“I’m a psychologist by profession, but healing for me has grown to mean more than just working with people. I practise holistic psychology—integrating science with spirituality. My work includes counselling and energy healing, aimed at helping others find balance and meaning. But over the years, that sense of healing expanded—to include beings without a voice.
My journey into animal welfare wasn’t planned. It began during the isolation of the COVID-19 lockdown. We had just moved to a new colony in Kondapur. I already had a pet dog, and as we walked around, I noticed strays—many of them. They weren’t aggressive or territorial. Just quiet, tired, and hungry.
Our colony doesn’t allow commercial activity. No shops, no food stalls, no waste. So these dogs survived on scraps from residents. During lockdown, even that stopped. The streets were silent. Dustbins were empty. And we began to see what hunger really looked like.
So we started feeding them. It began with one mother dog who had recently given birth. Then three dogs. Then five. Today, with a few friends, we feed and care for over 100 dogs across several communities.
But feeding is just the beginning.
We rescue dogs. We get them treated, vaccinated, sterilised. Some are taken to the vet. Others, especially those with trauma or serious injuries, are moved to shelters or rehab centres. One case I remember vividly—a small street dog hit by a delivery bike. Both his front legs were badly injured. We got him medical care, and he now lives in a permanent shelter with lifetime support.
We’ve rescued abandoned pets too—Labradors, Pomeranians, all bred and discarded. Once, I rescued six female dogs from a breeder in terrible condition. We helped them heal, got them sterilised, and found homes.
Some dogs carry deep emotional scars. They don’t trust humans easily. So we place them in private kennels with trainers who specialise in behavioural rehabilitation. It takes time. Sometimes months. But slowly, they begin to trust again. Only then do we consider adoption.
Balancing this with my professional work hasn’t been easy. But I’ve never seen it as a burden. It’s a commitment. I’ve barely travelled in four years. My day revolves around the 10 p.m. feeding hour— the only time our colony allows it. If I have to travel, I make sure I’m back by then. Because they wait. And they don’t understand absence.
In the early days, we faced resistance. When we moved in, many plots were still vacant, so the dogs went unnoticed. But as houses came up, people began to blame us for their presence. The same dogs we fed were now seen as a menace. We were yelled at, threatened, accused of bringing them in. But we hadn’t. They were always there. Now, they just had someone to trust.
Fear is powerful. One viral video of a dog bite somewhere, and people think all strays are dangerous. But that’s not truth—it’s projection. We don’t stop travelling because of one tragedy in Kashmir. Why stop caring because of one incident with a dog?
We adjusted. Fed them late. Ensured sterilisation. Worked on their energy. And it made a difference. Today, most of the dogs in our community are calm and friendly.
But some fears persist. I’ve seen parents tell kids, “Don’t go near, they’ll bite,” even when a child is trying to be kind. The same parents don’t warn about screen time or traffic. Why this fear?
If we teach kids to be kind to animals, they grow into kind humans. Compassion builds empathy. And empathy builds better societies.
Strays don’t appear out of nowhere. They reproduce. That’s nature. They can’t ask for help. We have to take that step. Sterilise. Feed. Care. Let them live with dignity.
And don’t forget—once you feed a dog regularly, you condition its hope. If you vanish, the hunger doesn’t. They’re not asking for luxuries. Just a little food. Water. Shade. Shelter.
Not a place in your home. Just a place in your heart.”
- Pallavi, Psychologist & Animal welfare Volunteer