Six short months. A life can flip 180 degrees in that span. In my case, it can flip an additional 180 yet end up somewhere entirely different from where it began – somewhere so much better. That’s what happened to me.
I was a young man, just eight months old. I was clever as they come and had learned early on to navigate the ins and outs of busy, often bad-tempered, Bangkok traffic – in fact, if I hadn’t, I would not have made it on the streets for so long. On this fateful night, however, the odds were working against me. For once, as I walked along a busy avenue late at night, I neglected to pay close attention to the passing traffic. I must have been exhausted, or perhaps just very hungry.
I no longer remember, as the hit I took from a car that night was so powerful that it has robbed me of my memory of the exact details. All I know is, one moment I was ambling along at the edge of the road – and the next, I was flying up into the air, a terrified ball of agonizing pain. A car horn screamed past me as the driver flew past, apparently irritated at me for impeding his speedy progress. I landed with an impact that increased my pain a thousandfold and dropped me into the welcome bliss of unconsciousness. I passed a horrific evening there in the gutter. I would wake and try to struggle to my feet, only to be greeted by fresh agony. Then I would pass out again – or not. The hours crept past – and so did many night revelers and passersby hurrying home after late night work. I tried in vain to meet their eyes, to lift a pleading paw…but I was just another injured street dog, surely destined for death at any moment. So no one bothered. No one stopped. No one pulled me from the street’s curb and onto the safety of the sidewalk.
As the first rays of dawn touched my blood-matted fur, I closed my eyes, praying the end would hurry to me. That was when I heard another roaring engine close to my head. Terrorized, I woke again, attempting to struggle into movement once more. Was this another car, come to cause my yet more pain?
But no. I blinked, and cleared my foggy vision. It was a little old lady on a motorbike. Her sandals slapped on the cement as she padded toward me. And then – a kind hand rested on my brow, much to my amazement. Soft words were spoken near my ear. “Hang on, little one. I don’t want to hurt you but I must bring you to safety.” I was lifted into the saddlebag of her motorbike, and although this movement caused me great discomfort, my heart lifted. At last my desperate cries for help were being answered!
She drove as gently as she could for some time, ending up at Thailand’s WSK “dog condo”, an impromptu animal shelter that had evolved after many years of being the local dumping ground for injured and homeless animals.
As it turned out, she was one of two elderly caretakers working there and knew I would not survive much longer in the gutter.
At WSK, I was assessed for injuries. My back was broken and I was placed in a small cage where I was meant to remain for the rest of my days.
A little bit of background here: the caretakers at WSK had the best of intentions, but there are nearly two thousand animals under their care on an extremely tiny budget. Additionally, it was a time of great policy change at the dog condo – at the time of my arrival, the caretakers were being replaced by what would ultimately be several different welfare groups in succession. There was little these two older ladies could do for severe medical cases before the changes, and even less as the new policy began implementation and they were being moved out. That was the situation I was brought into, through no fault of anyone’s.
The cage I was placed in was abysmal. It was small. It was made of steel, and very rusty. It had holes which created sharp protrusions on all sides. There was no bedding and the cage was partially suspended, as many cages at WSK are, due to space constraints. As a result, I could not find any measure of comfort: there was the constant rusty poking of broken steel bars, and there was also the agony of my injuries.
It seemed this would be my life forever…
Six interminable months passed. The only time I got out was when Soot Liang Woo – my hero and savior to many dogs in desperate need around Bangkok – or other rare helpers at WSK, had a moment free to take me out and give me a little affection. Since 1500+ of us were competing for scraps of attention, these were rare events – but Soot had a weak spot for me from the first time she met me.
Six long months. And despite the constraints of my small cage, I motivated myself to try to heal. Exercise was, of course, impossible, but I stood and sat all day long, intuiting that I could not let my muscles completely waste away. I desperately longed for the chance – just once chance! – at time outside of my tiny prison. I wanted to try to walk, to move again…I wanted to feel real ground beneath my feet instead of twisted, rusty bars. I wanted to feel sunlight only face, even if I found I would never move myself again once I finally escaped from my jail.
One day…it finally happened.
The latest round of caretakers watching over all of us were new to their gargantuan task that day, and understandably overwhelmed. Around 4 p.m. that afternoon, after they placed some food in my cage, they latched the access door shut – or so they thought. Actually, they did not secure the latch properly – so it swung back open after they walked away. I couldn’t believe my luck – I thought I must be dreaming. Six long months I had waited to be free…I dragged myself to push against the access door…and it swung open! freedom. Incredible, breathtaking, unbelievable…
I hoisted my sagging hindquarters up and propped myself up somehow into a semi-standing position. But I was unable to walk after so many months’ imprisonment. So – dipping and swaying from side to side – I managed to drag myself over the threshold of the cage. And then that horrid jail of mine was behind me, an inch…and then two…and then a foot away…and still I kept dragging myself onwards. I was exhausted from this, the most physical effort I had made in almost a year, but adrenaline surged through me.
On and on I went, and now even the building was behind me with its myriad wandering residents who barely spared a glance in my direction. And now here I found myself in the muddy grounds beyond the building where even more dogs roamed freely. But these dogs did not recognize me and some were territorial. I heard a few threatening snarls and then some savage barking began.
Terrified, I suddenly realized the predicament I had put myself in. I had no idea where to go or how to hide from aggressors – and worse, even if I knew WHERE to go, I didn’t know HOW to make myself go. More barking came from other directions, and I panicked. Barreling forward with one final heroic effort, I pushed myself over the muddy edge of a rise I had been steadily working my way up. To my horror, I discovered too late that the rise was the lip of a rudimentary septic system – basically, a giant sewage ditch which was shallow but the bottom of which mimicked sucking quicksand. It ran the perimeter of the building so that both stories could be hosed down daily – all the feces, urine, and old food washed away into these ditches.
Terrified, I slid, kicking and panicking, into the sewage ditch. With no proper musculature to swim, I knew the end had come. But something inside me would not give up. As I sank into the muddied, filthy water, I reached deep within for one last ounce of effort. With an almighty push, I somehow managed to fight my way partially back up the slippery bank. And there, I lay…for 24 hours, possibly even longer. No one is quite sure how long it took for my absence to be noticed, since there were so many of us to account for. No one is quite sure how long it took for me to finally be found, almost by chance. And no one could ever truly know how terrifying that struggle for survival was – more traumatic, even, then the day I was smashed by that car. Each time I dozed off and began sliding back in, I had to fight my way back to precarious “safety”.
Like the accident, I have blocked those memories away. These days, I focus instead on the fact that I survived. Me! “Paralyzed” me. Ha! No more…I am determined that nothing will ever hold me back again.
That incident was a living nightmare for me – but it also marked the first day of the rest of my life. Many local animal welfare workers heard the story of my ordeal, and their hearts broke for me. They knew about all the terrible things that had happened to me before I even nearly drowned, so this event was just one more heartbreak. My old friend Soot came to my rescue, working hard to pull me out of the WSK dog condo, and seeking top-notch veterinary care for me with her own team of vets.
And the Soot brought me to her house. Her house! Oh, happy days…a house dog…ME…who ever thought the day would come??
Here I am in January, one month after my arrival with Soot. From dragging myself, I had begun to use my rear legs – against all odds. But you know about us street dogs – we are incredible, and never fail to amaze and surprise our rescuers.
Soot’s house and garden are so lovely and she and her hubby shower me with affection and good food. Best of all, we go on long walks every day. Soot says it’s for fun, but I know she’s really working me to keep improving my hindquarter strength, mobility, and stamina. And boy, am I responding to all of this TLC! I can walk and walk and walk…and hardly ever get tired. I can run now, and I can take curbs and hills like they’re nothing. Check me out from this April video…and see how far I have come!
Soot seems really happy and excited that I can – you know – do both of my businesses (ahem!) on my own, though I am kind of embarrassed that this seems like such a big deal to everybody. Oh my gosh! A little privacy, please…I mean, really!
I do leak a little pee sometimes when I haven’t seen Soot for awhile and she comes home – I’m just so happy to see her! But everyone says submissive peeing is understandable right now, given all of the massive changes I have just experienced, and this should probably subside once I’m finally in a forever home and realize it’s mine, all mine – never to be taken away from me again. And once I realize my human will be mine forever and won’t leave me alone, never to return.
The same goes for me with some strangers – I can get nervous. Not in an aggressive way…I just get really scared. And I can’t run away or hide as effectively as a dog with a normal back and legs. So I try to bark and sound fierce but actually, this precedes me retreating to hide as soon as that option is possible.
I guess sometimes strangers remind me of people who weren’t so nice to me when I lived on the street. But as my confidence grows, I am improving. I need a loving person or people who will understand that I may always take a little time to get to know strangers, and who will work with me to continue my socialization and help nurture my budding confidence.
What I do love is other dogs! I am not territorial at all, and am fabulous with other pooches of all shapes and sizes, including Soot’s little foofy foster dogs. I am playful, as much as I can be – and good at reading the signs of other dogs – and I am wisely very respectful of Soot’s “house boss”, Prikthai! I am curious about Soot’s cats, but prove very gentle with them when they occasionally allow us dogs to approach them. I am not food aggressive – but I am hungry all the time and wolf down meals. I am now a sturdy 35 lbs but still a pretty skinny guy – though Soot is working on changing that as fast as possible!
I am very well-behaved in Soot’s house, but I do admit to (shhh, don’t tell anyone) having a bit of an odd fetish. I collect shoes. Any and all shoes. Aaaah, the sweet smell of human feet. Like music to my nose. I will collect ten shoes sometimes, or more if I’m really lucky, and assemble them in a neat little pile so I can lie with my face buried in them (heavenly).
Sometimes I go the extra naughty mile and (sorry, I have to confess) nibble on a shoe or two.
I have such a hard time resisting them…it’s not hard to restrict me from shoes, but my new family may want to protect their favorite pairs. And maybe in my new home, someone will give me their oldest, ickiest pair for me to keep for my very own! Soot says that I sometimes collect sofa pillows too, or spare bits of laundry that fell out of the basket. What can I say…I’m a collector? I guess it’s because, to tell the truth, I never did have anything like this before in my life. I lay my head down now on the doggie bed at night and I remember life on the streets…the car accident that did this to me…the cage that almost became my prison for all time…the sewage ditch that tried to suck me in forever…and then I sneak away and grab another shoe when no one is looking and bring it back to bed to be with me because I guess I’ve just been through so much, that they are kind of a security blanket to me. But I promise to try to cure myself of this habit when I am finally with someone who will love me forever – when I finally know the day has come where I won’t have to be scared and fighting for survival ever again.
I know I come to you with a whole lot of background on board – but this description of me doesn’t mention what I can offer in return. I will love you forever like no one else ever has. I will give you my everything and then some more.
Six months ago, the first drop fell in an eventual cascade of occurrences that all led me to the place where I stand now. But – oh! – what a coursing rapid river run it has been. This is why I look the way I do…and why I need my fated special someone who can look past my outward appearance and my shy side to see the heart of sweet gold beating deep inside my battered body. My special someone, who will look into my soul and know that I was born to complete their life, just as they will complete mine.
Are you that someone? I can’t wait to meet you.
Thank you for reading my story!
Love, Tiga
