RIP Cutie

* * * UPDATE * * *

December 2013

My heart is weeping, as this is such a bittersweet update. 
We were overjoyed when Cutie was adopted by the Christiansen family of Wisconsin, USA. It was to be a "best of both worlds" happy ending since Ginger - Cutie's best friend - was adopted by friends and neighbors of the Christiansens, so the two dogs would be able to see one another regularly.

Both doggies were both scheduled to fly here to Chicago on December 18th. Tragically, Cutie has fallen ill with the distemper virus, despite having begun her vaccination series at the time she contracted it - a rare but possible occurrence, as we now sadly know. But nothing we have ever encountered before…so you can imagine our shock. And our grief is now compounded a thousandfold because Cutie was so very close to her forever happy ending - just days away. Her adoptive family is heartbroken. So are the Lewandowskis, who are adopting Ginger.

Please join us in sending positive thoughts to dear Cutie for her speedy and complete recovery. We are just sick over the fact that she is so ill, and that she and Ginger cannot fly here to the USA together - but our entire ISDF community is hoping, praying, and wishing for a happy reunion down the road.

Our dear ISDF friend and foster mom in Bangkok, Patarin Phadungpisuth, is asking for donations of any amount to help cover Cutie's medical costs. Cutie needs daily bloodwork to monitor her progress, IV fluids, a number of medications to control her high fever and other symptoms, and at least one CT scan to monitor her neurological activity. Donations can be made through PayPal using Pat's email address of zhen.design@gmail.com. Aggressive treatment will give Cutie her best chance at making a full recovery. 

Thank you so much to ISDF/Pat the Dog friends and supporters Hayley Wiltshire, Deborah Seagle, Christine Mai Truong, Susan Harasin, Pear Alisa, Payani Roshanak, and many others who are helping Patarin shoulder the financial costs of Cutie's top-notch medical care. I know I'm missing many names, and I do apologize. Every penny helps - thank you for helping Cutie, and thanks to all of you for holding her in your hearts and prayers.

Thank you to all who have helped Cutie come this far, from Patarin for pulling, transporting, vetting, and fostering Cutie; to kind-hearted international supporters who have, and continue to, donate towards Cutie's medical costs and flight funding; to the Christiansen family, for their kindness and understanding in a terrible situation, and for their prayers, love, and hope for this little girl.
Special hugs and tears for dear Patarin, who is spending every minute she can spare by Cutie's side at the veterinary clinic where she is being hospitalized for the intensive care she needs. Pat is sick with worry and heartache. She is more than just Cutie's foster mom - she is the first true bit of lasting love and kindness that Cutie has probably ever known, and Pat was so looking forward to the arrival photos of these two best friends as they headed off into the sunset with their forever families  As such, Pat's heart is doubly broken for Cutie was so very close to a lifetime of joy and love. Our sadness for everyone involved right now is unspeakable.
 Special thanks also to our entire international community, for the massive avalanche of well wishes, prayers, positive thoughts, love and light that are supporters from every corner of the globe are fervently sending Cutie's way day and night. 

Sweetheart, we are all bombarding you with every get-well wish imaginable. Our hearts are collectively in pieces. We love you so very much - you have come so far.

Please, please, please - fight for this, Cutie. Get well, sweetheart. 

We are all pulling for you, and we love you. 

WE LOVE YOU.

Please hurry on home to the life you so deserve after all you have been through.

* * * * *

My name is Cutie.

I am a good friend to Ginger, who is also looking for a forever home through ISDF. We have traveled a tough road together to date, but our luck is changing fast now.

I made my own fortune. 

I worked hard to save myself.

But let me begin at the beginning of my sad story...

Many, many months ago - sometime in early 2013, or possibly even prior to that - I was rescued from the southeast Asian illegal dog meat trade, where I was being transported cross-country to Vietnam (you can read more about that below, or here).

I am only about one-and-a-half years old, and weigh just 13.5 lbs (6 kgs), which means that for approximately $14 USD (the going rate for us is $10 per pound), I would have been slowly slaughtered to be someone's supper - chips of beef for a stew, or perhaps served with rice and vegetables. A brief and unremarkable meal to anyone wealthy enough to pay such a price in a poor nation - and a meal long since forgotten.

But I am here still, to tell my story, thanks to many remarkable people…and also, thanks to ME.

After my smugglers were apprehended, I traveled a long way - still confined inside a torturous squeeze cage - to the Nakhon Phanom shelter. It was nearly a day's journey by truck, and I thought my already-prolonged suffering would never end.

And then it did. And suddenly, I found myself in an immense and overcrowded livestock shelter, with few resources and so much competition for them. 

I was tiny…young…terrified. It was then that I realized I was my own last hope.

I was relieved to be safe from the perilous end I would have met on the meat market, but intuition kicked in and informed me that I would soon perish anyway in such an overcrowded, unhealthy, and dangerous environment.

I survived as best I could, hard as it was.

And then one day, I was chosen along with many others for reasons that I will never quite understand. I didn't even know what I was chosen for at the time, but I found myself and many others herded onto a fleet of transport trucks. No squeeze cages this time - thank goodness - but we all still trembled with terror to think about what might come next.

Off we rumbled - and after another long, hot journey, we found ourselves at Khemmarat livestock center, another place much like the last.

Once again, I fended for life and limb. Days turned into weeks, and still I tenaciously clung to hope, despite the despair, death, and lack of affection, food, and medicine around me.

Then one day, in May of 2013, representatives from the Soi Dog Foundation visited Khemmarat. I didn't know who they were, but I knew they were kind…and smiled at us with sadness in their eyes…and tried their best to dispense love, resources, and gentle pets to as many of us as possible - as impossible as this task was.

I saw a rare opportunity - and I seized it! 

Putting on my best game face, despite many long months of hardship, I dashed toward them and angled to get as close as possible. I was desperate, being so easily overlooked in such a big crowd - especially with my moth-eaten coat and my petite appearance.

How to get their attention…?? Soon they would disappear, as kind humans always do from these places. 

I knew that from experience, and I was NOT going to lose my last chance.

"Look at me, look at me!!" I practically sang, as I finally got in close to one of the people. I did every trick left in my depleted and worn-out bag…I bounced up to them to get as close as possible. I angled my way in until I was able to put my paws up on their legs. 

I got them to look me in the eye so I could give them my best and most pleading, hopeful stare. And when their eyes met mine, I gave them my biggest, friendliest, most cheerful and adorable lip-splitting grin.

It seemed to work - something happened! One of the people, whom they all called "Gypsy Lady", pulled a small box out of her pocket. The next thing I knew, the box began clicking away, and with each click, a bright flash of light shocked my eyeballs. I was a little scared - I'd never seen anything like that before! - but I sensed that something positive was happening, so I amped up my showboating to the max and prayed for a miracle.

Click, FLASH, click, FLASH, click, FLASH…but then, suddenly - what was happening?? - the people began to move as one group, and their direction was the door out of our giant holding pen.

What had happened? What did I do wrong? Why didn't they want to take me with them?

My heart sank…

Little did I know that they WERE trying to help me, and that the best way to do that was by using that magical box. Later that week, when they returned home, pictures came out of that little box somehow (I'm not making this up! Honest) and somehow, those pictures went into a big machine, and then anyone with the same type of machine all over the world could look at those pictures of ME, and lots of other dogs, and help us if they could.

Patarin Phadungpisuth, a wonderful friend to the dogs of Thailand, saw my photo and knew in an instant that she would help me - she would save me from the shelter, and start me on the path to a new, real life.

Still, it takes time to make lots of arrangements to move us around from one place to the next, and it takes money, and sponsorships, and we needed a place to go to see a doctor, and another place to go to live after that until we could get adopted...

Meanwhile, as all these arrangements were being made, I continued my struggle for existence at Khemmarat, dejected at what I thought was my big failure, and knowing nothing about the animal angels diligently working to change my fortune. If I had known about all these amazing people, I would have been dancing my way through the days, but I was clueless and about to give up all hope. And every day was like an eternity in there.

But then --- !!! 

In early fall, arrangements for myself and Ginger were finalized, unbeknownst to us. 

One day in late September, another truck pulled up to Khemmarat. Once again, I found myself amongst a handful of others aboard a rumbling monster - but this time, we each had a spacious crate to call our own. 

Then on September 24th, another adventure awaited - we were loaded into the belly of a big silver machine, and we felt the ground fall away underneath us as we sped through the sky like birds. Nok Air, a domestic Thai airline, had flown both myself and Cutie for free to Bangkok (wow! They want to help us dog meat trade victims as much as possible, and we are VERY grateful).

Immediately upon arrival, we were transported to a large, modern vet clinic, where we were given a thorough physical exam. The vets say I have something called "demodex", but that with medicine and adoption to a less tropical climate, my coat should clear up pretty quickly. Speaking of which - right now I look a little like a white winter jacket that's spent too much time in the attic without mothballs! But - the doctor actually told Patarin that once I get all the things I've never before experienced - a stable and loving home environment, a steady diet of good nutrition, and access to proper medical care - I will be BEAUTIFUL. 

Me?? Wait, are we talking about the same dog? 

But YES - that's really what he said!! He said I would fill out, instead of looking like this sack of bones I am now, and that my hair should be long, white, and straight once it grows in properly again. It's hard to believe it all...but he seems to know what he's talking about, so I really hope it's true!
(Update! November 8 - here I am today, with pal Ginger, at my foster mom Patarin's house. Chck out my gorgeous coat now!! So --- maybe he knew what he was talking about after all...)

Here's a brief video of me and my best friend Ginger at the vet clinic, dated October 3.

And here's another one of me from today, November 5.

Patarin has taken me into her home for foster care while I await my very own special people who will adopt me forever and ever. Ginger is here too! We get lots of love and attention, and are so happy to be in a home for the very first time.

Patarin tells my friends in the USA about what a good girl I am, and how I am friendly with people of all shapes and sizes. I am perpetually happy and always wanting to play, especially with my buddy Ginger!

I'm a sweet girl, and although I've endured many hardships, I have faith that something great is just around the corner for me. Now if only I had a family to call my very own.

One day, I hope. 
I am the eternal optimist, so I just gotta believe one is out there for me. 

Maybe it's you…?

For more information about adopting Cutie, or any of our available dogs, 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 Khemmarat government-run shelter, one 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, Cutie