Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street

A personalised storybook starring Shreya, age 10

On World Rabies Day, Shreya sets up a seven-column ledger at her compound gate to track the four street dogs her grandmother Ammamma has fed for years. What starts as a simple school project turns into a real morning of work — calling the Municipal Corporation helpline, learning how rabies actually spreads, and discovering that keeping the neighbourhood safe means paying attention, not being afraid. Along the way she meets a dog she'd always avoided and learns he's the softest of them all.

Cover of Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street
Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 1

Shreya taped a big sheet of paper to the compound gate before breakfast. Seven columns, ruled with her steel scale: dog name, coat colour, feeding street, last-seen date, tail-wag friendliness, vaccination status, next check-in. September 28 was World Rabies Day, her teacher had said, and Shreya had decided this would not be just another date on the calendar. Ammamma peered over her shoulder, amused. Four dogs, Shreya announced. I'm going to find out about all four of them today.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 2

First up was Bruno, brown and white, who slept outside the tea stall. Shreya approached slowly, the way Ammamma had taught her, letting him sniff her hand first. His tail thumped twice against the ground. Friendly, she wrote, then paused at the vaccination column. She didn't actually know. That's when she realised her ledger had a hole in it — four columns she could guess, three she couldn't fill without help.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 3

Ammamma dialled a number stuck to the fridge — the Municipal Corporation's animal helpline — and put it on speaker. A calm voice answered questions Shreya hadn't even thought to ask. The rabies virus travels through infected saliva, the officer explained, usually from a bite. Shreya's pencil paused mid-air. She'd always thought it was something in the air, like a cold. It wasn't. It needed a bite or a lick on a cut to pass along.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 4

Next came Kali, black and quick, who lived near the flower seller's cart. Shreya crouched at a careful distance. Kali's ears went back, unsure. Not too friendly yet, Shreya wrote honestly, because a good ledger tells the truth, not just what you hope. The flower seller called out that Kali had gotten her shot in June from a camp van. One down, thought Shreya, feeling like a real detective now.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 5

Then there was Bhutu — big, growling voice, scarred ear, the dog Shreya had always crossed the street to avoid. Her hand hovered on the gate latch. Ammamma nudged her forward instead. Bhutu lumbered up, sniffed her shoe, and to Shreya's utter surprise, flopped sideways for a belly rub, tail going like a fan. Loudest bark, softest heart, Shreya wrote, laughing at how wrong she'd been about him for two whole years.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 6

Last was Sheru, the guard-dog look-alike who patrolled near the parking lot. Ammamma reached into an old biscuit tin and pulled out a folded paper — proof Sheru had been vaccinated eight months back at a free camp. One shot of the ARV vaccine gives about a year of protection, the helpline officer had said. Shreya counted on her fingers. Sheru had four months left. She circled his next check-in date in red.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 7

By afternoon the ledger was full — four names, four stories, three vaccinated, one appointment to book. Shreya read it aloud to Ammamma like a school report. The helpline officer had mentioned something else too: India had joined the World Health Organization's United Against Rabies plan, promising that by 2030, no person in the country would die from rabies at all. That's a big promise, Shreya said. It needs small people like us to keep it, Ammamma replied.

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Shreya's Ledger for the Dogs of Gate Street — illustration for page 8

Shreya pinned the finished ledger to the gate where every neighbour walking past could read it — dog names, dates, and a note in her neatest handwriting: Sheru needs his booster by January. She felt lighter than she had all week, the way you do after finishing something that actually mattered. Four dogs looked back at her through the gate bars, tails moving, safe for one more year, and watched over by someone who'd bothered to ask their names.

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