Sarala Life — Life in Chapters: Careers, Canines, Cabernet & Courage

There is a quieter side to my blog.
Less boardrooms, fewer pivots, softer edges.
It smells faintly of dog shampoo, red wine, and whatever candle I forgot was burning while overthinking life on the sofa.

This is that side.

My love affair with dogs started long before curated Instagram breeds and matching harnesses. I grew up with what we call Caribbean shepherds—what Trinis lovingly call pothounds. Mixed-breed, medium to large dogs with personalities bigger than their paws. Loyal. Scrappy. Protective. Dogs who didn’t need papers to prove their worth.

I had big dogs my whole life… until George.

George arrived as an unexpected gift from my then-fiancé at a time when I needed comfort more than I could articulate. A pug. A tiny dog. A bean. I had absolutely no idea what to do with something so small. While George sought comfort from me, he was—without question—my husband’s boy.

What still makes me laugh is the absolute hypocrisy of it all.
“I will never have an inside dog.”
“I will never have a dog on the bed.”

Reader—he was the one who first put George on the bed.
“He’s cold,” he declared.
He was, after all, just a little bean.

And then came Isabella.

Mid-pandemic. Lockdowns. Major projects. Emotional fatigue we were all pretending wasn’t there.

My husband—deemed an essential worker—came home one day having decided he must rescue this miniature pinscher he saw at a pet store. Covered in faeces. Ticks everywhere. Terrified. Anxious. Clearly taken from her mother far too young. Vaccine records that didn’t add up.

I knew nothing about the breed, other than a story he’d told me years ago about a min-pin jumping on him at a vet and him “falling in love.”

Let me tell you—love had a learning curve.

We didn’t know if she would make it. Immediate vet visits. Medication. And then the news: she had to be kept completely separate from George for at least six to eight weeks—possibly longer—for both their protection.

So while my husband went out to work, I stayed home.
Crashing through year-end deadlines.
Potty-training a stubborn dog who refused to listen.
Comforting a now-senior pug who looked at me daily with an expression that clearly said, “What the actual eff is this?”

For six months, Isabella wouldn’t bond. She wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t trust. Everything was separate—feeding, care, routines. I tried to rehome her with my whole heart. Truly. But the breed isn’t well known, and min-pins require stimulation, exercise, patience—not for the faint-hearted.

One evening, I stood at my kitchen island, exhausted, quietly lamenting my life choices.

And Isabella did something unexpected.

She turned her neck into the crook of my shoulder and looked at me.

That was it.

That moment changed everything.

For days afterward, I wondered why then?
Why not earlier? Why not when I needed it most?

But now I know—connection happens when it’s ready. Not when we demand it.

Since then, my life would not be the same without her.

Through career pivots, breakdowns, growth spurts, self-doubt, mistakes, and those days where the question was simply “How will I make it through today?”—my doggies stood with me as family.

They woke with me. Good morning.
They slept with me. Good night.
They hugged me. Slept in with me. Listened while I vented.

They gave me purpose—especially when my husband was out working and life was… well, lifing.

There is something euphoric about squeezing your dogs, looking them in the eyes, and knowing—without words—you are home to someone.

Also: the joy I get from forcing outfits onto them?
Epic. Unmatched. Therapeutic.

Pets teach you about life in ways self-help books never will.

They teach patience—especially when you’re at the vet again because they can’t speak, while you yourself would be on the verge of death before even considering a doctor’s visit.

They teach humility.
Isabella taught me I am absolutely ready for a two-legged baby—after crying on a bathroom floor over potty training, swollen lungs, GI hospital stays, allergies to stitches, and every possible scare in between.

And yet—worth it. Every time.

Even now, as I’m squeezed into the corner of my own bed, half falling off the edge, with both dogs sleeping on me while my husband enjoys the luxury of space—there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

Christmas, Champagne & Choosing the Present

This Christmas, I decided to embrace my Champagne essence.

I am unapologetically looking forward to nights in with Veuve Clicquot—pouring an ice-cold glass and watching the bubbles rise. Yes, it’s a privilege. And yes, abundance begins with an abundant mindset.

I look at the beautiful bottles I’ve hidden at the back of the pantry, waiting for a special occasion, and I’ve realized something:

What is the special occasion, if not now?

Gratitude for being here. For surviving. For becoming.

I’ll be indulging in my B&G reds. If you follow my Benable list, you already know my love for a good Châteauneuf-du-Pape. I cannot wait to crack one open, over-stuffed on Christmas night, curled up on the sofa.

Day-drinking list?
Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc is back, and yes—Caesar and white absolutely counts as balance. Watch me sneak a salad into Christmas.

And let’s be clear: I firmly subscribe to the ethos that calories do not count from 4pm on Christmas Eve until January 1st. It’s going to be a merry time.

Lessons I Learned This Year (Often With a Dog on My Chest & a Glass in My Hand)

As I look back on the last quarter of blogging—and honestly, the year—it’s clear:

2025 was a year of down-downs and up-ups.

But one of the greatest joys has been learning to stop giving my power away—to situations and people who were never meant to hold it. Not everyone who triggers you deserves access to you.

Here’s what this year taught me, somewhere between fur, wine, and becoming:

• Connection cannot be forced.
  Whether with people or pets, real bonds form when safety, time, and presence align.
• Care is not weakness.
  Loving deeply—dogs, people, yourself—is not naïve. It’s brave.
• You don’t need a crisis to deserve rest or joy.
  Celebration doesn’t need permission.
• Patience changes you.
  Quietly. Slowly. Permanently.
• Consistency matters more than intensity.
  Showing up every day, even imperfectly, is what builds trust—with others and with yourself.
• You are allowed to choose peace over performance.
  Not every situation deserves your explanation, your energy, or your emotional labor.
• The present moment is the occasion.
  Drink the champagne. Light the candle. Cuddle the dogs.

So here I am—on the eve of the eve of Christmas week—grateful. Softer. Wiser. Still learning.

Next week?
We’ll see.

But for now, I’ll be right here.
With fur on my clothes.
A glass in my hand.
And a heart that knows it’s exactly where it’s meant to be.

Here’s to soft evenings, loyal hearts, good wine, and learning—slowly—that becoming is just as sacred as arriving.

🖋️ About the Author (Canines & Cabernet Edition)

Shalini S. Rambachan is a Caribbean-based corporate attorney, governance advisor, and writer navigating life between boardrooms and becoming. When she’s not advising on strategy, law, or leadership, she’s on the sofa with her dogs, a glass of something thoughtfully chosen, and a deep appreciation for the quieter lessons life teaches. Canines & Cabernet is her reminder that success can be soft, joy can be intentional, and love often has four legs.

🕯️Clue of the Week

My dogs have taught me more about patience, presence, and unconditional love than any leadership course ever could…so pour the Champagne and create that moment.

🕊️ Call to Action

What’s something in your life you’ve been saving for “someday”? Maybe this season is your permission slip.