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

On enrichment, responsibility, loss, and the quiet lessons our dogs leave behind

There is a version of pet ownership that looks cute on Instagram.
And then there is the real version — the one that smells like bone broth simmering on a stove, ear wipes at bedtime, puzzle feeders scattered across the yard, and the quiet acceptance that love requires time you often feel you don’t have.

This chapter is about the latter.

Enrichment Isn’t Optional — Even When You’re Tired

Over the years, I’ve learned that enrichment isn’t a luxury for dogs — it’s a responsibility. And if I’m honest, it’s something I’ve grappled with.

There was a time when walks were outsourced to a pet sitter because work consumed me. There were periods where “exercise” meant letting the dogs run around the back yard while I stayed glued to a laptop or phone call, convincing myself that proximity was enough.

What I know now — especially as my dogs get older — is this:
they need as much stimulation as they did when they were puppies.
Just differently.

For us, enrichment looks like:

• Outdoor time running freely in the yard
• Food puzzles at mealtime
• “Seek and find” dinners hidden in their tunnel
• Lamb bones at Christmas that they each joyfully cannibalised
• Dehydrated chicken feet that take real effort (and patience) to get through

Even on days when I’m lazy.
Especially on days when I’m lazy.

Because stimulation isn’t just about burning energy — it’s about engagement. And engagement requires presence.

Food as Care, Not Convenience

What started as a very specific mission — supporting George’s joints — slowly evolved into a fully curated feeding routine that brings me far more joy than I ever expected.

Both George and Bella eat:

• A GI-supportive dry dog food (EN Gastroenteric)
• Organic, locally sourced Trinidadian chicken or turkey bone broth
• Fresh frozen chicken salad as a side

What began as bone broth for George’s limbs has turned into a breakfast-and-dinner ritual that I genuinely love. Watching them inhale their meals — especially as they seek out shiitake mushrooms in the broth like their lives depend on it — is one of those small, grounding pleasures that reminds me why routine matters.

Care has texture.
And care, done consistently, becomes joy.

The Unseen Medical Routines

Behind every “spoiled dog” joke is usually a long list of quiet, necessary care.

For George:

• Liquid Vet Hip & Joint Wellness Syrup with dinner
• Nightly ear cleaning (he’s prone to infections)
• Eye and fold wipes with cleaning pads

For Bella:

• Liv.52 tablets and Vitamin E for immune support
• Careful monitoring due to her sensitive tummy
• Support for bile regurgitation and vomiting
• Surafil syrup for a few days whenever stress — especially separation anxiety — unsettles her stomach

Over the past year, we’ve noticed Bella struggles deeply when left with a sitter. She almost always returns home with an upset tummy, her anxiety written all over her little body. So now, we pre- plan for the anxious stay and return home. Thankful, that we can afford an excellent pet sitting arrangement for our senior pup and anxious diva- because gratitude opens the way to abundance.

All of this to say:
pets are wonderful — but they come with tremendous responsibility.

And responsibility teaches you something vital:
you must put aside time for others.

Dogs, Trinidad, and the Reality of Care

Living in Trinidad adds another layer to this story.

We have what we lovingly call the “local shepherd” — mixed-breed dogs with a resilience that can weather almost anything. Alongside that, there’s the ongoing love affair with designer breeds. And in stark contrast, the heartbreaking reality of stray dogs roaming the streets, with only a few tireless souls trying to rescue, treat, and rehome them.

Vet care is not cheap — though I would argue it’s still cheaper than it should be. And when you find a good vet, you hold onto them with your whole heart.

Because care — real care — is not accidental.

Oona: Loss, Timing, and the Breaking Open

On October 1, 2024, we lost our family Akita, Oona.

She was the first pet my husband and I acquired together — back when he was my boyfriend — and she lived to 13 after an 18-month battle with cancer. We were incredibly fortunate to be able to offer her chemotherapy, which extended her life and gave us another year post-treatment, though it did change her personality in ways we didn’t fully anticipate.

At the time of her decline, she was staying at my parents’ home due to space constraints. My husband was away on a work trip. I was in the middle of an explosive period of change in my career.

My parents — who are known for controlling what they share (more on family dynamics another time) — didn’t tell us how rapidly her health was deteriorating.

The day after my husband left, they said she wasn’t doing well.
Two days later — the same day my career pivot began — we had to accept that she needed to be euthanised.

I will never forget sitting on the floor of my parents’ house, on a video call with my husband, waiting for her to pass, while my phone lit up with work issues.
October 1, 2024 is etched into me.

It felt like an out-of-body experience.

Her death represented so much:

• A changing of the guard
• Deep reflections on marriage, fertility and time
• The removal of blinders about corporate life and culture
• The loss of a being who entered my life just after returning to Trinidad — and just after meeting my husband

When my husband returned from his trip, he collected and brought her ashes home, I broke. Completely.
All the anxiety, grief, exhaustion, and suppressed fear poured out in one moment. I remember seeing the worry on his face as I unravelled — just briefly — into something unrecognisable even to myself.

But I didn’t know then what I know now.

Moments that break you to the core also offer you a choice.

Some people experience life-altering events and learn nothing.
Some come back harder, more closed, more bitter.

For me, Oona’s loss cracked something open.
It forced me to ask how I wanted to shape my life — not just survive it.

What Dogs Teach Us, Even in Loss

The loss of a pet hurts in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. Especially when that pet carries entire chapters of your life within them — much like the loss of a friend.

And yes — I still get annoyed when my old boy George can’t quite hold his poop on the way out to a walk and leaves a little nugget in the garage.

But cleaning up a little poop is priceless compared to the nights when his warm, round body was my source of comfort — when I hugged the life out of him while grieving, sleeping, laughing, or just being still.

The Lesson of This Chapter

So what is this chapter about?

Enrich them — and enrich yourself.

Make the time that your employer, spouse, child — and even you — will not automatically give you.

For me, that looks like:

• Sundays in the yard while they yelp at passing cars and imaginary threats
• Evening training sessions disguised as dinner
• Turning feeding into engagement instead of efficiency
• Choosing discipline over convenience — gently, intentionally

It is purposeful discipline.
And it rewires you.

I’ve lived the life where I didn’t have time — where I was glued to a laptop chasing the wrong things. Now, I am very clear: I am the CEO of my own life. And when you need to pivot, it’s the small moments of joy you’ve protected that will carry you through.

A Small Life Update (Because Balance Matters)

In other news — 30 Soft went well last week. We closed all the move, exercise, and stand rings. Steps were taken. Gold stars all around.

On Friday, I wanted a margarita and truffle fries.
So I had them.

I’m committed to discipline — not rigidity.
Two margaritas didn’t derail anything. Neither did the fries.

What mattered more was sitting on a balcony with my husband, present for a couple quiet hours, and still being home in pj’s by 8:30pm.

A Friday well spent.

For Busy People: Blending Doggy Care with Your Own Well-Being

• Turn feeding time into training time
• Use enrichment toys instead of passive bowls
• Walks count as movement for both of you
• Evening routines create calm — for humans and dogs
• Care is not wasted time; it’s grounding

Closing Thought

Love asks us to slow down.
Dogs don’t need perfection — they need presence.
And in learning how to care for them well, we often learn how to care for ourselves better too.

If no one has told you today — you’re doing enough.
And your dogs know it. 🤍

About the Author

Sarala Rambachan is a corporate attorney, governance advisor, writer, and lifelong dog lover based in Trinidad. She writes about leadership, loss, intention, and the quiet disciplines that shape a meaningful life — often with a canine at her feet and a cup of something warm nearby.

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The things that ask the most of your time often give you back the most clarity.