Today would have been Diva's 15th birthday. We always called her “our first dog.” Even though both of us have had pets earlier, Diva felt like the first in so many ways. She taught us so much during her time with us.
Until then, we weren’t even familiar with the breed and had to do a bit of research to understand what made beagles special. Originally bred in the UK as hounds for hunting, they later became popular as family pets because of their docile nature and compact size. They are full of energy—friendly, affectionate, and gentle. Ironically, the same qualities that make them perfect family dogs also make them the most commonly used breed in laboratory experiments—a terrible price to pay for being such good dogs.
Even today, beagles are used in labs across the world, mainly to test the effects of toxins, pesticides, and pharmaceuticals. Pups would be separated from their mothers, and put into solitary 3’x2’ cages from which they would not see other dogs, or even hear them if their vocal chords had been removed. They would be euthanised after they ceased to be useful, or to have their bodies examined for effects of chemicals or treatments. Every time we use a cosmetic, a shampoo, or even a new drug, countless souls like these are sacrificed
In 2015, India passed a law requiring that test dogs must be rehabilitated either after the completion of a project or once they reach three years of age, whichever comes first. So every year, hundreds of beagles are released from labs across India.
But the difficult truth is freedom isn’t easy for them. These dogs grow up in captivity. Sunlight, human touch, the smell of grass—these are all alien to them. Most have never been outdoors, never breathed fresh air, never felt earth under their paws. They arrive scared, frozen, and vulnerable. Rehabilitation is a slow process that requires patience, gentle socialization, and the strength to face many setbacks.
When we first read about this, our hearts broke, and we felt compelled to adopt one. The first time we came across news of beagles being released was in early 2013, soon after we got married. But we were in Kerala then, and with Ram already caring for seven dogs, adopting another that needs dedicated care wasn’t possible. It wasn’t until 2016, when we moved back to Bangalore and heard of the largest release of 156 beagles,soon after the change in law, that we decided to apply. The adoption process was meticulous and extremely stringent., and we were fortunate to be selected. On the adoption day, we arrived during their feeding time, and she was sitting in the middle of the kennel, quietly observing us-and in that moment, we knew she was ours. That’s how ID#2012 came into our lives. We named her DIVA.
When she came home, she didn’t know how to interact with us or even with everyday things in the house. It was clear that lab beagles( or "freagles" as they are called) aren’t like “regular” dogs. They have to learn everything for the first time—what a house is, how to drink from a bowl, how to walk on a leash, how to climb stairs. Even space itself was intimidating after years spent in body-sized cages. During her early days, Diva would sit in one corner and shiver at every small movement in the house—even at her own reflections or shadows. Her tail was always tucked in , a pressure cooker whistle or even a loud sneeze would send her running to hide. She wouldn’t come near us or eat from our hands. Simply put, she didn’t know how to “be a dog.”
Diva had spent six years in isolation—surrounded only by people in white coats. She had never seen a full human face, only masked ones. She had never felt a warm hand on her skin, only gloved touches.No one even gave her a name or called her lovingly. She never made a sound, which made us believe her vocal cords had been removed. Those were truly heartbreaking times.
Thankfully, we had the support of a community called Beagle Brigade, consisting of adoptive families, counselors, and volunteers. They guided us with practical, no-nonsense caregiving advice—what to feed, how to secure the home, and how to manage the high flight risk in the first few months. We baby-proofed everything: netted the balconies, installed gates at the doors, and always kept a collar with an ID tag on her. For walks, only a martingale collar was safe. She would eat only Pedigree and curd and refused the home-cooked chicken and vegetables we made for her. It took a long time before she even touched homemade meals.
It felt like a huge win when she first ate a treat directly from my hand, or when she came to us for petting, or even the very first time she wagged her tail at the sight of us. I still remember the first time she abandoned her hiding spot and came to our room to sleep next to our bed. From then on, that became her spot—every morning when I woke up, she was my first “kani.” For years, that little space was hers alone, and now, seeing it empty feels unbearably strange.
But it wasn’t all wins—there were plenty of setbacks along the way. Take car rides, for instance. The very first time, she surprised us by taking it so sportively that we thought we were in the clear. But the next trip was a disaster—she drooled nonstop, her eyes wide with panic, until we actually considered abandoning the journey midway. It took us a while to realize what was wrong: the newspapers we had spread on the seat made a faint rustling sound that terrified her. Another time, in Coorg, we had booked a homestay set up like a Rajasthan-style tent.Something about it unsettled her—we never figured out what—but before we knew it, she had leapt off the 6-foot-high basement on which the tent was built. My heart stopped in that moment, but thankfully, she didn’t bolt, and we managed to secure her right away. There were many such moments—unexpected jolts of fear that gripped her—even after she had been with us for years. Each incident was a reminder of the shadows of her past, shadows that took time, patience, and love to gently soften.
Six months after adopting Diva, we brought home Hachi so that she could learn the ways of being a dog. And she did—slowly, by watching him, she began to trust us more, explore more, and even squeeze in for petting whenever he came to us.
Over time, she even started stealing his food and bedding, but Hachi, being the perfect gentleman, tolerated all her naughtiness. The two of them developed a quiet bond of understanding.
Whenever we went out, both of them waited by the door, and the moment we returned she celebrated with her zoomies, her howl, and her frantic tail wagging, as if that moment was the highlight of her day. She would quietly slip under the table during family meals, not asking for food but simply wanting to be part of us.
Even though we had challenges with car rides initially, she soon became a pro and joined us on all our trips. Once, she even modeled for the Scenic Munnar – IHCL SeleQtions Pawcations Room during our stay there.
A relaxed car ride
A modeling gig—paid entirely in kibbles ❤️
She showed us unconditional love with those soft, knowing eyes that seemed to read our moods. When life felt heavy, she brought calm just by being near, her steady breathing grounding us. She was our silent companion, our listener, our comforter—teaching us that love doesn’t always need words.
She had her own gentle wisdom too. When we rushed, she slowed us down with her stubborn little pauses on walks, as if telling us to notice the world around us. Back when we lived in a gated layout, where cars were parked along the lanes in front of each villa, she had this funny habit—she had to sniff every single tyre of every car, as though she was piecing together all their travel stories 🙂
By the time we moved to Kochi, she had slowed down even more, so we let her off-leash in the nearby ground. That became her little world—she loved exploring every plant, every bit of debris, and every vehicle parked there, a true adventurer on her own terms.
When she suddenly started throwing up one day, we thought it was just a food issue and took her to a local vet. They prescribed kidney medication based on some assumptions and never investigated further, even though we pleaded with them. Honestly, I’ve been deeply disappointed with veterinary services in Kerala; we’ve seen this pattern too many times—from Bebu to Amy to Hachi and many of our cats who might have lived longer had the correct cause been diagnosed and treated on time.
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In her happy mood the day before she threw up and in 10 days she vanished 😪
That’s why we took her to Bangalore, where she was admitted and was finally diagnosed with a growth in her stomach that prevented her from digesting any food. Because of her advanced age, they advised us to put her to sleep. But we couldn’t bear the thought of her slipping away in a hospital, scared.
What stays with us the most is how, though frail, our girl seemed to hold on until we drove back to Kerala and reached home. It felt as though she was waiting for that one last night with us—her safe place. That night, she slept peacefully by our side, and the next afternoon she slipped away quietly, sparing us the pain of making an impossible decision. In her final act, she gave us the greatest gift of all: the comfort of knowing she left on her own terms, surrounded by the people who loved her most.
Adopting a lab beagle is one of the hardest things anyone can do—and also one of the most rewarding. Diva was living proof of that. She came to us as a frightened, silent dog, but grew into a loving, trusting soul who gave us more than we could ever give her.
PS: If you are interested to adopt a freagle, this is the place to apply : https://freaglesofindia.org/
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