Yes, I am a dog. You have seen me many times. Sometimes at the edge of the road, sometimes under the steps of a shop, and sometimes curled up and asleep on the cold ground. You hurry past, and I keep watching you quietly. Now and then our eyes meet. Then you turn your face away, wrinkle your nose, and walk on as if nothing happened. Yes, I am that street dog you see every single day but never truly look at.
I was not born in any warm home. My mother gave birth to the five of us beside a crack in an old wall, next to a heap of garbage. That place was our whole world. She herself would go hungry for days, yet she never once failed to feed us her milk. At night the sound of vehicles came from far away, the streetlights flickered, and the barking of unfamiliar dogs echoed all around. Through all those sounds, my mother covered us with her own body. Today I understand that this was the safest time of my entire life.
It did not last long. Within a few days of being born, two of my brothers were gone. One could not bear the cold, and where the other went, no one knew. The three of us who remained had to learn how to survive. And slowly I began to understand that to live on the street is not simply to be alive. It is to dodge death every morning and then wait for one more day.
You may not know this, but the bond between a creature like me and you is not new. Thousands of years ago, when your ancestors lived in caves and were just learning to make fire, my ancestors were already there beside them. When you went out to hunt, we came along. At night, while you slept, we kept watch. It was us who wagged our tails in your happiness and us who lay quietly with our heads on your feet in your sorrow. We never asked for a big house, nor tasty food, nor money. For us, a piece of bread, one warm glance, and a little love were enough.
Almost every day of mine is the same. I have to wake up early in the morning, because to sleep on the street is not to rest. In winter the cold makes my bones tremble, in the rains the night passes soaked through, and in summer the hot road burns the soles of my feet. Then begins the search for food. Scraps thrown out behind a hotel, rice rotting inside plastic, bread someone ate half of and tossed away, this is my meal. Hunger never looks for dignity. When you have to survive, you eat whatever you can find.
But there is a fear greater than hunger. It is the fast vehicles racing down the road. Every moment of crossing the street is like a gamble for me. With my own eyes I have seen many friends disappear forever onto that black road. But more than that, it is people I am afraid of. This is the irony. The very creature I tried hardest to trust is the one I now fear the most.
I know I do not look clean. I have no place to bathe. No one cleans my wounds. There is dust on my body, there are sores, there is a smell. But just because I look dirty, do I deserve kicks and stones? One day I was sitting in front of a shop, soaking up the sun. I had done nothing to anyone. But suddenly a man came and kicked me so hard in the ribs that I ran off screaming in pain. Children throw stones for fun. Someone pours hot water on me. And I cannot say a word. Because I am a street dog. When I am beaten, no one asks a question. No one looks for justice.
The strange thing is that I have never bitten anyone first. I bark only when I am afraid, I run only when I sense danger. Yet the world calls me the dangerous one.
Every morning I walk past the gate of a big house. A dog lives there too. He is four-legged like me, he wags his tail too, he gets hungry too. But our lives are as different as the sky and the earth. His coat is clean and shining. He has a beautiful collar around his neck. He gets food on time, he is taken to the hospital when he is sick, his family hugs him, takes his photo, says how cute. As for me, no one has given me even a name to this day. He was bought with money, and no one chose me. But our hearts are the same. We both need love. We both need someone by our side. The only difference is that his worth was set by money, and my existence by the street.
I never feel jealous of him. Instead, when I look at him, I keep thinking, if only someone had once looked at me that way too, even for a moment, if only a loving hand had stroked my head, perhaps my world would not have been this harsh.
One night, my closest friend, the one I played with all day and shared food with, was crossing the road. Suddenly a vehicle came at high speed. In a single second, everything was over. The vehicle did not stop. People walked on, watching. No one turned back. I stayed beside him all night. His body slowly grew cold. In the morning the sun rose, but my friend did not wake. After that, I was alone.
Deaths like this have become ordinary for us. Our blood spills on the street, but no one counts it. In the morning the cleaning truck comes and carries us off like garbage. That, it turns out, is the only value of our lives.
But for two days a year, everything changes. One day comes, Kukur Tihar, when I am draped with a garland of flowers, a tika is placed on my forehead, and I am fed good food. People say, the dog is the messenger of the god Bhairav, the dog is a symbol of loyalty. On that day I receive a brief moment of respect, my photo is taken, I am loved. And some time later another day comes, World Rabies Day. On that day the staff from the municipality arrive and give us the vaccine against rabies. Because they know that to control rabies, keeping us safe is necessary too.
But as soon as these two days pass, everything goes back to the way it was. On the remaining days we become, once again, the same dirt, the same burden, the same object of hatred. In some places, in the name of reducing our numbers, we are even fed poison. The hand that places a garland on Kukur Tihar and the hand that picks up a stone the next day are often the same. Remembering that hurts. The hand that tries to save us for two days tries to kill us on another. What a great irony that is, no?
But not all people are like this. Even today, when I remember certain faces, my tail wags on its own. One mother gives me rice every morning. A small boy strokes my head on his way to school. Some strangers, on seeing an injured dog, put it in their own vehicle and take it for treatment. There are organizations like this too, who see us not as a burden but as life. Because of them, who rescue injured dogs, treat them, sterilize them and vaccinate them, many of us are still alive today. They taught me one thing. The greatest power in the world is still love.
I do not ask much of you. You do not have to keep me inside your home. I do not need expensive food either. All I want is this. When you walk past me, please do not pick up a stone. Please do not kick me. You do not need to be afraid at the sight of me. I am not your enemy. I too am only a life trying to survive, just like you.
And if you truly want to do something, remember one thing. Killing street dogs never solves the problem. Many countries in this world have already proven this. The solution is sterilization, regular vaccination, responsible management, and coexistence. This is the method that controls rabies, brings the dog population into balance, and keeps people safe too.
If you are thinking of keeping a dog at home, instead of buying an expensive breed, try once to adopt a pup from the street. He will remember you for the rest of his life. Give one meal a day to a dog in your own lane. Give him a name. Perhaps for you it is an ordinary thing, but it can become his entire world. Teach your children that throwing a stone is not courage, showing compassion is true humanity.
Even today I am at that same edge of the road. The cold is still the same. The hunger is still the same. The vehicles racing ahead are still the same. But when you walk past me, I still wag my tail. Because thousands of years ago I learned to trust people, and to this day I have not let that trust die.
So the next time you see me on the street, do not hurry. Stop for a moment and look at me. Instead of picking up a stone, give me one warm glance. Because I too want to live. I too seek love. I too feel pain. And yes, I am a dog. But before that, I am also a living being carrying a beating heart.
