In defence of community dogs

The ruling states that once dogs are picked up, they can never be released—not even if sterilised, vaccinated, or healthy. They cannot be adopted either.

Before entering animal welfare, I had no reason to reflect on difficult questions. That changed in 2020 when I began my journey in the animal rights movement. From working at a policy organisation, to joining a rescue and rehabilitation NGO, and then stepping into independent activism, I encountered both the best and the worst of the field.

What struck me most was not the cruelty of outsiders, but the divisions within. Why did NGOs compete rather than collaborate? Why were some activists treated as “outsiders” simply for breaking arbitrary rules — whether it was how one dressed in government meetings, what diet one followed, or which “animal issue” they prioritised? Why did some in leadership shun those of us who spoke to the media, or who refused to stay silent about wrongdoing within our own communities?

The animal welfare community— as passionate as we are — is far from flawless. I have personally witnessed an NGO quietly euthanize healthy animals, and when I raised my voice, I was ordered into silence by those who claim to lead this movement. I have seen government veterinarians manipulate post-mortem reports so that cruelty complaints could not stand in court. I have seen SPCAs without animal-lovers, and state welfare boards that exist only on paper. For many of us who entered with pure intent, the biggest battle was with entrenched interests with departments meant to protect animals.

So why do we persist? Because unlike the system that has failed to act, we see the bigger picture: If the current pack of friendly, vaccinated community dogs is displaced, semi-feral and feral dogs will inevitably move into that vacuum—dogs who are neither socialised nor immunised. That not only undermines public safety but also erases years of painstaking work in vaccination and sterilisation carried out by feeders and NGOs, which remain the only humane, scientifically proven methods of population control worldwide.

We do this work because we understand what policymakers ignore: that dogs play a vital role in maintaining ecological balance. And yet, beyond all the science and strategy, there is something else that sustains us—those wagging tails at the end of a long tiring day.

But something changed on August 11 when a bench of the Supreme Court issued an order that sent shockwaves across the country. It wasn’t about one cruelty case in one city. It was about all of us. It was about our dogs being branded as nuisances to be removed. The Rajasthan High Court echoed that order. And for the first time, animal lovers across India felt the ground slip from beneath them.

Many applauded the judgement, believing it was a victory that would keep their children safe. Some even argued that animal lovers should welcome it, insisting it would protect dogs.

But the truth is darker. The SC has overturned decades of scientific consensus and constitutional compassion. This is not a rescue plan or even a roadmap for “managing” street dogs. It is a death sentence in disguise. The Court has ruled that once dogs are picked up, they can never be released—not even if sterilised, vaccinated, or healthy. They cannot even be adopted. Every petition, every scientific suggestion from experts, veterinarians, and welfare groups was denied a hearing. And in that vacuum, a roadmap emerges—not for public health, but for the commercial exploitation of pedigree dogs by breeders and pet shops. With no indies left to adopt, the public will be nudged toward a cruel supply chain of pedigree puppies, propped up by unlicensed shops, online sales, and rampant cruelty and abandonment. Rules regulating breeders do exist, but enforcement is already patchy at best; this order opens the floodgates.

Street dogs are not a social inconvenience; they are part of an ecological system that sustains balance in cities. By scavenging waste and competing with other urban species, they keep in check populations of rats and rodents. Remove the dogs, and the void is filled not by safety but by vermin and other mammals that can be carriers of rabies and which would be harder to control.

The public health consequences are grave. History offers sobering warnings: in the Netherlands, widespread dog culling in the 19th century coincided with one of the most devastating outbreaks of rabies in Europe. Only with CNVR (Capture Neuter Vaccinate Release), taxing heavily store-bought dogs and implementing strong animal protection laws were they able to control the stray dog problem they faced. More recently, cities that attempted mass dog removal have seen spikes in leptospirosis, a bacterial infection spread by rat urine that thrives in urban flooding.

The judgement is not a solution but an erasure: of millions of innocent lives, of Indian Pariah dogs who have lived beside us for centuries, and of the moral fabric that defines us as a people.

The Supreme Court verdict, shocking as it was, did what decades of infighting could not: it united us.

So I must say this — to Justices J B Pardiwala and R Mahadevan: we strongly oppose your judgement, and we will fight it with every fibre of our being. But we also thank you. For in attempting to silence India's dogs, you have awakened their human protectors.

Today, from Delhi to Jaipur, from Pune to every town in India, we are speaking in one voice. For Kali, for Bhuru, for Sheru — for every street dog who has lived with us, guarded us, wagged a tail at us. The government and media have sought to pit us against our dog-hating neighbours. The courts may have overlooked their own precedents and official data and issued judgments out of bias. And the haters may mistake this moment for a triumph. But what the apex court of India has done is remind us of who we are. We are the voice of India’s animals. We are the inheritors of Gandhi’s Ahimsa. And we will not let this country go down in history as the land that abandoned its vulnerable.

The message is clear: Until justice returns to our desis, we will not rest, we will not relent.

And this time, we will not be divided.

(The writer is an animal rights activist)