Ginger/Gunner (Adopted!)

*** UPDATE!! ***

December 20, 2013

Patarin said goodbye to her dear foster boy, Ginger (now Gunner), early last week in Bangkok, Thailand. 

Gunner, along with Snow and Me-Rak - all victims of the dog meat trade (Me-Rak is one of Mona's babies) - traveled to Chicago's O'Hare Airport this past Wednesday, December 19, where they were greeted by Dawn and Chuck.

Then they all went home with Dawn, where they spent two nights acclimating to this new country and culture.

This morning, Friday the 20th, they had a quick visit to the vet for a final check-up (thumbs ups all around)…

...and then off they all went to points north - a veritable canine caravan!

Snow and Gunner shared space on the backseat for a snooze during the long drive.

Snow was the first one to be united with his forever people, Chelsea and Aaron, who live in a suburb of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 

Next, Dawn traveled northeast to Eau Claire, to meet a representative from the amazing animal sanctuary, Home For Life. Eau Claire is the midway point between Chicago and the Minnesota facility. Dawn bid Ang Pao a heartfelt farewell. He is an inspiring, loving, friendly, and happy little man, left hemiparalyzed after being the victim of a brutal car accident on the streets of Bangkok. Ang Pao will live out the rest of his days at this awesome animal sanctuary with many loving caretakers and other differently-abled doggie friends.

Finally, it was off to central Wisconsin to a suburb of Wausau to unite Gunner with his forever family.

Welcome home at last, dear Gunner! Your long journey is finally complete.

Thank you to all who made this possible, from Patarin Phadungpisuth for pulling, transporting, vetting, and fostering Ginger/Gunner; to kind-hearted international supporters for donating towards his medical costs and flight funding; to the Lewandowski family (especially their corgi, Chloe!) for welcoming this sweet boy into their hearts and home with open and adoring arms.

* * * UPDATE * * *

Early December 2013

Ginger (now Gunner) has been adopted by the Lewandowski family of Wisconsin, USA where he will live with his new family and doggie sibling Chloe, a dear little Corgi! In a "best of both worlds" happy ending, Cutie - Gunner's best friend - was adopted by friends and neighbors of the Lewandowskis, so the two dogs would be able to see one another regularly.

Gunner and Cutie 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. For updates on Cutie's condition, please see her blog link here.

Please join us in sending positive thoughts to Cutie for her speedy and complete recovery. We are heartbroken that she is so ill, and that the best friends cannot fly here to the USA together - but our entire ISDF community is hoping, praying, and wishing for a happy reunion eventually.

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 this dear little girl, and thanks to all of you for holding her in your hearts and prayers.

Though we are heartsick with worry over Cutie, we remain excited and grateful for Gunner's impending arrival. In the midst of our worries, we cannot forget that he, too, has endured so much at the hands of the barbaric meat trade.

He survived not only horrific and abusive treatment, but severe wounds from other traumatized dogs at the rescue facility where he was relocated after being saved.

He has come so far, and we are filled with joy that he is less than one week away from his very own happy ending.

Thank you to all who made this possible, from Patarin for pulling, transporting, vetting, and fostering Ginger/Gunner; to kind-hearted international supporters for donating towards his medical costs and flight funding; to the Lewandowski family and Chloe, for preparing to welcome Gunner into their hearts and home with open arms, ready to adore this deserving little boy.

* * * * *

My name is Ginger.

I am a good friend to Cutie, 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.

Ironically, I was saved because I was the victim of a savage dog attack. 

As I lay quietly moaning with pain, bleeding from a torn shoulder and another gaping wound on my left side, midway down my back, I could never have foreseen that my suffering would be my salvation.

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 10 months old, and weigh just 15 lbs (7 kgs) - which means that for approximately $15 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 a few lucky coincidences.

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. But 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. I felt like I had run out of all 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 tried my best to tenaciously cling to what little hope I had left, despite the despair, death, and lack of affection, food, and medicine around me.

One fateful day in the late summer of 2013, I lay sleeping off the heat of midday on the barren concrete floor of our overcrowded prison. Many of the dogs around me were sleeping, too.
I never even saw my attacker. 

I was awakened from deep sleep by a searing pain as my flesh was terribly torn by teeth once, and then again. The pain smothered me into blackness, and I awoke in agony much later - in the same hellish place I had been in for so long, but now in terrible pain. 

I'll never know who did it...and I can't even say I really blame them. 

Was my foe just a nearby snoozer who, in his dreams, was reliving the brutality we experienced while in the hands of smugglers? Did he wake from a dream so black and sunless - like the squalid, 10-foot-deep pits with no food or water we were cruelly dropped into while "on hold" until smugglers could collect enough of us for an illegal run across the border - that he simply snapped and went for me in a state of semi-wakefulness? He probably never would have been pushed to such behavior, but for the fact that we each only had something like a couple of square feet at most to ourselves, given the critical overcrowding at Khemmarat. Or were precious morsels of food laying near me while I snored - was it misplaced food aggression, due to the minimal resources we knew inside the government compound?

There are just so many nightmares possible to the brutalized mind. 

I guess the bottom line is that I just chose the wrong place to sleep that day. And honestly - at Khemmarat, there was no "right" place...

The pain was immense. It clouded out everything else - hunger, thirst. 
Worse yet, though the government workers manning the center care for us and wish to keep us healthy, their resources are limited. Manpower included...there are just a handful of people trying to take care of hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of us, with more pouring in after each government seizure. More of us saved - and yet nowhere for us to go. An impossible situation.

I had held onto hope for a long time, but even I realized the futility of hoping any longer. 
I made peace with my fate, and curled into a tight ball, trying to stop the unending pain I experienced whenever I moved. Lack of food and water was also causing me to sink into a darkness that was almost welcome.

And then, just as I was almost all the way out of the light and into a forever peace, representatives from the Soi Dog Foundation visited Khemmarat. As they toured the facility, greeting as many of us as they could, their eyes fell upon me, and their hearts bled for my suffering. A lovely lady pulled a flashing box out of her pocket and pointed it my way, making a snapping sound with a button over and over and over.

Then their kind hands lifted me and carefully transported me to another area in the same livestock center - but this time, I was placed in the safety of a crate of my own. Staff administered to my wounds as best they could, and as they spoke with one another and with the visiting Soi Dog representatives, it seemed decisions were being made about me.

But then...everyone left. 

I had my own crate now. I had access to food and water bowls placed near me. I had received some ouchy pokes, and though they didn't feel good, I has the sense that the people administering the jabs wanted to help me. And indeed, I could feel my fever lifting, and my body beginning to strengthen a little from the food, water, and medical attention. It even felt like my wounds were beginning to hurt a little less.

But where had everyone gone? 

Why was I not enough of a Good Boy to get them to stay??

Little did I know that they WERE helping me - but that the best way to do that was by using that flashing box. Later that week, when the reps returned home, pictures came out of their little box somehow, and then 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 (along with Cutie's) and knew in an instant that she would help us - she would save us from the shelter, and start us 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 fight to regain my health and hope at the Khemmarat clinic.

In early fall, arrangements for myself and Cutie 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. I was handled in the most gentle, kind, and patient way, so even though I was scared, I was the perfect patient.

I tried to be a Very Good Boy, and didn't even yelp when they drew many vials of blood. 
I could tell the doctors were worried about me because I was very weak. I was exhausted and had lost blood from my wounds. Then I had endured neglect and infection. The people at Khemmarat had helped me as best they could, but sadly it had not been enough to heal me properly.

My bloodwork returned, and the news was ominous - I had a very low red blood cell count and worse, my hematocrit was dangerously low. They amped up my antibiotic regimen and added IV fluids and a special food to the mix, to hydrate me and supply me with the nutrition and calories I so desperately needed.

A couple of days later, I was still weak. After more bloodwork, it was determined that I urgently needed a blood transfusion.

Patarin and other wonderful angels to the dogs spread the word about my plight far and wide - and many responded to help. KInd people with strong, healthy dogs of their own brought them to the vet clinic for typing and matching, and a donor was found. 
I received a life-giving transfusion, and turned the corner soon afterwards. 
I am forever grateful to my donor dog, and to the many dogs who volunteered to donate, but were not a match for me. 

Thank you! You all saved my life...

From that day forward, I was decidedly on the mend. 
With each passing day, I grew stronger in body and mind. I believed again - sometimes the most important factor to a full recovery. 
My bloodwork improved rapidly, and my appetite grew by the day. And my wounds were healing beautifully - now you can hardly see the scars.

I am putting on weight, and my coat is getting thicker and lovelier by the day. I am losing some of my shyness, and am absolutely loving the affection and attention I get from the kind humans around me.

Here's a brief video of me and my best friend Cutie 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. Cutie is here too! We get lots of love and attention, and are so happy to be in a home for the very first time.

I still get scared sometimes when I remember all of the frightening events that have occurred in my past, but I'm a sweet boy with a forgiving nature, and I'm working hard to let all of the bad memories go so that I can give my new family the very best that I've got.

But now I've gotta find that family. I believe in my heart that they're out there somewhere.

Could it be...you.....?

For more information about adopting Ginger, 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, Ginger