I got a text from Kelly the other day, asking if I could photograph some puppies and their mom. Um, yes! Of course, I said yes.
It was a good day for puppies. Some days just have a drib-drab about them, and I’ve been having a spell of those days lately. But when these five five-week old puppies showed up on my doorstep for their photo shoot, the melancholy scampered away.
Puppies!
Mama dog, Canela, had been rounded up by an animal control officer. The little chihuahua-dachshund-terrier (?) mix was close to her due date, and a call had been made to One More Dog Rescue to help. Canela ended up with a foster mom who doubled as midwife, helping her deliver six beautiful puppies a couple of days later. Two days later, Ash died–he had been the smallest and the only black puppy in the brood. The remaining five caramel and vanilla colored pups are Paprika and Safflower (girls) and Dill, Juniper, and Rue boys. By the looks of the babes, dad had a good helping of Cocker Spaniel in him. They are five-and-a half-weeks old now, and starting to come into their personalities. When they aren’t sleeping, they are chasing mom Canela for milk. Canela kept good watch on her puppies, but she was also ready to play like a puppy herself. All of these sweeties will be up for adoption soon on the One More Dog Rescue site.
And…here are the puppies!
If you are a dog lover, please ADOPT from, FOSTER for, VOLUNTEER with, or DONATE to a rescue group. Ditto for cat lovers. Support Spay/Neuter programs in your city. And please, take great care of all animals.
A few weeks ago, one of the rescue groups I photograph for texted me: “Carol! We have another puppers…PALEEEEEEEEZ…”
And of course, there was a photo.
I looked at the scared little pup behind bars.
“Honey, can we keep this little one for a week or so,” I asked my husband, out of courtesy.
The next day, a skinny puppy greeted me at my front door when the doorbell rang. Tig marched in to the house, dancing around and stumbling in that awkward puppy way. We marveled at her cement and peat moss colors, her blue-green eyes, her rat tail with the dark grey tip.
She had been dropped off at the shelter a day before because she had diarrhea. Maybe she’d only been gone from her mother and siblings a week? a month? No one will ever know. That part of her story will be her secret. But she didn’t seem to have eaten a good meal in a while. We picked her up–all of 4 or 5 pounds maybe. A sack of squirming bones. We put down food immediately. And she inhaled it.
The rescuers left a bit later–and Tig stared at us with a “Now what?” look. We took her out for a tinkle. “Good puppy!” we over-the-top exclaimed and brought her back in. Five minutes later, there was a puddle in the kitchen and a pile in the living room. Teaching a puppy to do business outside is never easy. It takes time and there will be accidents. We were determined and she looked capable, so no worries. We’d work with her for the next 10 days.
And what a 10 days…everything was all about baby Tig. Feeding her little meals 4 times a day to fatten her up. Cooking rice to mix into her food and hopefully put a stop to the diarrhea. Taking her out every 2 hours during the day, and every 3-4 hours overnight. Waking her up to “Good morning Puppy!” and watching her do her yoga stretches before sashaying out of the crate like a princess.
We laughed at her puppy-ness. At the funny way she ran and lost control on the corners. At the way she couldn’t figure out things like the doorbell, dogs barking on TV, or where we went when we stepped out of the chase and stood between furniture. We laughed when she chased us around-and-around the house, growling like a little lawnmower, and suddenly stopped and dropped on her bed for a nap. She couldn’t do stairs–up or down. We carried her. She figured out “up” later in the week, but down was still a problem for her after 10 days.
Tig was a fiesty, sassy little being. We tried avoiding her needle teeth and the tiny claws. She chewed on table legs, chair legs, people legs, shoes, toes, fingers, beds, the couch. We got her another chew toy. She added that to the repertoire–without dropping those other favorite chews. She tugged on the back of my pants. Hearing “No!” only made her bark at us and have conniptions of nipping and barking with a ridiculous high-pitched voice that only made us laugh harder. This dog was going to be a handful and a half. Timeouts happened when we picked her up. Holding her calmed her down and turned her back into sweet baby TIg again. I didn’t mind holding her–it gave me an excuse to sniff that puppy smell.
For 10 days, we played, and cleaned up accidents, and fed and fed and fed little Tig. We discovered she loved to lay in the sunshine wherever it fell on the floor or sidewalk. She liked tug-of-war, she preferred to chase versus being chased, she would sit-stay-come for a treat–but only in the kitchen, and trying to coax her down the stairs usually just made her mad. She liked to bite at a stalk of lavender that hung over the sidewalk. Falling leaves had to be chased down and chewed up. She was happy, confident, and crazy and sweet–all at once. Her personality was becoming more and more clear. I felt sad that whoever was adopting her wouldn’t get to see this part of her babyhood.
Tig left our house to go on a cross-country transport to her East Coast fosters in preparation for adoption. She will be adopted soon–if not already. I feel lucky to have spent a precious week of puppy-dom with this little sass. It wore me out, wore me down, and ran us out of paper towels. It convinced us that we may be past our puppy-raising prime. And I just want to tell the adopters…I have Tig’s baby pictures and videos for you when you’re ready. I hope you bring each other lots of joy.
Otto was a boxer. A long-legged, calm, quiet old man. He came to stay with us on Friday, 8/17 around 3:30 p.m.
Otto had been dropped off at a Chicago shelter two weeks before. Rescuers pulled him and took him to a veterinarian for an isolation period necessary because of the presence of contagious kennel cough and dog flu in the shelter. The plan now was for Otto to stay with us for about 10 days for more healing, then move permanently into a home with other boxers where he’d live out his life. But Otto had lymphoma. And after only six days at our house, his two rescuers and I sat surrounding him at a veterinary clinic on the south side of Chicago, and brushed his thin body as he peacefully passed over to the other side.
At the moment I wrote the following, it was Thursday evening. I was back home and it was within two hours of Otto’s passing. I wanted to remember him, to honor him with stories to carry, and to mark the place in my heart where he’d eased into and curled up to stay after only six days. I sat down with a glass of wine and wrote:
On Friday afternoon, 8/17, an emaciated dog stepped out of Kelly and G’s car and walked up my front steps. Otto the Boxer came with a small bag of medications, several cans of dog food, and a rotisserie chicken. He stepped in to my house and walked slowly around, taking polite looks…like a human guest.
He was coming from a clinic, where he’d been for almost two weeks to heal from kennel cough and crud picked up during his time at the shelter before being rescued. Poor old Otto didn’t do well there. He was sick. He was heartbroken. He was missing meals. He lost a lot of weight. Our goal was to feed this boy and make him comfortable so he’d eat and feel better again.
He was silent. He never barked or whined, not even in his sleep. I heard him deep breathing–when you could see his skin pull in between his ribs. A few times I heard him trying to vomit something that never came out. I heard his feet sliding on the hardwood floors as he stood up. I heard him shake off sleep, and I heard him shake off the water whenever he walked under the sprinkler. I heard his toenails drag a little on the sidewalk when we strolled ever so slowly around the block. I heard his stomach churning, and I heard his explosive diarrhea one day. I heard him drink water, and thankfully–finally–I got to hear him EAT. But I never heard him speak.
That first day, he refused most food. Saturday, I walked him to an evening concert in the park just around the corner. He wasn’t supposed to “canoodle” with other dogs, so we stood on the sideline. I asked him if he liked jazz, if he knew what canoodling was, if he liked the smell of grass, if the sound of locust made him love summer. And he wagged his stubby tail and smiled.
Otto followed me. Upstairs, downstairs, room to room, and even to the bathroom. He walked around the back yard with me when I fed the birds. He looked for me, watched for me. He was curious. He stood watch at the door when I set the sprinklers to water the front yard’s new sod. He looked at the back gate when the trash men were in the alley. Always silent. It made him seem strong and protective. He made me feel loved and cared for.
Still, he didn’t really eat–just a bite here or there. We stopped his medications, maybe they were making his stomach hurt too much to eat. On Sunday morning, his rescuers came to see him with tempting foods that other sick dogs give up their hunger-strikes for. Liverwurst and cheese worked that day, but only after Judy put a little in his jowls to give him the taste.
By Monday, he was refusing food again. Kelly and G came over with a different set of pain medications and we began giving him an appetite stimulant–3 tiny syringes of thick liquid squirted into his mouth. He never fought it, or ran away. His pills were hidden in spoonfuls of peanut butter. We started giving him all meat, it’s all he would eat. No more rice mixed in for binding his stools. He just spit rice out anyway–little grains are here, there, and everywhere.
On Tuesday morning, he started eating while on the front porch watching Bryan water the yard. I’d put a little bowl beside him filled with steaming rotisserie chicken–and he leaned over and cleaned that bowl. We always raced around when he started eating–putting more, more, more down, adding variety like hamburger, liverwurst, cheese, McDonald’s sausage patties and burgers. We’d fill dishes up until he was full or tired of the options. At the end of the day, so many bowls were dirty on the counter.
His right leg was swollen when he arrived. On Tuesday, his left leg began to look bigger. It was confirmed he had Lymphoma. G brought cancer meds for him that night.
Lymphoma acts quickly. Rapid weight loss. Otto had been rescued 8/3. Kelly showed us pictures from that day. He was a different dog. Normal looking. Not a sack of bones. He was eating now, because of the appetite stimulant. He slept more on Wednesday. Groggy from the medicines maybe. Wednesday, Bryan made him bacon…which he woke up for, and loved.
It was a hard night Wednesday. He and I had been sleeping downstairs, closer to outdoors and the food in case he woke up hungry. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I woke up to hear him heaving to vomit, again without any result. Hardly drinking overnight, and in the morning, looking even more emaciated…though he was eating.
This morning, it seemed this was coming to an end. We spent a couple of hours outside. He fell asleep in the grass next to me when I was pulling weeds. He made a fast two steps towards a squirrel high on the fence, and then turned to look at me when the squirrel ran away. “Yes, Otto. I saw that.”
A couple of hours later, I sat on the floor with him. Trying to coax him with chicken. He was so sleepy, he only looked with one barely-open eye. So I sat and brushed him for a long, perfectly silent time.
As the conversations and texts started this afternoon about his continued weight loss, possible suffering, diminishing quality of life, and dignity, he woke up and came to sit beside me. Arrangements were made for tonight. I cried. I brushed him again, his head turning into the brush at his neck. He stepped away, and stood for a moment, before walking over to a squeaky toy–and pawing it. The only time he’d seemed interested in play. My heart lifted so hard. He didn’t play, though he did tilt his head when I made the toy squeak and patted it on the floor around his feet. I helped him get on the couch when he asked. But he crawled down when I went to another room to get the camera.
Such a sweet old soul. He followed me around. He looked for me. He adopted me. He stood with me when I made him more bacon this afternoon. As soon as it was ready, he ate some chicken and six pieces of bacon. He refused the seventh piece. He followed me around the house as I got my shoes on and locked up. And then G came. It was six days–to the hour–since Otto had arrived here in our home. Otto and I sat in the backseat, he staring out the open window, and every so often, glancing around at me with a smile.
And so it was that I went with him to the vet tonight, toting the rest of his bacon and a brush for those final moments. I brushed him to sleep, and then they administered the drugs that took him away. At 6:44 p.m., I texted Bryan at work. “He’s gone.”
Now I’m having a glass of wine in honor of Otto. Just like we’ve done for all of our dogs at their passing. A cork with his name on it will go into the bowl and a photo will go on the heaven shelf in my closet. After only six days, he was mine–or I was his.
Tonight, the vet had said he couldn’t even hear Otto’s heart because of the fluids built up. I never heard his voice, but I did hear his heart. Now, I’m listening to a deafening silence. No tags jingling, or feet sliding or bony hips plopping onto hardwood floors, no heavy breathing, no lapping water. No dog follows me to the bathroom, or relocates to sit near me when I move across the room.
Before we left our house tonight, I talked to him about how many people loved him. Otto was surrounded by new friends tonight–people he didn’t even know 20 days ago. But people who cared enough to be with him until the very end. I think he understood.
Those of you who know me, know that I believe with all my heart that dogs are angels. Until we all meet again, please watch over us my pups.
Please visit One More Dog Rescue to learn more, to foster (if you are in the Chicagoland area or in Connecticut), or to make a donation to help other dogs in need. Thank you.
When the cloud cleared, we were already low over the green and red earth of Cuba. The plane tilted left into a turn that positioned us to land in Havana’s Jose Martí airport in about three minutes. I could see that the streets were wet, rain drops now skittered across the plane window. Like a dream window to the past, I could see a few of those old cars moving down a road in the distance, and as we neared our landing, I saw two dogs drinking from a puddle on a dirt road. It’s been three years since I last visited Cuba. Many things have changed, and many have not.
When I last saw Cuba
When I last saw Cuba, I was not part of The Aniplant Project (TAP), a non-profit dedicated to helping the animals of Cuba. I had yet to publish the photo essay and article that TAP’s Les and Charlene Inglis read, that gave them the idea to contact me to join them. The last time I visited Cuba, Fidel was alive, Raul was President, and Obama had not yet visited. The place had been mobbed with USA visitors after Obama’s trip, and now, not as many. The last time I walked in Havana in March 2015, veterinary clinics were open. Many pets were receiving at least basic care, and were being spayed/neutered and vaccinated in proper clinics.
Fast forward to 2018
Since 2015, some big things have changed. But let’s skip the politics and talk about the ugly change that impacted the animals.
Veterinary clinics across Havana were closed in Spring 2017. Some people say it was because of improper medical waste disposal, others say it was because medicines were disappearing from people hospitals. Regardless of the reason, it has had a negative impact on the health of animals. Keep in mind, there are still no animal shelters in Cuba.
Animals are turned out to the streets when people can’t or won’t care for them. Street cat populations have swelled. Every corner in Havana that has a trash dumpster will also have at least 2-3 cats and maybe a litter of kittens living there. More visitors to Cuba are writing us to report the sad, sick state of the animals on the streets, more tourists have seen the cruel treatment of animals in Santeria rituals, and Zoonosis round-ups. Without veterinary clinics, fewer animals have been sterilized, vaccinated, and treated for fleas/ticks, mange, or parasites. And as a result of fewer sterilizations in the last year, more animals are going hungry and suffering on the streets. It is overwhelming to see.
Cuba is working on reopening veterinary clinics in Havana. It is taking a lot of time, and paperwork. It is frustrating for many and requires patience from all.
On-going care for the animals
Despite the setbacks, Aniplant continues to do sterilization campaigns around Havana. While the clinic was closed like all the others (and because ~20 dogs are sheltered there), it does not prevent Aniplant from going into neighborhoods to spay/neuter pets and area strays. Sterilization work continues because of Nora Garcia, President of Aniplant and because of the resources supplied by TAP Animal Project (formerly The Aniplant Project).
TAP Animal Project believes that the number one way to end the suffering of animals on the streets is through mass sterilization campaigns. Why? Consider this:
Female cats can breed three times a year, and have on average 4 kittens per litter. That’s another 12 cats in just one year from just one cat. Multiply that by the kittens having babies who have babies, etc…and in just seven years, that’s more than 400,000 new cats. Where will they go?
Maybe you are a dog person? Female dogs can breed twice a year and have 6-10 puppies per litter. In seven years, that’s about 97,000 new dogs. Where will they go?
Without sterilization campaigns, the population of animals will multiply and multiply and multiply, ad nauseam. More and more innocent dogs and cats will be left to fend for themselves and to suffer harsh lives and cruel deaths. The best long-term solution is spay/neuter, and Cuba needs more of it.
TAP Animal Project supports ANIPLANT’s spay/neuter mission
TAP recently changed names in order to expand sterilization campaigns beyond Aniplant. The Aniplant Project became TAP Animal Project in May 2018, and continues to be a 501(c)(3) non-profit, incorporated in Florida, and operating from Chicago. TAP believes that with supporters’ continued help, there is capacity to do more mass sterilizations in Cuba. It’s not going to be easy. There are many regulations around the importation of anesthesia and who in Cuba can receive it. There are issues of facilities, of veterinarians, of certifications, and of access to other needs like TNR traps, transportation, antibiotics, etc. It’s Cuba. It’s complicated. Change is rarely easy. But for healthy pets, healthy people, and the happiness of our animal-loving souls, it’s worth it.
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted, tree-hugging, Nashville born-and-raised photographer living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.Select Cuba photos are available for purchase on Etsy.
I can’t stop thinking about the little village of Lefkes, and the old dog who found us there. Even now, I check the weather for the village two or three times a day, wondering where the old dog is and how she’s faring in the rain, the sun, the cold nights. Has she eaten? Does she have water? Is she comfortable?
Lefkes, Paros
The village is on the Greek Island of Paros. It’s a traditional place with bright whitewashed buildings, Aegean blue shutters and doors, and narrow lanes that could be public paths or private spaces. There is an organic feel to the architecture here–like the old buildings have germinated from the hillside, squeezing in next to each other, into any empty spits of land. No two are the same shape. The village is a warren of stone paths climbing up and winding down the hillside, each lane hugged tight by these cottages. Stairs and doorsteps rise off of the lanes, varying in width from top to bottom, making wise use of their space. Trees and vines rise up out of tiny bits of open ground.
An Old Soul Finds Us
We arrived by bus one morning. It was pre-tourist season, on a less-traveled-to island, in a village that doesn’t get many tourists anyway. Quiet, but for the buzzing of bees and the wind in the lanes. Fresh with the scent of orange blossoms, wisteria, and the crisp air of a cool spring morning.
After admiring a peaceful cemetery that carried down the hill behind the Church of Agia Triada, I returned to the front courtyard to see that a dog had found Bryan.
She appeared ancient–black and bony, with a proud, gray face and hunchbacked hips. She allowed us to pet her, and then started walking away down the lane, stopping to look back at us with an expression that asked, “aren’t you coming?”. We followed.
Walking through Lefkes
She teetered a bit when she walked, maybe from arthritis or from some ailment that made her shaky and restless. When I stopped to take a photograph, she came back for me. We stopped at a tavern, thinking to buy her some food. The dog watched for a minute, then lurched on without us. I saw a woman make a nasty face and go out of her way in the narrow lane to avoid even brushing against the old dog. Though the tavern door was open, the shop was not serving any food. As Bryan sorted that out, I went to catch up with the dog, and to see if there were any restaurants up ahead. But the dog was gone. Not a trace.
Bells rang. Elderly people stepped out of their little houses, arm-in-arm, heading to a little church in a little lane. I returned to the tavern for Bryan. We sat there, sipping a Fanta and a Coke and talking about that old dog…her pitiful condition and the flagrant contempt we’d witnessed for the old soul. What’s wrong with people? Where’s the empathy for the old, the sick? It tainted the beauty of the place. And I felt sick that we’d given the dog nothing to eat. She was a bag of crippled bones, and we had done nothing to help.
Feeding the Soul
But within the hour, we saw the dog again, up a lane near the center of the village. Bryan ran into a shop and bought what he could find–which was a bag of pizza-flavored bagel bites. I called to the dog and she wobbled towards me. The rattle of the bagel-bites bag got her undivided attention. At first, I worried she might not have the teeth to chew them. But chew she did–crunching one after another. Two mousy cats crept a little closer on the wall where we sat, and called out to us. Of course, we fed them too. Within minutes, the bag was empty and three sets of eyes stared at us, at the bag, at our hands. The dog licked the stones for crumbs. The cats meowed and sniffed around their feet.
Bryan went down the lane to an open shop. He came back a few minutes later with a bread-plate-sized hot pepperoni pie. We tore off small, very hot bites, blew on them, and fed the old dog and the two cats, right there in the middle of Lefkes. They were gentle eaters, and patient. A few passing townspeople looked, but said nothing. We all had to flatten ourselves to the wall several times to avoid the cars on that narrow lane.
After the pie was gone, the cats retreated and the dog stared at us for a long few minutes. I offered her water. She drank from the lip of the bottle as water poured into my palm. And then she walked away, turning again to ask “aren’t you coming?”
Saying Goodbye
We walked with her to the end of town, to a place near our bus stop. I worried that she was too near the busy road, too far from where she’d found us. Could she get back to her safe place? I tried to get her to follow me down the pedestrian lanes back to the church. She turned and walked away, in the direction back to the center, where there were cars. Nothing I did got her attention, and she disappeared down the lane. I cried. Bryan said, “She knows these roads. She’s lived a long time here without you watching out for her. She’ll be ok.”
Since we had a little time before our bus, I wandered again through the town looking again for her. And, somehow I found myself back at the church. And guess who was laying in the courtyard?
There she was–alone in the sun, washing her feet. She looked comfortable, content. I did not want to disturb her, to have her get up in greeting or to walk me back to the busy road. So I did not enter the courtyard. I stood staring at her for a few minutes–wishing for her to have food, water, love and comfort for all the days of her life.
If you go
So, if you go to Lefkes, look for this old lady. If you find her, give her my regards and feed her a pie. I’ve thought of her a thousand times. And I’m quite certain she is an angel in disguise.
Finally, if you like this post, please leave a comment! You can also….
Almost 8 million dogs and cats enter U.S. shelters each year, and almost 50% of them will not come out alive. The cycle is horrific. Dogs come in abused, neglected, heartbroken, sick, old, pure-bred–with one thing in common…they are unwanted and unloved. It is hard on the animal-lovers who work for the shelter. It is hard on anyone who loves animals.
What many people don’t realize is that about 35% of abandoned animals are pulled out of shelters by rescue groups. Rescuers go deep into the shelters looking for adoptable dogs. They find foster homes, they provide food and vaccinations and spay/neuters. Their own homes are usually brimming with wagging tails. They sell t-shirts for medical care fundraisers. They network to find just the right family for each dog. They organize transport to move dogs all over the country, to get them to homes where they will be loved and taken care of. Their phones buzz with incoming texts, emails, messages…about the dogs they’ve saved, or about dogs that are urgently in need of a place to stay before time runs out.
Rescue groups operate all around us. Rescuers seem to lead double lives…working full time jobs, raising families and in the background giving the rest of their time, hearts and homes to the dogs they save. It takes a great human to traverse through this bittersweet cycle. Rescuers experience extreme joy when opening a shelter cage to save a dog, only to turn around and have their hearts broken when they look into the eyes of the desperate dogs still in their kennels. And there is pain–anger–when they walk to the front of the shelter, only to see a line of people dropping off unwanted pets. It takes a hearty soul to care so deeply, to do so much, to function so effectively around “humanity” and to give so much of their lives.
This is the story of Kelly and Judy: special souls who are dog rescuers with One More Dog Rescue in this never-ending stream of unwanted and abused animals. View the photos in slideshow to see captions for each. Start slideshow by clicking on the first photo, and then using the arrows to navigate through.
Want to help? Please…ADOPT. FOSTER. DONATE.
Rescuers make life or death choices. Every day. Rescue groups are responsible for saving about 35-40% of the dogs brought into shelters, pulling those considered adoptable and transporting them around the country. But it is hard. There is compassion fatigue from witnessing all the sad, scared eyes, all the life behind those bars. The dogs are desperate for someone to slow down, to look, to touch, to acknowledge that they are alive. 2013.
Rows and rows of metal cages, filled with barking, terrified dogs. Almost half of the dogs who enter a shelter will never make it out. Judy walks the rows looking for the right dogs to fit open foster homes. These trips to the back pavilions at the shelter can take hours as rescuers talk to each other and shelter staff/volunteers and network the dogs across social media. 2013.
Rescue groups go deep into the shelter to look for dogs to save. The back rooms at the shelter are sometimes loud with barking, and sometimes eerily quiet. There are all kinds of dogs at the shelter–pure bred and mutt, small and large, old and young, stray and owner-surrendered. Strays are held for a minimum of 3-5 days in case someone comes looking for them. Because no one is going to come for owner surrenders, they may be euthanized immediately if space is needed. 2013.
Some dogs cower in their cages–terrified, trembling, heartbroken and confused, and maybe shattered forever. These dogs seem to not want anyone to look at them, to see them, matted and dirty. They will not look up and shrink into the corners. 2013.
“Are you ok?”, Judy asks. Judging from his scars, he may have been used in dog fights. Judy walks through the pavilions asking this again and again. Sometimes it is a question. “Are you ok?” Sometimes it was a statement, willing them to be ok when options looked bleak. Even if she spent only a second with each soul–that little moment, a smile, a kind voice…It means everything…to the dogs…and to Judy. This dog, we later learned, did not make it out. He was euthanized to make room for the steady stream of unwanted dogs. 2013.
During the summer of 2015, Canine Influenza ripped through Chicago’s Animal Care and Control. Dogs were categorized by the severity and stage of their illness, and rescuers’ visits to the various pavilions were sequenced from healthiest to sickliest so that the healthy dogs stayed healthy by being visited first. Disposable yellow gowns and rubber gloves were required, and had to be changed between pavilions to lessen the spread of the virus. The shelter had an added layer of sadness–to see the dogs shivering in their kennels, too tired and sick to move, to hear the hacking coughs in the sickest pavilions, to know that most of these dogs were not going to make it out alive. Rescuers continued to do what they could to pull dogs and find fosters who could accommodate dogs who had been exposed to the virus. Rescues had to be isolated for two weeks or more to avoid spreading the virus. 2015.
Dogs are introduced to other dogs of different sizes, personalities and gender to see how they react. Rescuers hold their breath–hoping for tail wags and play postures. If the dog acts aggressively, he will go back in the cage, with a slim chance of ever making it out of the shelter alive. 2015.
After a full day of work, Kelly stops by the Chicago shelter to check in on potential rescues. She leads a Pit Bull out into the yard for a little fresh night air, some exercise and a temperament test. It is estimated that 30-35% of the dogs euthanized are Pit Bulls. Unchecked breeding and the vilification of the breed has led to shelters overflowing with these powerful yet often untrained and frequently abused dogs. 2013.
At CACC on a Sunday night, we came across these 3 bonded girls. The white one on the left was the designated watch dog…protecting her siblings by positioning herself in front of them, or over them, and snarling like a fierce dragon. The other two seemed to want to say “hi”…but big sister wasn’t having it. As we left the shelter that night, these 3 were getting rescued. The white one had given up being the strong one…and leapt into the arms of the rescuer. Surprisingly, chihuahuas are one of the breeds most often dumped at the shelter. 2015.
Kelly takes Betty Page back into the shelter after a brief and brisk winter day walk around the grounds. Construction had begun to update kennels in the Chicago Animal Care and Control facility. The new kennels are larger and the pavilions have more natural light. However, during construction, there are fewer open kennels for homeless dogs. 2015.
“Peep” came into the shelter with one eye dangling. Judy and Kelly committed to her rescue immediately and her eye was removed in emergency surgery. The next day, her painfully matted hair was shaved. A few weeks later, Peep lost her other eye to infection. When she healed, Peep was adopted. She is now living happily ever after with a family who adores her. 2014.
Kelly stands in the hall at Chicago Animal Care and Control. She is making final arrangements for foster homes for these two lucky dogs who will walk out of the shelter tonight with her. The Pekingnese will go to a breed-specific rescue group. The dignified little dog standing was grossly underweight and had been shaved to treat his dry skin and matted hair. He had been surrendered by his owner in very poor condition. Four months later, he is still getting healthy in a foster home. 2015.
Betty Page peers out of Judy’s car. She had just been rescued from the shelter by Kelly, and is keeping an eye on her savior. Kelly and Judy are both texting to see who has space for Betty Page tonight. If no one does, Judy will take her home for the night. Judy and Kelly pull 2-4 dogs a week from the Chicago shelter. They meet in parking lots near animal hospitals or pet stores to coordinate and move the dogs to available foster homes. 2015.
Hilde left the shelter with just a generic standard issue rope cord. First stop was a pet store to get her very own collar and leash, toy and treats and a stash of food. Rescues do everything to get a dog into a good foster home. They want and need successful and repeat fosters. Fostering gives a dog a chance to get healthy, get socialized, and learn house rules. Fosters and rescues pay close attention to dogs’ personalities and needs so that potential adopters enter into the arrangement with no surprises. 2015.
Otis is a pet shop boy. Ruby is a rescue and is a little mentally askew. Some rescue groups take only the healthiest and youngest animals from the shelters to control costs and to prevent having unadoptable dogs. Other rescue groups take the dogs that speak to their hearts and may specialize in a certain breed, or the seniors, or the physically handicapped. 2013.
Rescuers have an intense, all encompassing love of dogs. Their homes are often full to the brim of wagging tails, clicking toenails, water dishes and crates. 2013.
Dog rescuers collect crates…from donations, yard sales, pet supply store sales, etc. The crates are bleached and readied for trips to the shelter or weekend transports. 2015.
Kelly takes one dog out for a run in her backyard while she checks emails, texts and social media posts for rescue-related information. Rescue is a daily, hourly, constant occupation for rescuers. Everything is about the dogs, for the dogs. 2015.
Every weekend, dog rescue teams move dogs across the country in a series of one to two hour relays. Why transport the dogs? Some areas of the country don’t have as many unwanted dogs and so the dogs pulled out of Chicago’s shelters have a better chance of being adopted elsewhere. Sometimes dogs are going to a breed-specific rescue in another state. Dogs travel with their paperwork and specific instructions for feeding and caring for them on what may be 2 to 3 days of 12 hour drives in a series of cars. Transporters have prearranged meeting places to switch the dogs from one car to another, and walk and feed/water them before getting on the road for the next leg. For transporters, it’s a time to meet one another and enjoy the 3-10 dogs they transport. For the dogs, it’s life saving. 2013.
There are strict rules during transport to ensure the health of the dogs. Puppies are often “no paws on the ground” if there is any chance of parvo. Dogs just out of the shelter can have many problems including worms or stomach/bowel issues due to stress and change of diet. Rescuers, transporters and fosters are diligent in monitoring the samples in order to treat any sickness. 2013.
Rescuers often have a lot of dogs in their homes. Some are theirs, some are fosters, some are only passing through for a night or two. There are rooms designated to isolate new guests who may be sick or scared. There are crates and cages for private time. And everything needs to be cleaned between occupants. 2013.
Judy and Kelly look at a place on a rescued bulldog mix. Although they both work in marketing, Judy and Kelly have enough experience with rescue that they can quickly identify health issues and can better work with the vet clinics who donate time and treatments. 2013.
Two groups made a 160 mile road trip to meet in the middle of Indiana. Traci and her friend/friend’s son came from Ohio with a couple of old boxers who had been rescued by Judy and Kelly the year before. Mr Belvedere had been frail and malnourished when he was pulled from the shelter. After almost 2 years in his hospice foster home, he is pleasingly plump and happy. Though he had not seen Judy and Kelly since his rescue, he recognized and greeted them with zeal at the meeting place in the empty parking lot. He will live out his life with his foster. 2015.
Avery entered the shelter as a cruelty case, with all of her legs broken and toes crushed. While Avery’s casts were on, Judy carried her outside several times a day and made sure her movements were restricted so that her young bones could heal. Sadly, almost 3 years later, Avery is still available for adoption. http://www.adoptapet.com/pet/11244516-brooklyn-new-york-american-pit-bull-terrier-mix
“Peep” came into the shelter with one eye dangling. Judy and Kelly committed to her rescue immediately and her eye was removed in emergency surgery. A few weeks later, Peep lost her other eye to infection. She was adopted and lives happily ever after with a family who adores her. 2014.
Atticus kisses Judy. He once was a rescue. Now, Judy belongs to him. She adopted him and he graciously shares his home with a stream of fosters. 2013.
Dog rescuer, Shannon Nachajko from Catahoula Rescue of New England shows what it’s like to be mom and chief rescuer to these super smart breeds of dog who are often misunderstood. Spend three minutes with Shannon and her Catahoulas and Heelers.
Animal welfare in Cuba is a daunting challenge. On my trip to Cuba, I had the honor of meeting Nora Garcia Pérez, the founder of ANIPLANT, an animal care and protection organization in Havana. Nora has dedicated the past 30+ years to the animals of Cuba: from big ventures like founding Aniplant and promoting animal welfare on Cuban radio and TV, to smaller efforts like traveling around Havana in a little yellow Fiat with the passenger seat removed to make room for two street dogs who sleep in the car every night.
ANIPLANT, or Asociación Cubana para la Protección de Animales y Plantas, is located in Centro Havana, not far from the University and only steps from the beautiful Malecón sea wall. ANIPLANT seeks to eliminate the suffering of Cuban animals through sterilization campaigns to reduce the number of strays, public education to promote the need for good veterinary care and animal health, facilitation of dog/cat adoptions, and hands-on intervention in cases of animal abuse.
Animals in Cuba
If you’re a dog lover and have ever been to Cuba–or to any third world country for that matter–you know the helpless heartache of seeing painfully thin and sick animals on the streets. And while Cuba is a highly educated, healthy and empathetic population, their lack of resources is a tremendous problem. Often, people simply do not have the means to properly care for animals. That means that many dogs/cats go without spaying/neutering, resulting in unwanted animals roaming the streets in search of food and shelter. The Cuban government collects strays from city streets, and almost all of those dogs/cats are immediately euthanized by poisoning or electrocution.
ANIPLANT’s Mission
ANIPLANT’s main mission is to reduce the number of strays by providing as many spay/neuters as possible. They performed nearly 5,000 sterilizations each year since 2012 and are currently trying to expand operations throughout Havana and all of Cuba. Like everything related to Cuba, it is complicated. While ANIPLANT is the only animal protection organization legally permitted to function in Cuba, there are ministries and permissions to deal with and there are the obstacles of getting medical supplies and donations with the U.S. embargo still in place.
ANIPLANT in Havana
The ANIPLANT location at 128 Principe is home to a few dogs. The dogs have the run of the back areas of ANIPLANT–the kitchen, a play area outside and a little room just off the courtyard. There are employees at ANIPLANT who work to train and socialize the dogs, and to prepare their meals of rice and meat. A veterinarian and vet tech are also on staff for routine procedures and emergency care. And weekly, hundreds of pounds of meat for dog food are delivered to ANIPLANT to be sold to the community for fundraising. The place is immaculate, colorful, lively and upbeat–the receptionist sings on occasion and offers tiny cups of strong coffee to those waiting patiently for services. Dog and cat owners chat with each other and hold their pets close in the tiled lobby. Potential adopters check in at reception and discuss the adoption application process. And every now and then, the dogs break into barks or whines as a visitor makes their way back through the courtyard.
Helping the Animals of Cuba
I spent several days at ANIPLANT, photographing and videotaping. As a dog lover, Nora’s work inspired me. A few months after I first published this article, the founders of TAP Animal Project asked me to join them to help the dogs and cats of Cuba. If you are moved by this story, please consider a small donation to TAP Animal Project, a USA-based non-profit supporting and supplying resources for spay/neuter campaigns in Cuba. Considering that veterinarians in Cuba make only about $250 a year, any amount of money donated will go a long way to helping the animals. For more information on how to help the animals, or to make a donation, please visit: TAPanimalproject.org.
Thank you for reading
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted, tree-hugging, Nashville born-and-raised photographer living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.Select Cuba photos are available for purchase on Etsy.
As many of you know, I’m a dog lover and have an on-going project documenting the work of people who rescue dogs. And I love Cuba. I love walking in Havana, photographing the elegant decay and witnessing the extraordinary changes happening there. I love meeting the people, getting to know their hopes and worries, and always admiring their persistence, creativity and resourcefulness. So this month, I decided to overlay these passions and dig a little deeper into the stories of the rescued dogs of Havana, Cuba and those sheltered by museums.
Dogs in Cuba
Street dogs are commonly seen in Havana, picking through the trash or teetering down the sidewalks. It is heartbreaking and frustrating. But in a country where food can be hard to come by for people, perhaps it is not unusual or unexpected. One thing that has surprised me is that many museums in Old Havana have taken on the role of sheltering dogs.
On my first trip to Cuba I saw a fat little dog wearing a business card and sleeping near Fototeca in Plaza Vieja. On subsequent trips, I saw more of these dogs with business cards. They were in front of other museums, Havana’s University, and wandering around the old plazas. These dogs generally looked healthier and happier. So, on this trip, I went looking for these card-carrying dogs to find out more about their lives and the people who care for them.
The Dogs of Museo de la Orfebrería
These are the five dogs of Museo de la Orfebrería (Museum of Metal/Silver Work), a quiet courtyard museum on Obispo near Plaza de Armas. They are cared for by Margarita Garcia and Odalys Valdéz, who work at the museum as guides and security. The dogs spend their days napping in the shade of the courtyard, or lazing on the sunny bricks in front of the museum. During the day, they greet visitors politely–without fanfare or dogged attention. And they keep Margarita and Odalys company during their 6 day shifts working 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. In return, Margarita and Odalys feed them and keep fresh water on hand. The dogs are sheltered in the museum– partially in the role of protecting the museum from thieves–but most definitely to save the dogs from a hard street life.
“These five? Good for them.”
After noticing a few strays outside who seemed to pace by regularly–as if looking in…one more time…for an opening, for an invitation, I asked Margarita if there were ever more than five here. “No. Only five. We cannot feed or have more. But these five? Good for them.”
I think they would agree. And good for Margarita and Odalys and all the guides who care for these precious souls.
Thank you for reading
if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted, tree-hugging, Nashville born-and-raised photographer living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com. Select Cuba photos are available for purchase on Etsy.
This post is all about the dogs at The Heart and Soul Animal Sanctuary. Yeah, yeah, I know that my project is about the dog rescue organizations and the people who run them…but I find all the dogs and puppies so distracting! All those personalities, those smiling faces, and all the wagging tails and busy feet–it’s too much for me sometimes and I only want to sit among them and play. So, today, it is all about the dogs…and maybe a horse too. I hope you enjoy the characters. Hug a dog today…and everyday!
And please — Volunteer. Donate. Foster. Adopt a shelter dog.
In March, I spent some time at the Heart and Soul Animal Sanctuary, a rescue located on 100+ acres outside Santa Fe, New Mexico. Founder and Director, Natalie Owings cares for, and lives among, over 200 animals–dogs, cats, rabbits, wedding doves, horses, chickens, guinea pigs, ducks, llamas, alpacas, goats…. If any animal in the area needs a home, a meal, and some compassion, this is the place.
For the abused, neglected, sick or starving animals who have found safe haven here, this can only seem like heaven. Many of the animals are rescued from shelters in the area. And will stay here until adopted or transported to another state for adoption. Some may live out their days here.
About 30 dogs have the run of the Giant Doghouse and surrounding grounds. While they are fenced out of spaces for some of the other animals in order to keep the peace, they have ample selection of beds (inside, outside, in the sun, in the shade) and can help themselves to kibble anytime they are hungry. There are no cages, no leashes… and no fights. Every creature here is loved, respected, and safe …and they know it.
Please take a minute to visit the website: http://www.animal-sanctuary.org/
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about going with Judy early one morning to transport 10 rescued dogs on a 60 mile segment of their journey to Minneapolis. A rescue mission that felt good…happy…exciting. I had held a parvo-surviving puppy. She was lucky to be alive. Lucky to be out of the shelter on that sunny day and lucky enough to be healthy and on her way to a rescue. I felt her little heart beating, felt her tiny breath–felt her sigh as she gave in to a few minutes of sleep. I was happy and full of hope holding that little dog…so, so full of hope.
Later that day, after the transport was complete, we went to animal control…a place where hope is hard to feel. This is the place where almost half the dogs who walk in never come out alive*. This is the place where so many people who love animals have the sad job of collecting unwanted, lost or abused dogs and cats. This is the place where volunteer doctors and staff work tirelessly to save animals, and yet have to euthanize many healthy and treatable animals simply because there is no more room. This is also the place where rescuers go to begin their work, where saving a dog begins. They identify dogs for rescue, posting and sharing snapshots to network the many homeless faces, hoping that just maybe someone somewhere will fall in love and they can pull a dog out of there. Rescuers go to Animal Control often, especially when they know their fosters have room to squeeze in just one more.
The place is a maze of “pavilions”, rooms separating the animals into those ready for adoption, those being held as “evidence” for court cases, those in medical care, or those simply doing their time in hopes that someone will come looking for them before their 5 days are up. There are no outside windows in these rooms full of cages. The rooms can be loud with echos of barking, crying dogs. Or the rooms can be silent…like the air has been sucked out of the place, like dementors have been there.
Today, we were there to look for a couple of dogs that had been posted online for potential rescue, to temperament test another. I followed Judy and her scrap of paper with the cage numbers. All those sad eyes on us. All the life behind those bars. Some of the dogs desperate for you to slow down, to look, to touch, to acknowledge that they are alive. Other dogs cowered in the cages, terrified, trembling, lost and confused, and maybe broken forever. These dogs seemed not to want anyone to look at them, to see them, matted and dirty, shrinking into the bright orange tile and concrete corners.
It is hard to witness. I tried to concentrate on photographing Judy with the dogs, on learning what she was looking for when she studied their paperwork. I followed her–her golden ponytail, her scrap of paper with the cage numbers, her voice. And I watched her…I watched her muster her spirit, her smile, her hope in this hard place. I watched her giving hope to each of those shelter dogs. “Are you ok?” she asked each of them with a smile. “Are you ok?” Sometimes it was a question. Sometimes it was a statement, willing them to be ok when options looked bleak. Whatever it was, even if she spent only a second with each soul–it mattered. That little heartbeat of a moment, a smile, a kind voice…It means everything…to the dogs…and to Judy.
It is a cruelly hard job for animal lovers to work in this place, to remain hopeful, to not give up at the sheer magnitude and the never ending streams of needy faces. But at the end of the day, it’s all about the dogs.
* Most current (2011) Asilomar Accords records from CACC: “Jan 1 holding 863 dogs. Thru 2011: Took in 11,115 dogs. Adopted out 943, Transferred out to rescues/other organizations 3,407, Returned to owner 1,355. Euthanized/Died in care: 5,477. Dec 31 holding 793 dogs.” (corrected math on records shows 796 dogs remaining.) Please see www.asilomaraccords.org for more information on shelters in your area.