SC's stray dog order fails Delhi. Courtroom absolutes don't solve bad policy

The Print

2 days ago

The problem is real—even if much of the debate refuses to admit it. Many activists, whether driven by deep affection for dogs or simply insulated from the realities of India's streets, often dismiss these concerns outright. But their distance doesn't erase the risk. I still remember being chased by a stray dog on my way to the gym—managing to protect myself only because I happened to be carrying an umbrella. Yes, it's true that in many places, communities do coexist with stray dogs, and some even care for them. Dogs often recognise familiar residents and respond with calmness. But that recognition doesn't always extend to outsiders. I've seen how anyone unfamiliar—a delivery worker, a visitor, a passer-by can suddenly become a target.
From a distance, the stray dog issue might appear to be just another matter of urban policy. But for the average Indian, it shapes daily life in far more visceral ways. According to the 2019 Livestock Census, India is home to over 1.5 crore stray dogs—creating one of the most densely entangled human-canine landscapes in the world. The country also accounts for 36 per cent of global rabies deaths. There are multiple cases of small babies being mauled to death by stray dogs in India. In Delhi alone, over 35,000 animal bite incidents were recorded between January and June 2025. These numbers offer only a partial picture. They don't fully convey what it means to navigate a street where safety feels negotiable, or how vulnerable one can feel—especially as a child, an elder, or someone walking alone—in a city that has outsourced its responsibility to coexistence without offering protection.
Public response against the Supreme Court's order to relocate Delhi-NCR's stray dogs to shelters has already settled into the familiar shape of division. Most people seem to fall neatly into two camps—those who view the court's order as overdue action against a growing health threat, and those who see it as an attack on the basic dignity of animals. Even Rahul Gandhi has weighed in, calling the move 'a step back from decades of humane policy.' But like most public debates in India, the noise has overtaken the nuance. What's at stake isn't just whether stray dogs belong on the street—it's what kind of country responds to deep, systemic neglect with courtroom absolutes.
What's needed now is a policy-based solution. The situation cannot remain suspended between denial and inaction—it has already cost lives. According to the World Health Organization, the true burden of rabies in India is not fully known, but estimates suggest between 18,000 and 20,000 deaths each year. The economic toll runs parallel. The average cost of post-exposure prophylaxis for rabies is over Rs 5,000 per case, a figure that places enormous strain on families and an already overburdened public health system. In some places, the absence of institutional response has led to a dangerous alternative of vigilante violence, with individuals killing stray dogs.
And yet, the crisis cuts both ways. India's streets are also home to countless stray animals living in chronic neglect—underfed, injured, and exposed to disease. This is as much an animal welfare emergency as it is a public safety one. What we're left with is a city that fails both its people and its animals.
Also read: Dogs matter more to Indian middle class than people
Failure of governance
Allowing stray dogs to continue living unregulated on India's streets is no longer a viable option—not for public health, and not for the animals themselves. A national approach to stray dog management is urgently needed.
On that front, I agree with many animal rights advocates: The voiceless should not be subjected to solutions that amount to cruelty in the name of order. The Supreme Court's directive to relocate all strays within eight weeks is not just unrealistic, it borders on the inhumane. The order also seems to disregard existing law that permits sterilised dogs to be returned to their localities.
A plan built around urgency rather than feasibility is unlikely to solve the problem it claims to address. Shelters have a role, but long-term solutions must confront root causes: Irresponsible pet ownership, lack of sterilisation services, and underfunded municipal systems. If this process is to mean anything, it must be implemented not just with resolve, but with timelines grounded in what's possible—not what simply looks decisive.
In India, many who call themselves dog lovers often seem more invested in the idea of dogs than in the actual care they require. Behind the declarations of affection, there is often little regard for regulation, training, or responsibility. And it's not uncommon to see pet ownership tied to aspiration—with a preference for imported breeds over adoption from shelters.
This disconnect isn't just social— it's built into the legal frameworks too. In India, a dog that bites is typically isolated for ten days to check for rabies. If it survives, it's vaccinated and returned. In the UK, by contrast, a dog that threatens or harms a person can be seized, its owner prosecuted, and in some cases, the animal put down. These are not small differences—they reveal how regulation, when absent or unclear, shifts the burden of danger onto the public, while also failing the animals themselves.
In the end, a city that cannot protect either its people or its animals isn't just failing at compassion—it's failing to govern at all. And no courtroom directive can fix that unless it's matched with policy, accountability, and the political will to implement both.
Amana Begam Ansari is a columnist, writer, and TV news panellist. She runs a weekly YouTube show called 'India This Week by Amana and Khalid'. She tweets @Amana_Ansari. Views are personal.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)