Gurugram dog attack is pet owners’ fault. It’s cruel to keep Siberian husky in this heat

Representative image of a husky | Flickr

Delhi’s infamous summer gets all the press, but anyone who’s lived there knows that the prickly monsoon heat is just as cruel. On Sunday, 27 July, Delhi-NCR reported a sweltering maximum temperature of 38°C with almost 50 per cent humidity. That same evening, a pet husky on a walk in Gurugram’s swish Golf Course Road attacked a passing woman. 

The dog pounced on her, seemingly without provocation, and caused her to fall. It also grabbed her arm and wouldn’t release its grip for several seconds, leaving her with scratches and other injuries. A CCTV video of the incident soon went viral, sparked furious discussions on apartment WhatsApp groups, and even prompted the Gurugram police to launch an investigation. Predictably, all conversation around the footage centered on blaming the husky.

But here’s what no one seems to be asking: What is a Siberian husky—a breed literally engineered for sub-zero temperatures and sledding across the frozen tundra—doing on the scorching asphalt of India’s plains? This is a dog bred to thrive in -60°C weather, now panting through 38°C heat with suffocating humidity. But the viral outrage focuses entirely on the animal’s aggression, not the abject cruelty of the humans who created the conditions for this mishap.

Passing the buck

I’ve watched the video about a dozen times, but the layers of negligence are apparent the first time you view it. The dog’s handler has it on a very slack lead, with no understanding of the powerful animal at the other end. There’s no spatial awareness, no anticipation of the dog’s movements, no readiness for what any experienced dog owner knows can happen in a split second. The husky itself displays every sign of an untrained animal: no recall, no impulse control, and no respect for boundaries. To make matters more complicated, it is being walked in a mixed-use neighbourhood, at what appears to be peak hours for humans. 

Someone paid lakhs for that husky, but probably didn’t bother with investing a rupee in proper training or handler education. This is the expected result of people treating a living creature like a status symbol and assuming that feeding a dog equals care. The only surprising thing about that video is that the dog didn’t attack sooner.   

The Gurugram husky represents a thriving industry built on impulse purchases and willful ignorance. Across India, backyard breeders churn out exotic breed puppies in horrific conditions. Buyers rarely bother with details like health clearances or the breeder’s credentials when their primary goal is to achieve a specific, Instagrammable look. The puppy inevitably outgrows its teddy bear phase and transitions into an energetic dog that requires hours of exercise, mental stimulation, and consistent training. And even the most well-meaning owners are not prepared for a creature with complex behavioural needs. 

Across apartment complexes in India’s metros, a familiar sight is a husky, a golden retriever, a beagle, or a lab – bored out of their skulls – banished to the balcony where they can do little damage. These under-stimulated, under-exercised dogs develop behavioural problems that owners interpret as inherent aggression rather than symptoms of their neglect. You can see them howling through the days and nights, their worlds and spirits made smaller by separation anxiety and inadequate socialisation.

Often, the next “logical” step for owners is to simply wash their hands of the problem. Animal shelters across our cities are chronically overcrowded, with pure breeds comprising a significant portion of surrendered animals. A few years ago, in the Mumbai neighbourhood that I used to live in, someone had abandoned a hulking St Bernard at the height of summer – they’d tied it to a post and left it to die. The same St Bernards are bred with utmost care in Switzerland, their Alpine home country, where the waiting period to adopt one is around two years, and includes stringent background checks.

Gaps in law enforcement 

Our laws, on the other hand, are stunningly toothless. The Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act 1960 prohibits abandonment and mandates proper care, but enforcement mechanisms barely exist. Requirements for getting licenses for pets vary wildly between cities. Breeding regulations go unenforced, and pet shops continue selling animals without verifying buyer preparedness or capability.

But when it comes to blaming dogs – whether pets or strays – we’re no slackers. 

This talent for blame reaches peak absurdity with stray or community dogs. I love indie dogs as much as the next person, but the country’s “free-ranging” dog population has reached the level of a public health crisis. 

India accounts for 36 per cent of global rabies deaths – that number fluctuates between 5,700 and 20,000 people. However, our approach remains fractured and reactive. 

As a recent report in The News Minute lays out, “The core issue is structural, as responsibilities are scattered and accountability is absent. Local municipal bodies are tasked with population control. The Ministry of Animal Husbandry sets rules and distributes vaccines. The Health Ministry oversees rabies surveillance and bite care. Yet at the operational level, the catch–neuter–release mechanism falters due to outdated contracts, limited staffing, funding constraints, and the absence of real-time data.” 

This division of labour creates a vortex where the buck can endlessly be passed. But the truth is, when the Animal Birth Control (ABC) programme is implemented properly, the science works. Chennai brought human rabies deaths under control through sustained investment. Bhutan achieved 100 per cent street dog sterilisation over a 14-year campaign. Mumbai’s stray dog population has declined by 21 per cent in the last 10 years.

Most Indian cities, however, fall way short of the 70 per cent sterilisation threshold required for population control. This allows public conversation to split into two extremes: those demanding total eradication of street dogs, and those advocating unconditional protection. Both sides miss the structural reality. The Resident Welfare Associations (RWAs) in several Indian cities have launched pitched campaigns against community feeders. They miss the fact that feeders are the crucial link to controlling street dog populations, because feeding and socialising dogs are an integral part of sterilisation programmes. Yet, these volunteers have to fend off abject hostility from residents.

India’s stray cattle problem

Our panic around community dogs offers a ready outlet for those with preexisting biases against dogs. You’ll never see this kind of public outrage against, say, stray cattle. India has roughly 5 million stray cattle roaming its streets. “Data regarding the deaths and casualties to humans due to accidents or attacks by stray cattle is not maintained. However, as per the information of the National Crime Records Bureau, a total 6,331 number of persons were killed by animals from 2017 to 2021,” Parshottam Rupala,  former Minister of Fisheries, Animal Husbandry and Dairying, responded to a query in December 2022.

Here’s an estimate, however. Between 2018 and 2022, cattle killed 900 people on Haryana’s roads alone. Chhattisgarh reported 404 deaths and 129 grievous injuries over five years from vehicle-cattle collisions. Goa’s Chief Minister estimates that a quarter of the state’s 365 annual road deaths involve stray cattle. These numbers represent just three states over four years – already totalling 1,600 deaths.

The cattle crisis became so severe in Uttar Pradesh that it influenced state elections in 2022. Farmers faced crop destruction, commuters navigated deadly road hazards, and families lost loved ones to bull attacks. Yet, no Supreme Court took suo motu cognisance of cattle-related deaths. The conversation there tends to be almost benign, focusing on the need to construct and fund cow shelters. 

Such compassion is sorely lacking when it comes to stray dogs. But the stray problem does not require revolutionary thinking – it only needs basic competence and for adults to do their jobs. 

Maybe we can start with educating children about the basics of animal behaviour, and how to interact with them, with the same seriousness we bring to traffic safety. The hope is that these children will grow up to be aware adults who treat all dogs – pets and strays – with the same compassion. The State, meanwhile, can try enforcing its own laws, like regulating breeding operations, punishing pet abandonment, and following ABC programmes with renewed focus. 

And then, maybe, we won’t have to wonder about why the animals we have failed keep failing us in return.  

Karanjeet Kaur is a journalist, and a partner at TWO Design. She tweets @Kaju_Katri. Views are personal.

(Edited by Ratan Priya)