India, Jan. 28 -- I'm proud to confess that my friend list features more canines than humans. Each has a specially curated place in my heart, but the voiceless angels living on our streets form the overwhelming majority. My journey into this world began 20 years ago, shortly after my 16-year-old German Shepherd crossed the rainbow bridge. While legal debates over street dogs often dominate the headlines, my mind wanders elsewhere-to the memories of those who have shared my path. My eyes well up when I remember Chhoti. She wandered into our neighborhood a decade ago, pregnant and vulnerable. She was met with sticks and kicks from neighbours who didn't want a litter on their doorstep. Through it all, Chhoti responded only with affection and endless patience, her tail wagging even as her ears drooped in fear. She eventually found sanctuary beneath the stalls of a nearby flower shop, where she delivered six healthy puppies. At first, I was the only one offering her milk and bread-gifts she thanked me for with her inimitable, affectionate licks. Eventually, other dog lovers joined in, and for a brief time, Chhoti was safe. But our friendship took a tragic turn. On a foggy January morning, she didn't emerge for breakfast. I found her cold and lifeless on her blanket. Her puppies, unaware of their loss, were still suckling. Then there was Kaali, a dog whose bravery remains etched in my memory. Five years ago, during a midnight thunderstorm, I was jolted awake by her frantic yelping. I opened my gate to find her drenched, a puppy clutched gently in her mouth. After dropping the first, she disappeared back into the torrential rain. I soon heard a thud, Kaali had scaled my wall, carrying a second pup. She repeated this rescue mission until her entire litter was in our home. Though only two survived the vagaries of that night, Kaali remained a fixture of our family for three years until a road accident took her from us. Not all memories are heavy; some are pure joy. Take Moti, whose sole mission in life was to secure a longer belly-scratch session during my evening walks. He disappeared one Diwali night, a casualty of the crackers and chaos, and though I searched for weeks, I never saw him again. Today, my late-night shifts at the hospital are made easier by Habbu and Nanhi. When I'm called for an emergency, they act as my personal escort, waiting patiently at the hospital gates for hours until I finish with my patients. No matter how late the hour, they are there, ready to see me safely home. These stories have made the canvas of my life vibrant. It is fundamentally unjust to call these creatures strays. They are simply homeless. They are uncared for and often discriminated against, yet they offer a brand of loyalty that humans rarely match. Let us strive to give them a life of dignity. They may be voiceless, but they are far from heartless....