It features Christina Beckles, the founder of The Sato Project, and is full of heartbreaking descriptions of the conditions at "Dead Dog Beach," a notorious, remote spot on Puerto Rico that really needs no further explanation. Seriously: read at your own risk.
Chewie is a sato from Puerto Rico. As far as I know (and I'd rather not think about it), she never stepped foot on Dead Dog Beach. I adopted her through Stray from the Heart, a small NYC-based rescue organization that partners with Save a Sato in Puerto Rico. I heard about the group through a coworker who'd fostered a few animals with them. Fostering seemed like the perfect solution: if it didn't work out, I'd keep the dog until a permanent home was found. At least I'd get the dog into the right hands.
The woman I spoke to emailed me two photos: one was a Dachshund mix, about a year old, who had already birthed a litter of puppies. The other was a shiny black and brown puppy, about six months old, with soft eyes and dangling paws. Somehow the way she was propped up in front of the camera made her look both sturdy and vulnerable. I quickly filled out the paperwork. In preparation, I headed to my neighborhood pet store with a list of suggested items in hand. After many, many similar shopping experiences with friends' wedding and baby registries, I have yet to feel the same surge of excitement. I was getting a dog! And yet I didn't go overboard: I bought a crate, food, treats, a few toys.
I drove to Kennedy airport on a sticky, late-July afternoon, clutching a folder of documents and a bright red harness and leash. I'd been warned that if the temperature on the tarmac was too hot, the whole operation would be postponed. We waited with several other people in the baggage claim area reserved for large cargo. Suddenly, here they were. The dogs had traveled two to a crate, and I remember waiting for another family to greet their puppy first. Then, it was my turn. I lifted the nervous, huddled furry thing from the back corner of the crate, and she wrapped her paws around my neck and hugged me. In that moment I knew I would never let her go.
I've often thought about what Chewie's life was like before I adopted her. Did she eat garbage off the streets? Was she ever abused? She'd been fostered in a woman's home for about a month before she arrived in New York, and she was immediately affectionate with me. Yet, she's always maintained a sense of nervousness around sudden movements, or strangers. She is not good with small children, and completely motivated by food. And terrified of thunderstorms.
We sometimes run into other satos on the street, and they almost always acknowledge each other with great enthusiasm. It's as if they know where they came from. Maybe they are speaking in silent doggy Spanglish. I didn't intentionally seek out a sato, but it's nice to know that we lucked out on both ends of the leash.
No comments:
Post a Comment