Monday, 11 August 2025 — the Supreme Court of India has ordered that all stray dogs in the Delhi–NCR region be rounded up within eight weeks and placed into shelters.
Eight weeks. Two months.
Anyone who loves or works with street dogs knows what this means. It means these fur-kids will be ripped away from the only streets, corners, and human connections they know. It means they will be shoved into overcrowded, filthy shelters run by corporations and municipalities that see them as a burden, not a life. It means fear, disease, abuse, and death.
I have seen how dogs are kept in Mumbai’s pounds. The conditions are appalling. They are treated like refuse, not sentient beings. And now, the same fate awaits thousands in Delhi.
I’ve seen this cruelty before
I can’t read this ruling without my mind racing back to the first dog I ever rescued.
I was seven or eight when a young white pup with brown markings wandered into my compound. She was small, shy, and beautiful. I gave her shelter in an abandoned car, fed her, and let her roam free when I was inside my house. She became part of the little group of dogs that hung around the building corner.
One afternoon, I heard her yelping. I ran to my bedroom window and saw the municipal van. Men had caged her and were lifting her into the back. I was eight years old — I didn’t know how to fight them. And then she was gone. I never saw her again. That helplessness burned itself into me. I still feel it.
I had named her Diana.
Years later, I rescued another — a fawn-coloured pup with a stubby tail and the gentlest green eyes. He had wandered into my housing compound, where the security guard was beating him with a stick. I scooped him up and took him home. He was affectionate, trusting, full of fleas and love. I named him Bilbo. I already had two dogs then and my home was small, so I found a friend to adopt him. Giving him away was like tearing a piece of my heart out.
We have to remember:
Rabies doesn’t just happen.
Dog bites don’t just happen.
They happen because we — humans, governments, societies — have failed.
Because vaccination drives are abandoned halfway.
Because sterilisation projects are underfunded and poorly executed.
Because the budgets meant for animal welfare disappear into corrupt pockets.
We create the problem, and then we punish the victims of our neglect. And now, an entire population of innocent dogs is about to pay the price for decades of human carelessness.
When one dog attacks, the response shouldn’t be to round up every dog. That’s the same flawed thinking as branding all men violent because some commit rape, or branding an entire religion dangerous because of one extremist.
It is bigotry applied to animals. It is fear driving policy. And fear rarely chooses the right path.
The easy way is always the cruel way. There are other solutions. There always are.
• Mass sterilisation drives done properly and consistently.
• Continuous vaccination programmes.
• Feeding zones where dogs and people can safely co-exist.
• Shelters that are humane, healing spaces — not prisons of neglect.
But these require work. These require compassion. These require the slow, difficult path that governments rarely take because cruelty is easier. Cruelty can be done quickly, with a press release and a photo op.
I’m not even from Delhi, but this ruling has left me shaken and deeply sad. I’ve seen what happens when bureaucracy decides that an animal’s life has no worth.
I’ve lost hope for the system. I’ve lost hope in leaders. I’ve even lost hope in many people I once loved. I know there are protests, petitions, people fighting — and I am signing them, I am adding my name — but inside me, hope feels like a very faint and dying ember.
The truth is, the world has taught me that humans can live through genocides, the slaughter of innocents, and barely blink. If that is true for human lives, how much hope can I have for animals?
If this ruling were truly about public safety, it would start with fixing the systems that failed. It would start with funding sterilisation and vaccination programmes properly. It would start with auditing the budgets already spent — and stolen.
Instead, this ruling chooses the laziest path: punish the innocent because the guilty are untouchable.
We do not cull all men when women are raped. We do not round up all children when one commits a crime. But we are willing — in the blink of an eye — to round up all dogs when a few incidents occur. That is not justice. That is cowardice disguised as governance.
And let us be clear: fear is not a reason to abandon compassion. Fear is not an excuse to brutalise the defenceless. Fear should never be the guiding principle of a civilised society.
If you have power, you have a choice:
You can use it to protect the voiceless, or you can use it to destroy them. History will remember which you chose.
So, I will speak. I will speak for Diana. I will speak for Bilbo. I will speak for every street dog in Delhi and beyond who will be torn away from their familiar lives, confused, terrified, and caged.
It was never their fault. It was ours. And no court order will change that truth.
If I cannot stop this, I can at least refuse to be silent. Because silence, too, is a cruelty.
Hearts Still Care 