Simba/Ambrose

* * * UPDATE * * *

"Please help me!"



November 2014

Simba, now called Ambrose, was adopted in June 2013 after his arrival from Thailand. Tragically, his adopter's circumstances have changed and he is no longer able to keep him. 

If you have read this sweet boy's story below, you already know he is the true meaning of the word "survivor". This, too, he shall survive and thrive - we believe that. We are praying that this twice-lucky boy will land on his feet one third, last time in the loving and forever arms of a family he can call his very own for the rest of his days.

Please share sweet Simba's story far and wide and help us find the perfect people for him. Thank you - from us, and from Simba.

* * * * *

Simba said goodbye to foster mom Patarin on the first day of June, 2013 and journeyed to Los Angeles alongside four other lucky dogs, thanks to a kind-hearted flight volunteer. 

Simba continued on to Chicago solo. He arrived here on Sunday, June 2, 2013. He was welcomed to the USA by Dawn, Ayize, and myself at O'Hare Airport. 
He was an absolute sweetheart from the first, coming eagerly out of his crate and cuddling like a pro. He was inquisitive about all of us and everything around him, and eagerly accepted and asked for pets from Ayize - such a brave boy!
He stole our hearts within moments of meeting him.





Simba spent a few days with Dawn at her home after his arrival before joining his adoptive family, which included another dog. Simba was a wonderful companion to his new family and even enjoyed snow, which he discovered for the first time last winter.



Patarin, Simba's foster mom in Bangkok, visited the USA this summer. She and I visited Simba at his adoptive parent's workplace and met his big brother as well.



Simba was a little intimidated around other dogs but performed obedience commands with class dogs and pet store customers all around him. He also enjoyed receiving attention from us and from my young son, who was excited about the reunion.
It was such a delight to see Simba again after one year had passed - he was as sweet, affectionate, and gentle as ever!

We were so thrilled for this sweet boy, who survived first the horrors of the dog meat trade, and then the terrible storm that ravaged Buriram livestock shelter. A true miracle boy!

Now Simba must overcome one last obstacle…finding the family he will stay with for the rest of his days. This sweet boy needs security, stability, and the promise of forever. Please help us make that dream a reality for him. Please share his story far and wide.

* * * * *

My name is Simba.

This is me in early 2013, at the government livestock center in northern Thailand where we dogs who were saved from meat smugglers went to live.

 I know I looked like a giant, red, furry fox but I was actually only two years old in this photo, and weighed in at just 22 lbs. And I think my hair accounted for five of those pounds...

 

Living in a tropical climate with a coat like mine was not easy. We endured record highs that summer, with many days in the 100s. And rather than spending those days in front of a cool fan, I had to sweat them out there at the Buriram livestock center, amidst overcrowded conditions, with almost no shelter from the elements to speak of.

I'm a timid guy, so although there is shade available to the toughest of the canines who can fight their way onto a protected, covered sala, there was hardly any shade at Buriram for the likes of me. And so I waited...and waited...for my fate to change. All the while, enduring the blazing sun, and trying to sleep and dream away the very worst and hottest spells of each afternoon.

Little did I know that far across an ocean, people were looking at my photo - supplied by kind-hearted angel Patarin - and saying that yes - they would help me! They would save me from this hell on earth and bring me across the ocean to find me a real home, a real family. I couldn't have known that.

Nor could I have known that those same people would be absolutely devastated when a freak summer storm hit our shelter in late April 2013 and tore it asunder, leaving uprooted trees everywhere in its wake - fences ripped right out of the ground - and many of my fellow dog friends, escaped and at risk of running back into the hands of horrid and barbaric illegal dog meat traders...

Many wept and worried over my fate and the fate of all of the other poor dogs of Buriram. But me and my buddies Manja and Toby - also at Buriram, and also spoken for by ISDF - all had the smarts to stick around the shelter. We didn't yet know that we were about to be saved, but a little voice in our heads whispered to us to have faith and stay put, and luckily we did.

ISDF friends - a team from Soi Dog Bangkok, headed by Pimpakharn - came as quickly as they could. They searched through the devastation and amazingly, found me, Toby, and Manja, hiding within the ravaged shelter compound still, safely out of harm's way.

And then we were OUT! We were finally free of the Buriram livestock center, having been transported by truck to safety by another angel on earth, Pimpakharn and her team from Soi Dog Bangkok!

At their merciful hands, we received medical treatment, shelter from the elements, plenty of food and water, and lots of loving TLC.

Shortly thereafter, we traveled to Patarin's vet for vaccinations and a final checkup before heading to her house for loving foster care while we awaited placement in homes of our own.

I had been so badly burned by life and had only ever known sorrow and cruelty at the hands of man. 
However, Pimpakharn reported that after my arrival at Soi Dog Bangkok, my personality did a 180-degree turnaround. She, Patarin, and my other Thai friends and helpers said that although I was quite shy at first, as soon as they won my trust by showing me they meant no harm, I turned back into the puppy I never got to be! I let my sweet side show, begging for snuggles and pats. I could wag my tail faster than a bird flaps its wings, and I followed them around as if I was their shadow. 
And I will follow you to the ends of the earth...if you'll let me.
Will you let me?

I was just so grateful to discover that there was actually such a thing as kind people in this world - a revelation!

My pal Toby (now Malee) went to her amazing new family, including a pack of pooches, in eastern Canada. My buddy Manja went to a lovely family in the Chicagoland area where she joined another doggie pal and two young kids who are her new best friends. 
I thought I had found my happily-ever-after a year ago, too, but now I find myself once more in need of open arms.

Might those arms belong to you?

Thank you so much for reading my story.
Love, Simba

For more information about adopting Simba please contact Dawn Trimmel at (414) 426-4148. Thank you!

* * * * * 

 I am a victim of the dog meat trade.

I grew up on the streets of Thailand, in a "survival of the fittest" climate, where I had to fend for food and avoid many dangers. 

One day, some men approached me while I slept and tossed a wire lasso over my head. As I awoke, struggling and snapping with fear, they used a long stick with crude pincers attached to the end of it to lift me and then dump me into a truck.

Lots of other terrified dogs were in the truck alongside me. We were driven into a dense jungle-like area, away from main roads and towns. Tropical trees provided cover as the same horrid men used the wire lassos and pincers on us again, this time to grab us and drop us into a pit. We fell through the air for a terrifying moment, then landed on a hard concrete floor. Some of us were injured in the fall; all of us were terrorized.

The pit cover was replaced once we were all inside it, and hardly any light penetrated from above. There was no food or water in our hot, dark, claustrophobic jail, and nowhere to escape. But we didn't fight one another or really do much of anything other than freeze with fear - we were all too traumatized.

Over the next couple of days, the pit cover opened a few times, light blinded us from above, and more dogs were dropped in amongst us until the men apparently decided that had enough of us to satisfy their greed and justify an legal smuggling run across the border.

 There was the sound of the pit cover opening again, and as we all blinked, blinded once again by the light, expecting more dogs to drop down amongst us, the long pincer stick returned instead. We were grabbed around the neck once more, and then shoved into a new form of torture - a compact "crush cage" - with many other dogs. 

The cages were set on end and we were dropped in and shoved and packed like sardines until limbs and tails emerged from between the wire bars and we were nearly suffocating from such close quarters. None of us could move more than literally one inch in any direction. 

Then our crush cages were piled high onto the flatbed of a truck, with more and more cages on top of, and around the sides of, ours. Many of us lost limbs and tails in crushing injuries as the staggering weight stacked higher and higher.

In order to conceal us - live contraband intended for smuggling cross-country and over two border crossings - a heavy, non-breathable tarp was thrown over the entire truck's cargo, cutting off even our access to fresh air - the last resource we had.

We sat on that truck for a long time. I was so dazed and disoriented that it could have been hours or it could have been days - I really can't say for sure. I guess they were waiting for an all clear signal from they boss. They drank water noisily from bottles as they laughed and joked near our truck and we watched them with desperate eyes because of course, during this time, we had been under terrible stress and had not had food or water for a dangerously-long period of time. 

I was certain that the end must be near - I was sure I would suffocate from the heat, from this extreme overcrowding, and from the long stretch of time that slowly ticked by. Indeed, many dogs around me perished.

It was evening, as dusk fell, when our truck finally rumbled to life and attempted to make a run northward for the border. The smugglers were headed for Vietnam, by way of Laos. But near the river's edge which separated Thailand from Laos, where we would have once again been thrown about like so much live garbage - this time into overcrowded smuggling boats - new sounds reached deep into our desolate quarters, inspiring fresh apprehension to those of us still alive and still conscious.

Voices - angry and commanding - fell upon our ears.  We were frightened, but not for long. Much to my surprise, we were rescued that day, and I owe my life to the caring individuals and government officials who came together to save us all from yet more suffering in an extended transport, and eventual slow torture and death, to be someone's adrenaline-infused meal (which some cultures consider good for one's health and virility). 

I am forever grateful to our saviors. A few of the Royal Police even cracked open water bottles and tried their best to proffer sips to those of us in cages with access to bars facing them. But there was too little water and too many dogs. And anyway, it would be a long while before we could even be released from our terrifying confines.

We were slowly transported another long distance, still in those horrible crush cages, still packed like sardines - it seemed to take forever. I was in so much pain and filled with claustrophobic terror - what next??

We ended up at the Nakhon Phanom - and then, much later - at the Buriram government-run shelters, two of several large livestock centers in the Thai nation. There, our cages were unloaded with the use of cranes, hoists and manpower. One by one, our cage wires were cut and we literally had to be unpacked and unfolded from the positions we had been held prisoner in for so many long and torturous days.

Next, those of us who could stand and move still were herded into a large dog kennel. To be able to move freely again, and to have access to large vats of water and a long trough with food, was nothing short of miraculous, after all I had endured.

But although my life was marginally-improved now that I'd been "saved", we all still suffered - this time from widespread disease and massive overcrowding. Food was scarce; we lived practically one on top of the other; dog fights were frequent and often vicious; and there was little to no medical attention available. Once again, I was surrounded by terrible suffering and watched as many fellow dogs died around me at a rapid rate.

A long, frightening, sad period of my life passed here. I wondered if my whole life would play out behind these bars, and I shivered with fear to imagine such a fate.

But somehow, through some magical stroke of fate, Lady Luck intervened on my behalf. Someone, somewhere, saw my photo, looked into my eyes, and knew that they could not leave me behind.

For the first time in my strife-filled life, I am seeing the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. In my foster home in Bangkok, I am being shown kindness and affection; I am learning confidence, and polishing my manners; and I am discovering the meaning of family, and the meaning of love. It has been a glimpse into a life I never even knew existed: lives where doggies have homes and families to call their very own, lives where they will never know fear again. 

It's a life I so desperately want now…but one which will be brand-new to me and often confusing. I have so much to learn about life as a pet dog. I know I can do it - I've made it this far already! - but please, won't you gently show me the ropes, and have patience with me when I make missteps sometimes, as I surely will? In return, I will repay you a thousandfold.

I just need a fair chance at a life I could only dream of when I was that terrified dog, crammed into a crate, baking alive in the tropical heat, who had given up all hope.

Thank you for reading my story.

Love, Simba