If someone had warned us back on 11th December 2017 that a tiny beagle, a 30–45-day-old fur missile that had travelled all the way from Patiala to Mumbai would soon become the CEO of our lives and the centre of endless pet-parenting chaos, we would’ve smiled politely and carried on. Little did we know that the moment Milo looked at us from that tired and muddied gang of three pups, the contract was signed. We didn’t adopt him. He recruited us, and thus began our lifelong subscription to pet-parenting chaos.
Like all over-excited first-time pet parents, we prepared for his arrival with unmatched enthusiasm. He had a freshly lined cage for the short journey home, while we, the champions of anticipatory shopping had already bought him a plush bed, a soft blanket, and a bowl big enough to function as a backyard pool. Add to that the five-times-a-day feeding schedule, executed with Mumbai-local precision, always on time, every time, no excuses—and you have the earliest chapter of our ongoing pet-parenting chaos.
His leash-and-dress collection evolved faster than fashion trends. Day one: shoulder-supported leash. Soon after: a name-tagged leash proudly showing the name- MILO KOTNALA. Then: silicone leashes in designer colours from Pet Fest. And the legendary 25-metre “freedom leash” for vacations, which Milo, in his infinite wisdom, allowed us to carry, but almost never use. This, too, was part of the expanding syllabus of pet-parenting chaos.
Instagram didn’t help either. The moment something cute popped up on my feed, we had to get it for him. Today, my social media algorithm is convinced that I am a Beagle researcher, a dog fashion consultant, and possibly a part-time pet influencer. Milo, of course, approves of this additional chapter of pet-parenting chaos.
As a puppy, he chased a horse on Kashid beach with complete confidence and zero strategy. Later, he chased swans at the MTDC guest house like he was starring in his own wildlife reality series.
And then came the truth bomb no one warns you about:
We were not prepared for the enormous responsibility a pet brings.
Travel plans were no longer about flights or convenience. They became a checklist:
- “Does this train have First Class AC?”
- “Is the distance drivable?”
- “How many breaks will Milo need?”
Within the city, despite a Wi-Fi camera faithfully streaming his royal movements, our outings are timed like curfews. Milo must not be kept waiting. He doesn’t bark or scold. He simply looks at you with those eyes, and guilt finishes the job.
Every conversation with relatives, colleagues, vendors, reunion groups, even the plumber or the college reunion invariably includes the same line:
“Aur Milo kaisa hai?”
His health and activities have become a clan-level discussion topic.
Inside the house, the gold-medal event is always the same:
“Who does Milo love the most?”
Claims fly around, but as the proud Dad, let me declare the truth: he sticks with me the most.
(That’s my story and I refuse to edit it.)
During COVID, Milo wasn’t just a pet. He was the emotional pillar, therapist, entertainer, watchdog, and unofficial HR manager. He kept our sanity intact, while managing his own—an achievement worthy of national recognition.
Then came the famous Mumbai rains. In a heroic attempt to keep his feet dry, we tested every shoe known to canine-kind: Velcro, rubber, balloon-style, slip-on, waterproof, rainproof, hope-proof. He hated all of them equally. We even crafted handmade sock-shoes in desperation.
We failed every single time.
Yet all this pet-parenting chaos fades when Milo welcomes you home. That tail-wagging, body-shaking burst of affection is joy in its purest form. An emotion so honest that the world outside simply melts away.
Milo isn’t just a pet.
He’s the heartbeat of the house, the boss of our schedules, the centre of every conversation, the Prince, the CEO Emperor and the reason we laugh louder, live softer, and surrender happily to our ongoing pet-parenting chaos.
Happy Birthday, Prince Milo Kotnala.
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