Stray affection
Global tales about love for ownerless pets,
One of the neighbours
As in any Indian town, street dogs are prominent residents of my hometown, too.
My younger brother once brought home two stray puppies we named Jimmy and Tommy. Tommy died young from rabies, but Jimmy survived. He had a shiny black coat and an adorable disposition.
Every day when I came home from college, he would run to me with his tail wagging and jump all over me in joy. It was unadulterated love. He became a part of our life and a part of our neighbours’ families as well. He would go to one neighbour for lunch, take a nap on another’s porch and have dinner at his own house (i.e., ours). He lived a quasi-street-dog life.
Sadly, a few years later, he died from rabies as well, leaving us heartbroken. These stray puppies are growing up to be the future Tommies and Jimmies. Soma Chowdhury, India
A lover of the arts
This is a very cultured dog. He likes the arts. He lives in the National Gallery of Art in Caracas, Venezuela, and the museum guards take care of him. You can see him by the door, greeting you. He’s very calm, social, and everyone loves him. As curious as it seems, almost all of the museums in Caracas have their own stray dogs.
Sandra Santini, Venezuela A highly recommended guide
My boyfriend and I visited the Teotihuacan Pyramids, not far from Mexico City. On the way to the top of the largest — Pyramid of the Sun — we saw a small black dog dozing on the steps. I took a quick break to give his head a little scratch before continuing on. When we reached the top and were admiring the amazing view, we realized the black dog had become our shadow. He followed us to the top, sat with us while we rested and trotted down the pyramid behind us. Much to our amazement, he then led the way to the next pyramid — Pyramid of the Moon. When we stopped, he stopped. When we turned, he turned. We reached the top of the second pyramid and knew we needed a photo of our furry tour guide.
Carla Schaffer, Mexico Absolutely no rescues
Before we arrived I was adamant. No matter how many sad and abandoned animals we saw, there was absolutely no way I was going to rescue any of them. I’m probably the biggest animal lover you’ll ever meet, so that realization was hard for me. But we had three young, healthy pets and I couldn’t endanger them in any way. But then Soya wandered into the right yard at the right time. It was raining. And dark. And cold. We showed up at a friend’s house, and there she was. A tiny black puppy out in the rain.
She had followed people into the yard and sat there shivering and looking miserable.
It really didn’t take much persuasion. By the end of the night she was in our house. By the end of the weekend she had a name, Soya, which is Tajik for “shadow.” She’s our permanent street dog. Kristen Crocker, Tajikistan
The world’s most spoiled street dog
I used to live in India and had a neighbourhood reputation for looking out for street dogs. One day a friend found a two-weekold pup that had been abandoned by its mother and was badly infested with maggots. I took the pup, thinking she might not make it through the night and intending to leave her with a vet in the morning. The vet ended up giving her a good prognosis, so I decided I would foster her until I found her a family. Weeks turned into months, and I hadn’t looked very hard for a new home. It’s now almost three years later. My street pup received official Indian state travel papers and made the trek from Mumbai to Chicago with me. She’s the world’s most spoiled street dog. I even have a tattoo portrait of her.
Lauren Dean, India A city that cares for dogs
We have many street dogs. About 20 live in our neighbourhood park, and another five by the taxi stand, where drivers built shelters for them.
Municipalities routinely vaccinate, fix and tag them, and place recycling stands around the city where dog food is dispensed in exchange for empty bottles. Neighbours generally take care of them — there is even a Facebook group where we can check with one another to find out the latest on our neighbourhood dogs.
One best friend is Sofi. She follows us as we go for several hours of walking around the city, patiently waiting for us if we stop for lunch or coffee. If we run into her on our way to work, she walks us to the metro station.
We don’t feed her — it’s all about affection and company.
Chiaki Yamamoto, Turkey The happiest dog in the world
I met the happiest dog in the world. He lives on the beach and belongs to no one.
My girlfriend and I named him Lobito (“little wolf”), but eventually we learned that the locals of La Guaira call him Guasa. He might have German shepherd blood, given his intelligence and looks. The visitors of the beach and the “tolderos” (stand vendors) give him leftovers, and every weekend we bring him kibble.
Since we met him, he made friends with our Dalmatian, Blondie, and every time we reach his home — a plot of land by the sea that he shares with a toldero named Gabriel and his hens — he runs to us and kisses us. Unlike other solitary and stray dogs, Guasa or Lobito looks healthy and happy. Once we thought about taking him with us to the city, but taking the sea out of him may well be like letting the air out of him. Daniel Garrido, Venezuela
Dog, beach and sun
Dog lived in Llandudno, Cape Town, the sort of place where people want for nothing. Especially not a big, smelly dog like Dog.
Dog was something of a Labrador, and judging by his glacial gait, approaching 10 times seven.
Whenever you found yourself on Llandudno Beach, you’d see him limping from picnic to picnic, looking for a morsel to eat. He never gave any affection in return and seemed totally oblivious to the touch of human hands. Dog was deaf to the shrillness of children’s play and above butt sniffing.
He only seemed to see the sunsets. For hours, Dog would stare intently at the sun’s track into the waves. He would watch the sky change from azure to orange to pink to purple to black. Then he’d drag himself up the hill to hide among the massive houses to be back the next day.
Leon Jacobs, South Africa Back to the junk yard at night
It started with Annie. I fell in love with her after arriving in a small town in Macedonia to begin my two years as a Peace Corps volunteer.
There were a lot of street dogs. Some were wary of me, most of them were dirty, skinny and showed scars from fights or limping from accidents. But she came right up to me, put her paws on my shoulders and started to talk to me.
I named her Annie and started to feed her. She followed me on my walks and at night she went back to the junk yard.
Then another hound showed up, Joe. Then another and then a little black dog. Annie had 13 puppies and she almost died. Only one puppy survived past two months. Every day I would feed five of them and whatever cats showed up. They all ate together. And all they wanted was love.
Margery Rubin, Macedonia