By Heena Sultan

Walk through any Indian colony, and you'll hear the same refrain: "The street dogs are a menace!" It is a phrase thrown around so carelessly, a blanket condemnation of the community animals that have shared our streets for centuries. But let us stop and ask ourselves: What is the real menace? Is it the growing population of dogs, or is it our own growing intolerance and sense of entitlement over every inch of shared space?

We are in the midst of a human explosion, and with it, we are grabbing every available piece of land for ourselves. The roads, the footpaths, the parks—we are converting all common spaces into extensions of our personal domain. We park our vehicles on footpaths, forcing pedestrians onto the road. We extend our businesses onto the streets. And in this aggressive occupation, we have decided that there is no room for any other species. We are building our world and wondering why the dogs will not just disappear.

This attitude is rooted in a deeper, more troubling hypocrisy: our kindness is conditional. It is given only to those species that provide us with a tangible return. We keep cows because they give us milk. We keep hens for their meat and eggs. We keep birds in cages for their song. The relationship is transactional, based on profit and utility. But what about the animals that offer no such "benefit"? The street dogs, the cats, the birds who scavenge for scraps—they are seen as freeloaders, as nuisances. As time passes, we have become so selfish and so irresponsible that we do not look around at the animals who go to sleep hungry right outside our gates. We have forgotten that our shared humanity is measured not by how we treat the useful, but by how we treat the voiceless.

The complaint is often about noise. A dog barks, and it is immediately labelled a nuisance, a disturbance, a menace. But when we speak, when we shout, when our construction work creates a cacophony, that is simply the sound of life, of business, of progress. That sound is acceptable. We have created a double standard where our noise is a necessity and theirs is a nuisance. We forget that a dog's bark is its language—a warning, a greeting, a call to a friend. And as the old saying goes, "barking dogs seldom bite." Their bark is often their only defence, a way to say, "This is my space too."

The solution to managing community animal populations is well-known: Trap, Neuter, Vaccinate, and Release (TNVR). It is a humane, scientifically proven method followed across the world. But we are not implementing it sincerely. In my home of Kashmir, look at the Srinagar Municipal Corporation. They have a control room, and the nature of the calls they receive is telling. The overwhelming demand is not for sterilization, not for vaccination, but for removal. "Take these dogs away from our colony." "Take them away from our vicinity."

But where? Where are we supposed to take them?

This question exposes the cruelty and thoughtlessness of the demand. It reveals that the goal is not a humane solution, but simply the absence of the problem from our sight. We do not want to share our space, so we want them banished to some imaginary place, out of sight, out of mind. We do not want to take responsibility. We just want them gone.

A Global Lesson in Compassion

When we look at countries that have successfully addressed this issue, we see that the foundation is always the same: legal systems that recognize animals not as property, but as beings with inherent worth and the right to live free from suffering.

In Europe, this philosophical shift is nearly complete. Countries like Switzerland, Germany, and Norway have animal welfare statutes explicitly based on the recognition that protection is for the benefit of the animals themselves, not just the humans who come into contact with them. The German Animal Welfare Act is built on a profoundly progressive premise: that human beings bear responsibility for their "fellow creatures," transforming our role from dominators to stewards.

Italy recently passed what is being called Europe's strictest animal protection law. Under this legislation, killing an animal with cruelty can result in four years imprisonment and fines up to €60,000. Abandonment, neglect, and even chaining a dog for long periods are now criminal offences. Most significantly, the law reclassifies animals from "emotional property" to "beings with legal rights and emotional lives.Click Here To Follow Our WhatsApp Channel" As the law's architect, Michela Vittoria Brambilla, stated: "We should not wait for animals to die silently before we wake up. The law must walk ahead of humanity, to speak for the most voiceless of lives."

The Netherlands achieved something remarkable: in 2016, it became the first country in the world with zero stray dogs. This was not accomplished through removal or cruelty, but through comprehensive, government-funded sterilization programmes, heavy taxation on purchased pets to encourage adoption, and the creation of a specialized "animal police" force dedicated to investigating animal abuse. Every dog is microchipped, making abandonment traceable and punishable.

Switzerland requires dog owners in some regions to complete certification courses before acquiring a pet, ensuring they understand animal behaviour and care. The laws even recognize that social animals like guinea pigs must be kept in pairs, acknowledging their emotional needs. Abandoning a pet can lead to up to three years in prison.

Germany operates on a no-kill philosophy. Stray animals taken to shelters are never euthanized simply because their time has expired. Shelters provide ideal living conditions, daily exercise, and extensive training to prepare animals for adoption. Germany even takes in strays from neighbouring countries that cannot care for them.

In 2024, Mexico embedded animal protection directly into its Constitution, granting Congress authority to create unified federal protection laws and mandating that schools teach children the importance of caring for animals. The European Union created a dedicated Commissioner for Health and Animal Welfare, moving responsibility for farmed animals from Agriculture to Health and redefining animal welfare as a public concern.

These nations succeeded because they understood a simple truth: you cannot address a community animal problem without addressing human responsibility. They built systems that prevent abandonment, promote sterilization, and punish cruelty. They recognized that animals are not disposable.

What We Can Do, Right Here, Right Now

But what if, while waiting for our laws to catch up, we changed our approach at the community level? What if, instead of demanding removal, we took responsibility from our own places?

Imagine if every colony, every lane, every neighbourhood took ownership of its community animals. It starts with a simple commitment: get the dogs in your area sterilized and vaccinated every year. This one act ensures the population does not increase and keeps the spread of diseases like rabies in check. And alongside this, offer them food on a daily basis. It does not matter how much quantity you provide—a plate of leftovers, a few biscuits, some rice. What matters is the act of giving.

A fed dog is a calm dog. A dog that is regularly fed by the community becomes a friendly guardian of that community, not a threat. They have no reason to be aggressive when their basic needs are met. They become stakeholders in the neighbourhood, alerting residents to strangers at night, keeping the rodent population down, and simply being a living presence that asks for so little in return.

This is not about blind love for animals. This is about practical compassion. A sterilized, vaccinated, and well-fed dog is not a menace—it is a neighbour.

A Call to Kindness

It is not always about hating. It is always about compassion and kindness. Every religion, every culture, every ethical framework teaches us this. Islam speaks of mercy as a path to Paradise. Hinduism reveres all living beings as part of the divine. Christianity calls the righteous those who care for the least of their brethren. Sikhism teaches that we see the divine light in all creation. There is no faith on earth that instructs us to be cruel.

We are given this life, this intelligence, this ability to choose. And we can choose to see community animals not as a menace, but as a responsibility. It is the duty of every citizen, living in every corner of this country, to share this planet with those who cannot speak for themselves.

Countries around the world have shown that change is possible when compassion is backed by action—both legal and personal. The real menace is not the dog on the street. It is the absence of kindness in our own hearts.

Heena Sultan is an advocate by profession and an activist by passion. She writes on issues of social justice, animal welfare, and community responsibility. The views expressed are her own.