Pet Governance Failure: Why India’s Pet Chaos Is Getting Worse

I live in Mumbai, so Mumbai is the reference point here, but this is not a Mumbai problem; it is a national pet governance failure playing out as everyday pet chaos in our cities. From Delhi to Bengaluru and Pune to Chennai, Indian cities are one outstanding example of modern civic philosophy: Regulate everything badly, then act surprised when chaos follows.

We regulate shop signs, parking, garbage bins, balconies, noise, food carts, language, and building setbacks. But when it comes to pets, rules are optional, data is cruelty, and enforcement is anti-animal. And this is not necessarily about stray animals.

Take pet licensing. In theory, every city wants responsible pet ownership. In practice, many portals for such licences behave like spiritual tests of detachment—apply for renewal, wait, payment pending, try to pay, approval is required first, return after enlightenment, and repeat ten times in twenty-five days. This is not just about a broken portal; it is what pet governance failure looks like in practice—confusion, delay, and eventual non-compliance. May be, in this instance, municipal systems have decided to follow Osho, who rightly pointed out that confusion can be a method of control.

If the government wants pet lovers and pet parents to be serious about pets, it has to be serious about pet control; licensing should be simple, fast and mandatory; vaccination a must; collars definite; leash walking a must; and certain breeds must be muzzled. And then the licence should be single window—upload documents, vaccination proof, and pet photos; pay the fee; and receive approval. Five minutes. Not five visits to the portal. Because when compliance is difficult and avoidance is easy, guess what citizens would choose?

Mumbai’s 2024 stray dog census counted over 90,000 stray dogs, many of which were unsterilised. Other cities report similar pressures: dog bites, neighbourhood disputes, abandoned pets, fear in parks, fights in elevators, and the endless society. That leads to complaints and many illogical, half-baked solutions that die their natural death.

There is a constant WhatsApp war between “dog lovers” and “dog sufferers”. A subject where I have a strong opinion as a pet parent, stray dog feeder, and helper. For a moment, let's leave the strays out of the discussion. But owned pets should be an easier category to regulate. They have homes. They have addresses. They have guardians, pet parents who love them and would do everything possible for their comfort.

That should be governance gold, but alas, what the government cannot see is currently being exploited by branded pet services—food, vacations, dresses, spas, and treats. If someone had looked at the cost of these services and products, a Rs 500 licence, and compulsory insurance against bite damage, illness should be easy.

Yet, data on most licensed pets across cities is hard to find. Without reliable numbers, pet governance in Indian cities is operating blindly.

And by pets, I don’t mean only dogs. Pet cats are rising rapidly because they fit modern lifestyles—easy maintenance. Birds remain common, though illegal trade in protected species continues in many places. Then there are fish, lizards, and hamsters. But data on cats and birds is often thinner than municipal excuses.

Then comes the breeder circus. India recently moved to restrict or prohibit the import, sale, and breeding of certain high-risk foreign dog breeds after rising safety concerns. Whether every rule survives courtrooms is secondary. The principle is correct: breeding cannot be a free-for-all. If it is allowed at all, it must be restricted.

Today, animals are produced like consumer electronics—backyard breeders, Instagram sellers, and unregistered kennels. A cute puppy today, an abandoned adolescent tomorrow.

No city should tolerate this. And pet parents, though equally concerned, are the first ones to help build this ecosystem. Unchecked breeding is not a side issue; it is the engine driving urban pet chaos.

Breeders should be licenced, audited, and traceable. Every puppy sold should be pre-licenced and registered, vaccinated, and linked to a buyer identity. Repeat offenders should face heavy penalties and permanent bans.

And instead of adapting imported breeds unsuited to Indian heat, cramped living conditions, and first-time owners, India should proudly promote its own breeds. Real pet governance is not about bans alone; it is about shaping behaviour, incentives, and choices.

The Indian Pariah Dog is hardy, intelligent, and naturally adapted. The Mudhol Hound is elegant and athletic. The Rajapalayam is loyal and strong. These dogs are not status symbols, which may be why they are overlooked. Perhaps we need a new middle-class aspiration: less imported ego, more local wisdom.

Cities should also set rational norms—number of pets linked to usable living space and large active breeds only where there is sufficient space. Mandatory insurance for certain categories. Public colour-coded leash tags: friendly, anxious, reactive, or under training. Clear extra fare rules for taxis and autos carrying pets. This is not tyranny; it is civilisation. And high penalties for pet parents and dog walkers not picking up pet poop.

Strays are a separate challenge involving sterilisation, shelters, and management.

But owned pets are a cleaner policy and implementation problem. If the government cannot regulate the animals whose owners pay maintenance, taxes, and broadband bills, what exactly can it regulate? Strays! Until India fixes its pet governance, cities will continue to oscillate between affection and pet chaos—with neither animals nor citizens truly protected.

Sanjeev Kotnala is a brand and marketing consultant, writer, coach and mentor

Published on: Tuesday, May 05, 2026, 09:55 PM IST