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Hi there.

You just signed up for Fluffity, which means a few things are about to happen. Let me walk you through them, because if you're anything like me when I signed up to my first dozen newsletters, you have no idea what's coming next.

First — meet Zeemo. He's a Shih Tzu, he's two years old, he is the world's most photographed bow-tie-wearer, and he is the reason any of this exists.

When I brought him home, I had no idea what I was doing. I Googled the same panicked midnight questions every new pet parent in India Googles — and got answers that were either dangerous, irrelevant (turkey-based food, cold-climate advice, brands that don't exist here), or buried in a WhatsApp group with 247 unread messages.

Fluffity is the brand I wished existed back then.

Here's what's coming to your inbox over the next ten days:

• Wednesday — Zeemo's first park drama. A small lesson in adolescent socialising disguised as a story about him getting outraged by another Shih Tzu.
• Friday — The five things on Zeemo's grooming shelf after two years. And the eight things we sent back.
• Monday — What "DHPPi-L" actually means. Plus what your vet probably forgot to explain.
• Wednesday next — Ten Indian pet parents on what they wish they'd known on Day 1.

After that you'll get a short letter from me five mornings a week. Three minutes to read. One photo. One useful thing. Sometimes a product pick (I will always tell you what to skip, too). No spam. No "ULTIMATE GUIDE TO 47 THINGS YOUR DOG NEEDS." No baby talk.

If something doesn't land — just hit reply and tell me. The newsletter is small enough right now that I read every reply personally. Zeemo doesn't read his.

Welcome aboard.

Pune, India

There's a particular indignation only a Shih Tzu can deliver, and Zeemo delivered it in full last Tuesday at Empress Garden.

We were doing our normal evening loop — same bench, same patch of grass where he investigates the same five smells he investigates every day, as if forensic accounting were involved — when another Shih Tzu came around the corner. Same breed. Same coat colour. Same general vibe. Her name, I would later learn, was Pickle.

Zeemo froze.

Then he made a sound I have not heard him make before or since. Somewhere between a growl, a sneeze, and a question. He looked at me as if to say: what is this. why is there another one of me. fix this.

Pickle, for the record, was delighted. She bounded over. Zeemo backed up. Pickle bounded closer. Zeemo backed up further. Pickle's human and I locked eyes and started laughing.

We extracted ourselves with all the dignity we could muster.

Here is the thing I wish someone had told me about adolescent dog socialisation, because nobody did and I had to discover it through about six embarrassing park visits:

The 6-to-10-month window is when polite puppies become opinionated adolescents. They were friendly before. They are now particular. About other dogs, about strangers, about the doorbell, about the broom. This is not a regression. It is not bad behaviour. It is your dog growing up.

What helps

• More structured exposure, not less. When a dog starts being uncertain about other dogs, the instinct is to avoid the situation. The actual answer is more practice, in lower-stakes settings — quiet park hours, a single calm dog, controlled introductions on lead.
• Don't apologise for them. Indian park culture especially treats a snappy dog like a moral failing. They're not bad, they're 8 months old. Treat the awkward moment matter-of-factly.
• Find their off-switch. Walks should end with calm, not exhaustion. A dog that is constantly stimulated is a dog that struggles to socialise.

Zeemo and Pickle have since had three more park encounters. The most recent ended with both of them lying down two meters apart, ignoring each other intentionally. Progress.

Wednesday's letter is about the actual stuff on Zeemo's grooming shelf — the things that survived eighteen months and the things that didn't. See you then.

Pet stores will sell you twenty-seven things. You need about five.

Here are the five items that have actually earned their place on Zeemo's grooming shelf — the ones that lasted, that he tolerates, and that I'd buy again tomorrow. Followed by the eight things we tried, returned, donated, or quietly hid in a drawer.

This is not sponsored. Some of these are affiliate links (clearly marked). When you buy through one, Fluffity earns a small commission. When I don't think a thing is worth it, I tell you.

What stayed on the shelf

1. A slicker brush — Trixie soft slicker, ~₹350. For Shih Tzu coats it's non-negotiable. We brush every other day to catch the mats before they form. The cheap ones at pet stores have wires that bend; this one hasn't bent in 18 months. [affiliate link]

2. Earth Rated lavender wipes, ~₹420 a pack. For between-walks paw cleanup. The lavender scent is gentle, doesn't trigger his sneezes, and the wipes are thick enough they don't tear when you actually clean a paw. We go through about a pack a month.

3. A no-tear puppy shampoo — Furrish, ~₹380. Indian breeds and apartment dogs need bathing every 3–4 weeks max. This shampoo doesn't strip the coat and doesn't leave him itchy. The fancier French brand we tried for 3 months gave him dandruff.

4. A microfiber drying robe — DryPro, ~₹1,400. This sounds bourgeois. It is the single best thing we ever bought. Post-bath, you wrap him for 8 minutes, the coat air-dries 60% of the way, and there is no hair dryer trauma. Worth the price.

5. A pair of curved-tip scissors, ~₹250 from a beauty store, not a pet store. For the eye-hair trim that every long-coated dog needs every 10 days. Pet store grooming scissors are 5x the price and identical.

What didn't survive

• Electric grooming clippers (₹3,500) — too loud, Zeemo refused them, we now go to a groomer for the body trim every 8 weeks.
• "Doggy cologne" — please.
• A dematting comb that pulled out more hair than mats.
• Three different "chew toys for dental health" he ignored.
• A silicone "lick mat" that he chewed into pieces inside a week.
• Pet store nail clippers — buy human ones (₹120, sharper).
• "Tear stain remover" that did not, in fact, remove tear stains.
• A grooming table. He weighs four kilograms. We use the dining table.

Total spend on the stay-list: ~₹2,800. Total spend on the fail-list before we learned: ~₹6,500. Hopefully this saves you some of the second number.

Monday's letter: vaccinations decoded.

When Zeemo got his first vaccinations, the vet handed me a small card with abbreviations on it. DHPPi-L. R. C. KC. He pointed at it briskly and said "next one in 21 days." He moved on to the next consultation. The whole visit took 8 minutes.

I drove home with no idea what I had just paid ₹1,200 for.

So — here's what those abbreviations actually mean. Print this, screenshot it, keep it somewhere. It's the single most useful thing I'm sending you this week.

The decoder

• D — Distemper. A nasty viral disease that hits the nervous system. Mandatory, the big one.
• H — Hepatitis (canine adenovirus). Affects the liver. Mandatory.
• P — Parvovirus. The one you've heard horror stories about — affects the gut, usually fatal in unvaccinated puppies. Mandatory.
• Pi — Parainfluenza. Part of the "kennel cough" complex. Mandatory.
• L — Leptospirosis. Bacterial, transmitted through water and rat urine — relevant in Indian monsoons. Mandatory in most Indian metros.
• R — Rabies. Legally required in India. Annual booster for life.
• C — Coronavirus (the canine one, unrelated to COVID). Optional. Many vets in India include it; some Western protocols skip it. Talk to your vet.
• KC — Kennel Cough (Bordetella). Recommended if your dog goes to boarding, grooming, or dog parks regularly. Optional otherwise.

What to ask your vet at the first visit

• Which of these is mandatory and which is optional? (You have the right to ask.)
• What's the exact schedule — when's the next one, and how many more after that? Most puppy series are 3–4 visits in the first 16 weeks.
• What if my pet has a mild reaction — what's normal vs. when do I call you? Get the answer before you need it.

What you should actually pay

In urban Indian metros, a full primary vaccination course (4 visits) typically costs ₹3,500–₹6,500 total — depending on city and clinic. If a clinic is quoting you more than ₹2,000 per visit for routine vaccinations, that's on the high side.

Annual boosters thereafter: ₹600–₹1,200 per visit.

One thing nobody tells you

After every vaccination, Zeemo is a slightly grumpy raccoon for 6–8 hours. Slightly tired, slightly off his food, slightly clingy. This is normal. Genuine red flags are: vomiting, swelling at the injection site, refusing water, or extreme lethargy lasting more than 24 hours. If you see any of those, call the vet.

Wednesday's letter: what 10 readers wish they had known on Day 1. I've been collecting reader replies all week — some of them are excellent.

This is general guidance, not medical advice. For your pet's specific situation, talk to a vet.

Last week I asked: what's the one thing you wish someone had told you on Day 1 of being a pet parent?

The replies kept coming all week. I read every one. Some of them broke my heart, some of them made me laugh out loud at my desk, and the most popular response was, by a wide margin: "that this would change everything."

Here are the ten that stayed with me most. I've edited gently for length and removed last names — first names and cities only.

If you have one to add — reply to this email. The collection grows every week and I feature 3–5 readers per quarter in Friday "Real Parents" editions.

You've now finished the Fluffity welcome series. Starting next week you'll get the regular five-a-week schedule. Mondays for Zeemo. Tuesdays for product picks. Wednesdays for the Joy Beat. Thursdays for vet talk. Fridays for the wider community.

Welcome in, properly. Glad you're here.

Pune, India