Tag: pets

My Kids and Their Lessons

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

If you’ve followed my writings, you know that dogs are not simply pets to me — they are companions, teachers, and my children. Living with dogs has been one of the most grounding and transformative experiences of my life. They have walked beside me through loneliness and joy, through grief and laughter, and they have given me lessons that no classroom, book, or mentor could fully teach.

Dogs do not care about the masks we wear for the world. They don’t measure us by our successes or failures, our wealth, or our appearance. For them, love is in the moment — a wagging tail when you walk in the door, the nudge of a wet nose when you’re low, the quiet companionship when words fail. They have taught me that presence matters more than perfection. To truly be with someone — whether human or animal — is the most profound act of love.

Each of my dogs has carried their own story, sometimes marked with pain, abandonment, or fear before they came to me. And yet, I have never seen them give up on joy. They can be hurt and still trust again, neglected and still give love. Their resilience humbles me. They remind me that life can wound us, but bitterness is a choice — and forgiveness, often wordless, can set us free.

As adults, we often forget the simple grace of play. My dogs never do. Whether it’s chasing a ball, running wild in the park, or simply rolling on their backs in the grass, they remind me that joy is not frivolous; it is survival. To laugh, to move, to play is not just about fun — it is about keeping the spirit alive.

Dogs are perhaps the only beings who embody loyalty without condition. They don’t keep count of arguments or misunderstandings. They don’t hold grudges. Their loyalty is not bound by transaction — it is instinct, pure and unbreakable. In a world where human relationships can often fracture under strain, my dogs show me what steadfastness looks like.

Over the course of my life, I have lost four dogs. Each loss has carved a hollow that no words can truly fill. And once, I had to make the most unbearable decision — to end the suffering of the one I held dearest. It is in these moments that my dogs have taught me their most profound lesson: that life is fleeting, and it is made full not by grandeur but by the everyday.

Their short time on earth is a reminder to live in the present — to relish the mundane walk, the quiet nap, the silly game of fetch. Because in the end, only love matters. Only love sets us free. At the final breath, it isn’t the achievements or possessions that count, but the care and presence of those who hold you with love until the very end.

Life, I’ve learned through them, is cyclical. I lose one pup, and another finds its way to me. The poignancy and bitterness of death are inevitable, but so is the sunrise of another day. Their passing has taught me to embrace the paradox of grief and renewal — to know that endings are also beginnings, and that love carries forward even when bodies do not.

Perhaps the most unexpected gift has been this: my dogs have taught me to be gentler with myself. They don’t see my flaws as I see them; they don’t recoil at my scars. In their eyes, I am enough — worthy of affection, worthy of care. And slowly, through their gaze, I’ve learned to soften the harshness of my own.

My house literally, feels more alive because of them. Their presence fills corners with warmth, noise, chaos, and peace all at once. They make even the most ordinary days feel less lonely. For me, home is not about walls or possessions. It’s about the heartbeat at my feet, the bark at the door, the eyes that follow me room to room. Home is where they are.

Dogs have been my healers, my mirrors, and my greatest teachers. They have shown me that love is not complicated; it is given freely and without expectation. They have shown me that joy is found in the smallest gestures, and that resilience is written in the wag of a tail after a storm.

Most of all, they have shown me that life is both fleeting and eternal: fleeting in its moments, eternal in its love.

Bitter Old Man

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

This evening, something happened that got under my skin more than I care to admit. I was down in the compound with the kids — by which I mean my dogs — playing a relaxed game of fetch like we’ve done since 2019. These are kids I’ve raised with care, consistency, and love. They don’t bark at passers-by. They don’t jump on people. They’ve never soiled the compound. We play in our little side of the compound, stick to ourselves, and co-exist.

It was a typical Mumbai evening — humid, a little breeze, people walking their toddlers and taking their usual rounds around the building. No one had a problem. Not one. In fact, a little girl toddled around us, giggling as she watched the dogs run. Her father smiled, unbothered. That’s how it usually is. That’s how it’s always been.

Until one man decided to ruin it.

He marched up to me — no greeting, no civility — and barked, “According to the law, you need to leash them.”

I looked him square in the face and said, “Don’t talk to me about the law. If you have a problem, then tell me you have a problem. Don’t hide behind rules no one else is quoting.”

This wasn’t about the law. This was about control. About bitterness. About some misguided belief that age entitles you to command people in their own homes. He claimed to be a dog lover too. I told him not to lie to himself and certainly not to me. I directly told him, if you have a problem be honest and tell me and when you are here, I shall keep them on a leash. I did so. Until he left the compound, after bitching to everyone around who would offer an ear. 

You cannot call yourself a dog lover and come up to someone who has raised these animals with care and discipline — someone who’s down with them every single day — and throw regulations in their face without context or conversation. I don’t owe you silence when you cloak your prejudice in legalese.

Let me say it plainly: I live in a city that is barely functioning. The road outside our gate is covered in garbage, broken tiles, and makeshift construction. Pedestrians walk in traffic because footpaths are non-existent. When the street lights didn’t work for months, nobody cared — until I personally called the BMC to get it fixed. That’s the real danger in this city. Not my leashed or unleashed, happy, well-socialised dogs.

But somehow, people like him don’t raise a voice when civic authorities fail us. They stay quiet when the street floods or the drain overflows. But the moment a dog runs free and joyful — my dog, with me right there supervising — they come out of their holes, quoting imaginary laws and feigning concern.

Let’s get something straight:

I have lived through years of irresponsible pet ownership around me — people who abandon their dogs when they move, people who beat them, chain them for hours, or never walk them at all. My dogs are family. I treat them like children. I clean up after them. I invest time and affection into their wellbeing and how they interact with the world. There is no “law” in this city that does more for these animals than a single responsible human does — and I am that human.

And yet, the one thing that triggered this man? Seeing joy. Seeing love. Seeing a safe, beautiful moment that had nothing to do with him.

I will not allow the fearmongering around rabies to be weaponised against every pet parent who’s doing their best. Yes, we need safety. Yes, we need awareness. But let’s not pretend that the hysteria online about dogs is based in facts or care. It’s based in fear. And fear is a poor excuse for cruelty.

I’m not here to be lectured by people who don’t pick up after themselves but have the audacity to pick bones with me.

So to the people like him: No, I won’t apologise for raising loving dogs in a city that desperately needs more kindness. I won’t apologise for giving them space to run, to play, to live.

And I certainly won’t take lectures from a man who’s blind to the real chaos around him, but sees a problem in a moment of joy.

If you’ve got something to say — say it with honesty. Don’t hide behind laws you don’t understand.

And don’t you dare call yourself a dog lover.

My Kids Have Fur

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The other day, I visited my cousin’s house, and once again, I was reminded of the silent wall that often stands between how people say they love animals, and how little they actually see them. I understand that in many families, dogs are appreciated—even adored—but rarely do they cross that invisible line that transforms them from ‘pets’ to ‘children’. But for me and my sister, that line was crossed long ago. Our dogs are our children.

We’ve made a conscious choice to not have human children. As a gay man, I never felt the inclination or desire for biological parenthood. Biologically, I cannot reproduce with another man, and philosophically, I am what many would call an antinatalist. I look at the state of the world, the cruelty, the suffering, the apathy—and I know I couldn’t bring another life into this chaos in good conscience.

Instead, I chose a different path: to love, nurture, and raise animals. Not just the ones at home, but also the stray ‘kiddos’ I meet on the streets. I feed them, care for them, look after their health, and do what I can within my capacity. My home, however, belongs to my three kids—my dogs. They sleep on the beds, lie on the sofas, and follow house rules. They listen, they understand, and they love. They are gentle, warm, kind, and patient—qualities we often hope to cultivate in human children. But with these little ones, it comes naturally.

That’s why it hurts when people fail to see the depth of that bond. In my residential colony, I am often pulled up for the smallest things—a drool mark in the lift, a strand of fur on a step, a missed spot I forgot to clean after a late night. People look at us with disgust, as though we are encroaching on their pristine human world with something unclean. It’s funny how tolerant we pretend to be of differences—until that difference is actually different.

Children from our building often play with our dogs. They’ve never been harmed. In fact, it’s the toddlers who embrace our dogs most naturally, without prejudice or fear. But the adults? They carry biases so deeply embedded, they don’t even realise how cruel they sound. “Every dog bites,” they say. Just like they say, “Every man is a predator,” or “Every gay man will try to convert you.” It’s this knee-jerk vilification—of communities, identities, or species—that reflects something broken in the human condition. J.K. Rowling’s comments about trans people trying to erase women’s rights is just one such example of this prejudiced, uninformed thinking.

During my cousin’s gathering, there was a small incident. My sister poured some used water—water that our dogs had drunk from—into a sink where used utensils were kept. The vessels were already dirty, but the reaction was instantaneous. My cousin objected. She didn’t want the ‘dogs’ water’ to fall upon the humans’ dirty vessels. My sister took offence. To me, it was understandably so. For her, our dogs are family. They share our space, our lives, our routines. They’re not ‘less than’. But I tried to mediate—I told her we were in someone else’s home, and we had to respect their discomfort, even if it came from a place of “othering”.

But it’s these little moments that sting. Like when my cousin, on hearing that my partner and I were also celebrating 25 years together, said, “Oh, but ours is official.” As though two and a half decades of shared life, struggle, and love somehow means less because we don’t have a marriage certificate. As though our relationship is a placeholder, not a permanent bond.

For many people, I suppose it will always be: Your dogs aren’t children. Your love isn’t real. Your life isn’t equal. But for me, none of that changes what is true in my world. My children have paws. My relationship, though unofficial in the eyes of the law, is rooted in commitment and resilience.

We must learn to see with eyes wider than our biases, to feel with hearts larger than our traditions. Because love—be it between humans or between humans and animals—is never less valid just because it doesn’t fit a template.

If you’ve ever loved a dog, or any animal, bird, fish, like a child, you’ll understand. And if you haven’t, I hope one day you will.