Avanti Under the Car

The monsoon that year was unforgiving. Rain lashed against the windows day after day, and the streets transformed into muddy rivers, swallowing whatever dared to linger too long. The air smelled of damp earth, wet clothes, and rust. Most people complained about the inconvenience, but for me, monsoons had always held a certain quiet magic. I never imagined that one of those rain-drenched mornings would change my life forever.

I had stepped out of the house reluctantly, umbrella in hand, muttering at the puddles that splashed against my sandals. The compound of our building was deserted, save for the steady drip of rainwater sliding off car bonnets and the occasional croak of a frog. It was then that I heard it—a faint sound, almost too soft to notice at first. A whimper. Thin. Fragile. Desperate.

Something made me stop in my tracks. I turned my head, trying to locate where it was coming from. At first, I thought it was just the wind playing tricks, but there it was again, a muffled cry, rising and falling with the rhythm of the rain. I crouched down and looked under a parked car.

And that’s when I saw her.

A tiny pup, no bigger than the size of my palm, pressed against the wet gravel, her fur drenched and plastered to her bony frame. Her eyes—oh, those eyes!—huge, dark pools filled with fear and exhaustion, locked with mine. She shivered uncontrollably, as if the rain had seeped right into her bones. At that moment, it didn’t matter that I was half-soaked myself. My heart clenched, and I knew I couldn’t walk away.

I slipped the umbrella aside and reached under the car. She recoiled at first, letting out a soft growl, a feeble attempt to defend herself. But when my fingers brushed her tiny body, she froze, as if realizing resistance was futile. Carefully, gently, I scooped her up. She weighed almost nothing, just skin and trembling bones, yet the frantic beat of her heart thudded against my palms as if she carried all the fear in the world.

“Shh… it’s alright,” I whispered, not sure if I was trying to calm her or myself.

The first thing I did was wrap her in the end of my dupatta, shielding her from the rain. She buried her wet face into the fabric, as though she had finally found something that felt safe. In that instant, I decided she was mine. I didn’t know how I would manage—another mouth to feed, another responsibility—but the decision was already made by my heart.

Back home, I set her down on a soft towel and rubbed her dry, inch by inch. She smelled of mud, rust, and fear. When I looked at her properly in the light, I noticed her ribs were visible, her paws too large for her frail body, and her ears drooped heavily on either side. But despite her condition, there was a quiet dignity about her, as if she hadn’t given up yet.

That’s when I named her Avanti. A name that meant ‘moving forward,’ because that’s what I wanted for her—to leave behind the cruelty of the streets and move into a life of warmth, care, and love.

The first few days were not easy. She was wary of me, flinching at sudden movements, gulping down food as if it would disappear any second. Nights were the hardest; she would curl into the corner of her bed, eyes wide open, as if expecting the rain and darkness to swallow her again. But slowly, with patience and gentle hands, she began to trust. She learned the sound of my voice, the safety of my lap, the joy of a full belly. And in return, she gave me something I didn’t even know I was missing—an anchor of unconditional love.

Looking back now, I realize Avanti was never just a rescue. She was a gift. In saving her, I saved a part of myself too—the part that believes in second chances, in compassion, in the invisible strings that tie us to the souls we are destined to meet.

Every monsoon since then, whenever I hear the first drops against my window, I remember that morning—the parked car, the frightened whimper, and the drenched little pup who changed the rhythm of my life.

Avanti didn’t just survive that rain. She became my sunshine after it.

 The Unwanted Dog

Every animal rescuer carries within them the faces of countless dogs. Some are bright, joyous memories of playful puppies and loyal companions. Others are harder to hold—the ones who carried pain, fear, and rejection in their eyes. Among them, one stands apart for me: the dog no one wanted.

He was not the kind of dog who turned heads. There was nothing “cute” or “desirable” about him. His fur was patchy, mangled with years of neglect, his ribs pressed cruelly against skin stretched too thin, and scars crisscrossed his body like a map of old battles. His gait was uneven, his age uncertain, though his tired bones suggested he had lived through many monsoons. Most telling of all were his eyes. They were not bright with hope or trust; they were dulled with resignation, as though he had already decided the world had no place for him.

I first saw him curled up near a garbage heap on a busy lane. It was a place where stray dogs often scavenged, yet even among them, he seemed an outcast. The younger, stronger ones bullied him away from scraps, and children, instead of playing, hurled stones to chase him off. He didn’t bark or fight back. He simply moved aside, as if he had accepted invisibility as his only survival.

Most people passed without a second glance. To them, he was just another nameless, unwanted stray—too old to be “adoptable,” too broken to be loved. But to me, he was impossible to ignore.

I remember squatting down near him, the stench of rot heavy in the air. He lifted his head slowly, eyes wary, body tense, expecting yet another shove or kick. But when I extended my hand, he hesitated. Seconds stretched like minutes, and then, with a kind of reluctant surrender, he lowered his head and placed it gently against my palm. That single act felt like the most fragile gift of trust I had ever received.

It didn’t matter what others thought. To me, he wasn’t “the unwanted dog.” He was a soul crying out for dignity, for warmth, for a final chance at belonging. Without another thought, I carried him home.

The first few days were difficult. His body was weak, riddled with ticks, and his eyes still carried suspicion. He would shrink into corners, refusing to meet my gaze, and devour food as though it might vanish mid-bite. Baths terrified him. Sudden sounds made him flinch. It was as though he had forgotten what safety felt like. But slowly, through quiet patience, soft words, and gentle hands, the dog no one wanted began to change.

He learned that my hand would not strike him, only stroke him. He learned that meals came twice a day without fail, no scraps, no competition, no fear. He discovered the comfort of a soft bed, the joy of stretching in sunlight, the relief of clean water always waiting for him.

And then, one evening, as I sat reading, I felt a weight against my leg. Looking down, I saw him resting his head there, eyes closed, breathing deep and steady. It was the first time he had chosen closeness, not merely tolerated it. Tears welled in my eyes. For a dog who had known nothing but rejection, that small gesture was an act of immense courage.

As weeks turned to months, he bloomed in quiet ways. He never became boisterous or playful like a puppy. He carried his age with a certain dignity. But his loyalty was unwavering—he followed me with his eyes wherever I went, and when I returned home, his tail thumped softly, a shy but steady rhythm of joy.

I often thought about how easily his story could have ended differently. He could have died nameless, shivering in the rain, dismissed as a burden by everyone who passed. But fate had allowed our paths to cross, and together we rewrote his ending.

To the world, he remained the unwanted dog. To me, he became a teacher. He taught me that love is not about perfection, not about youth or beauty or breed. Love is about seeing worth where others see none, about choosing compassion over convenience. He showed me that every life, no matter how battered, holds value.

In rescuing him, I realized something profound: often, it is the ones the world discards who carry the deepest lessons of resilience, forgiveness, and grace. He may not have been wanted by many, but he was needed by me. And in the quiet companionship we shared, I found a love purer than I had ever known.

The unwanted dog had finally found his place—in my home, in my heart, and in the story of my life.

 The Great Dane Who Became the Mascot of Our Shelter

Every shelter has its stories—the lost, the abandoned, the broken who come through its gates. Some stay for a short while before finding their forever homes, while others linger, waiting for someone to see them. But once in a while, there comes a dog so unforgettable that they leave a mark not just on the shelter but on everyone who walks through it. For us, that dog was a Great Dane.

He arrived on a hot afternoon, brought in by a kind stranger who had found him wandering the streets. At first glance, he was impossible to miss. Towering over most of the other dogs, with a body that seemed sculpted from strength and elegance, he had the classic stature of his breed. Yet beneath that imposing frame was a heartbreaking sight—his ribs stuck out, his coat was dull, and his eyes were clouded with exhaustion. It was clear that life had not been kind to him.

Great Danes are often called “gentle giants,” but when he came to us, he looked anything but gentle. He stood stiff, muscles taut, as if bracing for another blow from life. The volunteers gave him space, unsure how he would react in a shelter full of barking dogs and unfamiliar faces. But then something remarkable happened. A tiny pup, no more than a few months old, waddled over and nipped playfully at his paw. For a tense second, we all held our breath. The Dane lowered his massive head, sniffed the pup, and then—almost shyly—licked its ear. The entire shelter exhaled in relief.

That moment was the beginning of his transformation, and ours.

We named him “Sheru,” a name that carried both strength and familiarity. Within weeks, Sheru revealed himself to be not just gentle, but deeply affectionate. He had a natural calmness that seemed to steady even the most anxious dogs. When new rescues came in—often terrified, trembling, or aggressive—Sheru became the first to approach them. He never forced interaction, just stood nearby, his quiet presence offering reassurance. Slowly, the others would relax, comforted by his silent acceptance.

It wasn’t just the dogs who adored him. Visitors and volunteers alike were drawn to Sheru. Children who were scared of dogs found courage in his company, giggling as they reached up to pat his enormous head. Volunteers leaned against him during breaks, resting their weight against his broad shoulders as if he were a living pillow. And he never seemed to mind. His patience was endless, his gentleness unwavering.

It was clear he had claimed a special place—not just in the shelter, but in our hearts.

Before long, Sheru became more than just another rescue. He became our symbol, our mascot. His picture hung at the entrance, his story told to every new visitor. He was living proof of what rescue work was all about: that even the most neglected, forgotten dog could become a beacon of love and hope.

What made Sheru extraordinary was not his size, but his spirit. Despite the hardships he had faced before he found us, he held no grudges, carried no bitterness. Instead, he embodied resilience and forgiveness. He reminded us every day that healing was possible, not just for the animals, but for the humans who cared for them too.

Sheru stayed with us longer than most. Offers for adoption came, of course—many people were fascinated by the idea of owning such a magnificent dog. But in our hearts, we knew he wasn’t meant to leave. He belonged to the shelter, to the community he had helped build. And so he remained, not as a dog waiting for a home, but as the soul of our shelter itself.

Whenever visitors asked why he was still there, I would smile and say, “Because Sheru has already found his home. It’s here, with all of us.”

Looking back now, I realize what a gift he was. Shelters often carry the weight of sadness—stories of cruelty, abandonment, and loss. But Sheru balanced that weight. He reminded us of the joy, the healing, the laughter that came with every wagging tail and trusting gaze. He was our greeter, our comforter, our protector. And in being all that, he became more than a rescue dog—he became our mascot, our inspiration, our gentle giant who carried us all forward.

Even today, when I think of our shelter, I cannot picture it without Sheru standing proudly at the center, a symbol of everything we believed in: compassion, second chances, and the quiet, unshakable power of love.

 The Dog Found Tied on the Railway Track Who Survived

There are rescues that shake you to your very core—stories so cruel and unthinkable that they leave scars on your heart even as they end in hope. One such story began with a frantic call one morning: a dog had been found tied to the railway track.

The very words made my blood run cold. How could anyone be capable of such deliberate cruelty? To abandon a dog is heartbreaking enough, but to tie one down, leaving it to face the horror of an approaching train—that was beyond comprehension. We rushed to the spot, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

When we reached, the sight before us is one I will never forget. There, against the steel rail, lay a trembling figure. A rope bound tightly around his neck, fastening him to the track. His fur was matted with mud, his eyes wide with terror, yet there was no sound, no barking, no struggle left in him. Perhaps he had already resigned himself to fate.

It was sheer luck—perhaps destiny—that a passerby had noticed him before it was too late. The track was not yet busy that morning. We scrambled to free him, our hands shaking as we worked against the knot. The rope had cut into his skin, leaving raw wounds. When at last he was lifted away from that dreadful place, I held him close, his body shivering against mine. He was alive. Alive against all odds.

Back at the shelter, we cleaned his wounds and gave him water. For hours, he refused to move, his body rigid with fear. His eyes followed every sound, as though expecting the world to betray him again. It broke my heart to think of the betrayal he must have felt—by the very humans he had trusted.

We named him “Jeevan,” meaning “life,” because surviving that day was nothing short of a miracle.

The days that followed were not easy. Jeevan flinched at every touch, shrank from human hands, and whimpered in his sleep. At times, I wondered if the scars of his trauma would ever heal. But slowly, in the patient rhythm of rescue work, things began to change.

He started with the smallest of gestures: taking food from my palm without retreating, curling into a blanket rather than a corner, lifting his head to watch the other dogs play. Each step forward felt like a victory, proof that hope was stronger than cruelty.

And then came the day when I walked into the shelter and found Jeevan wagging his tail. Not a big, exuberant wag, but a hesitant, cautious thump against the floor. That tiny movement brought tears to my eyes. It was as if he had decided—after everything—that life was still worth living, and that humans, perhaps, could still be trusted.

Over time, Jeevan blossomed into a dog of remarkable resilience. He carried his scars, both visible and hidden, but he refused to let them define him. He began to run with the others, bark at visitors, and nuzzle into my lap during quiet afternoons. His trust, once shattered, had been carefully pieced back together with love.

People often ask me how he could forgive after what was done to him. I don’t have an answer, except that dogs have a way of teaching us lessons we cannot learn from anywhere else. Jeevan taught me that survival is not just about breathing—it’s about choosing to live, to trust, to love again even after the darkest betrayal.

Every time I looked at him, I saw more than just a rescue. I saw resilience. I saw the triumph of compassion over cruelty. And I saw a reminder that even in the ugliest corners of humanity, there exists the possibility of light.

The dog found tied on the railway track had not only survived—he had thrived. And in doing so, he became a symbol for all of us at the shelter, proof that no matter how broken the past, a future filled with love is always possible.

 The Dog Who Survived Cruelty

Every rescuer carries with them stories of cruelty that weigh heavy on the heart. Sometimes, the wounds we see on the bodies of animals are not as deep as the ones etched in their spirit. Yet, it is in these very stories that we discover the true strength of resilience. Among the many I have known, one dog stands out—because despite the cruelty he endured, he chose to survive.

I first heard about him through a call from a concerned passerby. “There’s a dog here… he’s been beaten badly. He’s barely moving.” The voice on the other end trembled, and my heart sank. In rescue work, such calls are tragically common, but each one feels like a fresh wound. I rushed to the spot, bracing myself for what I might find.

And there he was.

Lying near a garbage dump, his body battered and bruised, eyes glazed with pain. His fur was matted with blood, and deep gashes ran across his back. Someone had poured boiling water over him, leaving angry burns across his skin. His ears had been crudely cut, and his limbs bore marks of repeated blows. Yet, when I knelt beside him, whispering softly, he opened his eyes and looked at me. Not with anger. Not with fear. But with a quiet plea: help me.

I scooped him up as gently as I could. He didn’t resist, didn’t whimper. He simply surrendered, as though he had given up fighting against the cruelty of the world. At the shelter, our team worked tirelessly to clean his wounds, bandage his burns, and ease his pain. For days, he lay still, refusing food, refusing to respond. His silence was louder than any cry.

We named him Amal—meaning “hope.”

The road to recovery was long. Amal’s wounds healed slowly, but the deeper scars—the ones inside—took even longer. At first, he recoiled from every touch, as though expecting another strike. If someone raised a hand too quickly, he flinched and cowered. His trust in humans had been shattered, and it broke my heart to see.

But love has a way of seeping through cracks, no matter how deep. Every day, we sat with him, speaking gently, offering food by hand, showing him that not all hands hurt. The other shelter dogs helped too—curling near him, nudging him to eat, sharing their space with quiet acceptance. Slowly, Amal began to respond.

The first time he wagged his tail was a moment none of us will forget. It was faint, just a slight movement, but it felt like a declaration: I am still here. I still believe. Soon, he began to eat with more appetite, to sit up when we entered the room, and one day, he rested his head in my lap. I wept, not out of sadness, but out of gratitude—for his courage, for his forgiveness, for his will to live.

Amal’s transformation was nothing short of miraculous. In time, his burns healed, his fur grew back, and his body regained strength. But what amazed me most was his spirit. Despite the cruelty he had endured, he became one of the gentlest dogs in our care. He would greet visitors with soft eyes, allow children to pat him, and even comfort newer rescues who arrived broken and afraid.

People often asked me how a dog who had suffered so much could still trust, still love. And I would smile, because Amal had taught me something profound—that cruelty may scar the body, but love can heal the spirit. He showed me that survival is not just about enduring pain—it is about reclaiming joy, about choosing to believe in kindness again.

The dog who survived cruelty became a symbol of resilience for our shelter. His story reminded us why we do what we do, why we fight for every abandoned, abused soul. Amal’s life became proof that with compassion and patience, even the deepest wounds can mend.

Whenever I think of him now, I don’t remember the broken figure I first found by the garbage dump. I remember the dog who ran with the wind in our shelter yard, tail wagging, eyes shining, ears flopping awkwardly as if they had never been cut. I remember the survivor, the forgiver, the one who chose life over despair.

Amal—the dog who survived cruelty—taught me more about love and resilience than any human ever could.

 Epilogue – Forever Surrounded

As I look back on the chapters of my life, I realize they are marked not just by years but by pawprints. Every stage was accompanied by a dog—some who stayed for a lifetime, some who came only for a season, and some who walked into my days from the streets, stayed long enough to leave love behind, and then moved on.

Each one left me with something precious: a memory, a lesson, a scar softened by time, a joy that still makes me smile. They were my companions, my teachers, my silent healers, and my family.

There were times I thought I had lost them forever, but I now understand that dogs never truly leave. They live on in the wag of a tail I notice on the street, in the joy of a puppy’s bark, in the comfort of every soft nudge from a new friend. They live on in the way my heart instinctively softens at the sight of fur and eyes full of trust.

In truth, I will always be surrounded by dogs—not just physically, but in spirit. They are with me in the way I love, in the way I forgive, in the way I cherish the small moments of life. They have stitched themselves into my very being.

To all the dogs who walked with me, protected me, played with me, listened to me, healed me, and even to those who only brushed past my journey for a brief moment—I owe you more than words can hold. You gave me laughter, comfort, and unconditional love. You showed me how to live simply and fully, without fear, without conditions.

And so, this is not really an ending. It is a circle, unbroken. For as long as I live, I will carry them within me. And when my own time comes, I like to imagine a field of wagging tails and joyful barks waiting for me—my pack, my family, ready to welcome me home.

Forever and always, I am, and will be,

Surrounded by Dogs.

 Some people live with dogs.

She lived surrounded by them.

In this heartfelt memoir, Bhavani Sundaram invites readers into a life woven with fur, wagging tails, and unconditional love. From childhood days marked by pawprints, to the strays who chose her on dusty lanes, to the joyful chaos of a house filled with barking and laughter—her story is a tribute to the bond between humans and dogs.

Surrounded by Dogs is not just about pets; it is about companions who listened without judgment, friends who protected without fear, and healers who mended broken hearts with nothing more than their presence. Through moments of joy, lessons in loyalty, and even the grief of inevitable goodbyes, Bhavani reflects on how each dog left behind not just memories, but wisdom for living.

Tender, nostalgic, and deeply human, this memoir celebrates what dogs teach us every day: to live simply, to forgive quickly, to love fully, and to remain loyal always.

For anyone who has ever looked into a dog’s eyes and felt understood, this book is a reminder that we are never truly alone—because love, once given by a dog, stays forever.