Sasha Number Two

Ah, little Sasha. With you began one of the most pleasurable, most challenging, most chock-full-o' learning years of my life.

She lived in an empty lot behind Goisco (the Curaçao version of Costco). The owner and employees of a nearby restaurant fed her for at least two months. No idea where she came from, how she got there, what kind of life she had before. One thing is clear, though: if she had an owner, s/he will burn in brimstone and magma for all eternity.

Sasha is terrified of humans.

Three different organizations tried to catch her. Everyone was afraid she'd go into heat. She's so little. So defenseless. The idea of every dog in the neighborhood after her horrified us all.

But no one could get close.

The trust method failed. Cornering her failed. Epically. A trap was invented over a weekend. Chicken livers were cooked. The lure carefully set, a monitoring station set up a safe distance away.

Nope.

Freckles

Sometimes lessons come from the most unexpected people. We animal rescuers tend to forget that.

Back in 2010, when Freckles showed up at the office--nameless, thin, with puppy-ish long and clumsy legs, and a pleading in her dog-smile that plucked at my heart--people were horrified. They were always horrified: dogs are dirty, yadda-yadda; but this time it was worse. Because, see, Freckles had a French bulldog ancestor somewhere in her past, and along with the cute face and silky fur, she'd inherited the propensity to something called "cherry eye."

Source
This isn't Freckles, but she looked very
much like this: same coloring, same flattened
snout. But her legs were much longer
than a pure-bred French bulldog.

Sasha Number One

[Originally published in Quiet Laughter on July 27, 2011]

Cor and I had vowed, “no more kids.” No matter what. We simply did not have the space, or the time, to devote to the four we already had. At least three of whom were originally intended as foster children, a temporary situation that sidled into permanence. But we loved them; even Cor, who believed for years he was allergic to them (until Panchita arrived to prove him wrong). I’m amazed at the wonderful dad he’s become. I never thought he had it in him to wake up in the middle of the night for them, or cut a party short because it was feeding time, or retell their escapades like any proud father.