Chutki – The Daughter I Never Knew I Needed

The first time I heard the word “Rottweiler,” I imagined a beast—fierce, formidable, and definitely not something you cuddle with on a lazy Sunday afternoon. In fact, the breed is banned in some countries. The name itself conjures images of a canine warrior, built like a tank, eyes like searchlights, tail like a baton of authority. So, when my 8-year-old son Aryan clung to a tiny Rottweiler puppy back in August 2014 and declared, “I’m not going home without her,” my brain went into full parental panic mode.

We were at Petsitters, a quaint kennel on the outskirts of Pune, just picking up Chulbul—our gentle giant of a Great Dane—after a summer vacation. Shalaka, the warm and wise owner of Petsitters and our dear friend, was thrilled to see Aryan and casually mentioned her Rottweiler had recently delivered a litter of five. “Come see them,” she offered.

And that was that.

My wife, a lifelong dog lover, and Aryan, who practically grew up wrapped in Chulbul’s ears, needed no further convincing. I, a self-professed non-dog person, was simply outvoted—and in hindsight, eternally blessed.

Inside a softly lit hall, behind a cordoned-off space, were five little blobs of black and brown fur—wobbly, wide-eyed, and entirely unaware of the reputation they carried. Among them, the one with the purple collar caught our eye—not because she was eager, but because she wasn’t. She was quiet, hesitant, perhaps cautious. And then, like fate had pressed “play” on an old soul connection, she climbed into Aryan’s lap and nestled in.

Four days later, we brought her home. Aryan had already named her: Chutki. A name as light and joyful as the little sister she was meant to be to Chulbul.

A Rottweiler Like No Other

Chutki didn’t enter our lives. She enveloped us.

Despite everything you’d expect from her breed, Chutki was calm, composed, and infinitely kind. Her eyes held a depth that defied explanation—soft, wise, expressive, as if she was constantly whispering love into the world through her gaze. Unlike any Rottweiler stereotype, she didn’t growl. She didn’t intimidate. She gently nuzzled her way into everyone’s hearts.

Visitors—dog lovers or not—became her fans. Her shy nudges for affection, her quiet insistence on being noticed, her irresistible charm… she turned skeptics into believers, fear into fondness. Many of our friends who never considered having a dog found themselves adopting their own after meeting Chutki. There was a Bruno. A Zara. A Coco. A Keeba. All different breeds, all different souls. But the inspiration? Unmistakably Chutki.

When Love Teaches You Grief—and Grace

When Chulbul passed away, Chutki was just four. She grieved, yes—but in the most astonishing way, she became our healer. She filled the silence Chulbul left with quiet love and resilience. While we stumbled through our sorrow, she stood by, a silent sentinel, offering comfort with every wag of her tail and every sleepy nuzzle.

For four long years, through my own struggles with depression, it was Chutki’s unspoken therapy that kept me afloat—her head gently resting on my lap during nights I didn’t want to face, her soft breathing anchoring me to something still beautiful in the world.

Aryan, now 12, was growing, evolving, understanding loss and life. And when Chutki left us just a few days ago, his words on social media made my heart break and swell at once:

“I remember choosing her. Out of all the Rottweiler gang, she was sitting beside silently. She’s always been the most docile dog, never once did she ever bite or growl at anybody. I will always LOVE YOU, CHUTKI! You were there when we were at our lowest. I’m lucky to have you. Rest in peace, Cutie.”

The Duplicate Rottweiler

We often joked that Chutki must’ve been a counterfeit Rottweiler. She never barked without purpose, never showed aggression, and the only time she raised her voice was to beg for the white pedha we tried to hide during Diwali. Her character seemed more a tribute to Chulbul’s legacy than any genetic blueprint. She wasn’t fierce; she was poetry in fur.

Even as age crept in—bringing with it joint pain and fatigue—Chutki remained a radiant beam of affection. Her steps slowed, but her spirit never did. Every time we walked through the door, she greeted us like we were her entire world. And we were.

Now, the silence of her absence is deafening. I still wake up at night, half-expecting to feel her curled beside me. I still reach out instinctively to touch her head. Her memory is everywhere—and yet, she’s nowhere.

Chutki—Our Forever Daughter

If there were ever a soul who blurred the lines between pet and family, between dog and divine, it was Chutki. She wasn't a dog. She was a daughter. She was our peace, our lesson in patience, our unexpected therapist, our joy.

And if life were to offer me a chance to adopt again—be it human or canine—I’d have just one condition: make her a Chutki.

Chutki, I will always love you. You were the daughter I never knew I needed, and the love I never thought I deserved. Thank you for choosing us.