Parenting A Pet
Charu Kaistha has been a pet parent for the past five years. She is a mother of two and is fond of art. She works in funding energy transition in a Nifty 100 Co and believes in women's empowerment…
When the world shut down in 2020, our Gurgaon high-rise became a bubble of six—three generations, one uncertain future, and a sudden abundance of time. My teenage daughter was preparing to leave for college, her days now punctuated by Zoom links and wistful glances at closed airports. My son had just turned thirteen and was adjusting to adolescence in lockdown. My parents had moved in “for a few weeks,” and I was trying to hold the centre. Then, one quiet afternoon, my mother came home with a basket. Inside was a three-month-old Shi Tzu, all floppy ears and wide, wondering eyes. “Everyone needs someone to look after,” she said simply. Toby was his name, and he brought with him a sense of calm that none of us realized we needed until he gave it.
Toby quickly became the emotional pulse of our household. Each of us had our own rhythm, our own anxieties, but he moved gently between us, knitting us back together in moments both big and small. My daughter, ever the calm one, often studied cross-legged on the balcony floor, surrounded by books and the quiet orange light of sunset. Toby would sit beside her—sometimes resting his chin on her thigh, other times snoozing on a pile of notes. They looked like a painting: the focused girl and her small, serene shadow. She’d scratch his head absently as she studied, and he’d stay by her side for hours, undemanding and devoted. He had a special relationship with my son too. They shared energy, mischief, and the kind of unspoken bond only a boy and a dog can have. On nights when my son dozed off on the couch, Toby would wriggle under the blanket, curling up beside him like a comma in the sentence of his day.
Toby’s daily highlight, though, was his evening walk—and for the children in our colony, it was the event. He was known among them as the Dog Star, a furry little celebrity whose arrival in the park sparked cheers and happy squeals. Children would run to him, offering biscuits, gentle pats, and stories from their day. He greeted them all with the same calm dignity, tail wagging in slow approval. In 2024, one of those children—now much taller and quieter—met Toby again after years. During the pandemic, the boy had been just five, and he used to follow Toby around the colony with wide eyes and sticky fingers. When they met again, he dropped to the ground and whispered, “Toby, do you remember me?” Toby placed a paw on his knee and licked his hand. The boy blinked hard, and so did I!
These days, in 2025, Toby still does his evening walk, still plays with the littlest kids in the colony who take turns feeding him treats from tiny fists. He still draws smiles from strangers, still howls sweetly during morning yoga when my mother and I chant “Om.” She swears he’s on a higher plane. I don’t disagree. At night, Toby does his rounds. And when he’s made sure everyone is safe and loved, he ends his journey where he began it—curled up on my father’s pillow, fast asleep, like a guardian who’s done his duty.
More than anything, Toby brought us together. In a time when the world felt uncertain and distant, he created a sense of closeness that lingered long after lockdowns lifted. He made our laughter warmer, our silences softer, and our home more deeply connected than it had ever been. We thought we were bringing home a dog. But Toby became our companion, our comfort, and our calm in the chaos. And now, five years later, as the world races forward again, he remains our steady heartbeat—quietly reminding us that love, once invited in, never really leaves. In 2020, the world shut down. But inside our little flat in the sky, a small dog opened something far greater: our hearts to each other.
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