by Dr. Indrakshi Banerji

Senior Veterinarian, RESQ Charitable Trust

Four years have commenced since I have begun testing animals suspected for rabies. A real slowdown has been observed due to the COVID-19 pandemic, leading to fewer reports of suspected rabid animals, and yet, the number of animals tested has crossed over 1100 since 2017. I’ve tested cows, dogs, bats, civet cats, cats, goats and deer and antelope for the rabies antigen in this period of time. The most heartbreaking thing is when people’s owned animals turn out to be rabid.
Every month, a minimum of two animals owned by a person or collectively looked after by a community seem to be succumbing to rabies.

When I have to be the bearer of the news that the animal that was their ward is now no more, the gamut of emotions they all go through on hearing said news is truly heartbreaking and exhausting.

A few years ago, a man came to enquire about the animal he had admitted to RESQ. Tall and strapping, crossing six feet in height, with a very impressive moustache with curly ends, I could have pegged him as a pehelwan, a professional wrestler. Unfortunately for him, the dog had already passed away a day ago and had tested positive for rabies. This gentleman was unaware, because the reporter for the animal had been a different person at the time. I watched, with dismay, as the man’s face crumpled and his body started to shake with sobs. I’m glad that the man was unafraid to show his raw emotion over the loss of a cherished companion, but he soon descended into senseless babble, flinging accusations that the dog would have still been alive if the co-residents of his society just learned to tolerate animals. I didn’t know if it was the wisest time to point out to the man that had he also been conscientious enough to have given the dog an annual shot of the anti rabies vaccine, he could have maybe spared it of such a fate.

Another day, a feeder from PCMC admitted a dog whom she had named Maggie, suspected of rabies. Amidst the tears, it took a while for her story to emerge. Maggie was absolutely normal three days ago before the lady departed for a business trip. On her return, Maggie couldn’t recognize her, was being aggressive, wouldn’t eat and
couldn’t walk. Along with the grief and shock, there was also some amount of denial but it did give way to shame. She admitted that since she didn’t know of good vets in the PCMC area, she hadn’t bothered to get the dog vaccinated in 3 years.

A man drove all the way from Alandi to tell me very confidently that his dog is choking on a crab leg and needs surgery. I saw the dog with his jaw hanging loose and occasional staccato barking. Identifying it as rabies, I requested the man to let me admit the dog. In the midst of explaining that this was a fatal disease, the man casually spat at my feet and sauntered away. I’m still a little mystified as to what elicited that sort of reaction in him. His friend did ask me about exactly how to disinfect their car.

Localities from the village area brought their dog, rather they claimed that they were now raising this dog that a relative of theirs no longer wanted. Her name was Lucy, and she had the excessive coat of a poodle or a terrier, shielding her eyes. Lucy had begun to drool a lot and would attack passersby. The owners, who hailed from a vernacular background, did not know what rabies truly meant. When I mentioned the term पि साळलेला कुत्रा, they began nodding in earnest and agreed to let us admit Lucy and observe her. Predictably, Lucy succumbed to her condition. The owners came back, asked to see the body. I informed them that it had been securely packed and incinerated so as to not be a health hazard. They demanded a picture. They began threatening to call in bigger people, unless I knew what was good for me. I sat them down and explained to them that I had nothing to gain in telling them that their dog was dead. I was not hiding the animal or intending to use it for breeding purposes. Lucy was truly no more only because she was afflicted with a fatal disease which could potentially be transmitted to them too and it was currently in their best interests to go and take prophylactic vaccinations and not threaten me with dire consequences. They left in a huff but I wonder if they even took my advice.

In a nutshell, I’ve had to play the role of comforter, agony aunt and also have been on the receiving end of threats when I have to deal with people whose dogs pass away due to rabies. But I still keep at it because I need all of them to be aware and in turn tell their family, friends, co-workers, roommates, neighbours, significant others, frivolous dalliances and even strangers on public transportation about how important it is to just give a dog one single injection every year and save them from this fate.

Seeing a stray animal succumb to rabies is not surprising. While it is just as hard, the unsurprising bit is that there is no one to look out for them, no one watching their back and they of course do not have the higher intelligence of seeking prophylaxis. It should be INEXCUSABLE for a pet or a community animal to succumb
to rabies. If you have taken it upon yourself to be a pet parent or be a community feeder, just raising or feeding a dog isn’t going to cut it. If you aren’t aware about what your pet needs, in terms of preventive care, or if you choose to not get your community dogs vaccinated, you are adding to the problem.

The most agonizing thing is that rabies is so so easily prevented but if you’ve neglected or overlooked it and now that an animal has contracted rabies, the way they succumb to it is just unnecessary. Even if I live to be a 100, I will never forget the very first pet dog I saw succumb to rabies. She was a gorgeous labrador called Pari. She was
unable to close her jaw, she was constantly salivating and her eyes had a vacant look in them. That’s all. None of the other, “textbook” signs of rabies. She would wag her tail or turn if you said her name but her unfocused and empty eyes showed no inkling of recognition. She died gnawing on the bars of her cage, rigor forcing her into the position. Looking at her made me feel like zombies existed. Her body functioned but her eyes were dead, devoid of expression. Her death was unnecessary and easily prevented. As were the deaths of the others I’ve seen after her.

I worry because I continue to see these sort of cases on a day to day basis. The first barrier is of course, the education and language barrier, as people hailing from illiterate families or from vernacular backgrounds, don’t even realise how grave the danger of this disease really is. Then there are the educated masses who just aren’t aware of exactly how prevalent the disease truly is. A portion of the blame is with the education system. Propagating older known methods of transmission and older known symptoms; people seem to find it incredulous when I tell them that a rabid mother dog could pass on the virus to her pups through placenta or milk. Misguided good Samaritans try to help dogs that are “choking” or seem to be incapacitated when they’re actually rabid and they could be exposing themselves to the infection too. And of course there’s my most favoured group of people who rave and rant and refuse to listen to reason or logic or scientific explanation. We deal with a fair few of that charming lot too.

The only way I find it easier to fall asleep at night is that I know that every day gives me the opportunity to educate at least one more person; make one more individual realize the magnitude of the problem we are facing today. If empowering just one person at a time could ensure that at least one dog isn’t succumbing to this truly heinous disease, I know that it’s a life saved and a good deed done. And on the days when the odds are insurmountable, looking back at how far we’ve come in the last four years is what helps me keep going.