The Foundation in Greece: Summary Friday, Aug. 3, 2007 The 11 Greek dogs are here now, clean and happy and preparing for new homes. Their journey from chains in Patras to camp in Boulder was sometimes tense and always emotional, with some very cute and touching moments along the way. The night before our flight was stressful - we knew the pups would be on their way to the airport in a matter of hours, but in the evening it looked like Aegean Airlines wouldn’t let us get them all on the plane from Athens to Munich . We persisted and luck was with us, in the form of a few dog lovers who worked for the airline and made it work for all but two of the dogs to go on the flight with us. The other two would take a later flight, spend a night in Frankfurt and arrive in Denver on Thursday. Before dawn, the workers from Patras showed up with the pups and their cute little passports, complete with pictures. We hurriedly filled in paperwork for each one and got the six bigger dogs down to where they would be loaded on the plane. Each of us carried on a puppy, dirty and bedraggled but still with that trusting look that we had seen so often during our days in Greece . On the advice of a vet, a very small dose of sedative was given to ensure that the dogs were not frightened and were as comfortable as possible during the long journey. Throughout the trip we met dog lovers, more of them when we changed planes in Munich as they helped speed us through security so we could make our flight and even more as we waited in line at immigration in Denver International Airport . Many were curious and so we had an opportunity to talk about our mission and the fact that these sweet, special dogs would be available to adoption soon, to the best homes we can find. Once the big guys were unloaded, three wonderful DIA skycaps helped us get them outside for a long-awaited potty break. Soon the vans and a crew of Camp Bow Wow staffers showed up and it was off to the vets at Alameda East in Aurora for checkups. Five who were pronounced ready headed to camp, while the others stayed at the vet overnight to treat hookworm. The new campers got much-needed baths, then treats and bed - in spacious cabins with no chains around their necks. Finally, no chains. In the morning, they romped joyfully, reminding us yet again that people’s attitudes and customs may differ from place to place but, around the globe, dogs are dogs. Their physical needs are simple and their desires few – food, home and loving care. Throughout the trip home, we couldn’t help but flash back to all the others we met who are still at the end of their chains or roaming the dangerous streets. Those memories only serve to renew our determination to help as many more as we can, until all the world’s dogs are safe and loved. We’ve began posting bios and pictures of the pups today and information on how to adopt will follow. In the days to come, you’ll also be able to catch glimpses of the pups on the Web cam at Camp Bow Wow Boulder, where most will stay until they find foster or forever homes. ______________________________________________________________ |
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Greece Day 6 Animal Care Samos is the last shelter we’ll visit before heading home and it turns out we have saved the best for last. Dutch carpenter Joeri Krom came to Greece more than four years ago and never left. He worked first at a shelter near Athens, then came to Samos when that one closed in 2003. With regular financial help from Greek Animal Rescue in the UK, Joeri took on the task of rebuilding a falling down dog shelter that a local authority had given up running when it was decided that it didn’t live up to European standards.
Farida, a volunteer from Holland who comes for six months every year to work at the shelter, picks us up from the Hotel Plaka, a quaint little place with fabulous views of the sea and the mountains beyond. As we head up a mountain toward the shelter, she tells us to enjoy the view now – moments later we round a corner and see the dump that sits next to the shelter. For some reason this landfill doesn’t smell as bad as the one in Ioaninna that we visited with Mary O’Connor – or perhaps by now we’re just used to it.
When Joeri arrived on the island, the “shelter” consisted of two barren fenced yards and one tiny closet-sized building. One part of one yard had a roof, the rest of the place was unsheltered from the blazing summer sun. There’s still no electricity or running water, but now Joeri has a generator and tanks for fresh water that’s donated. It would take about 50,000 euros to pipe in municipal water, he says, but only about 2,000 to dig a well and connect that way. With the help of a few volunteers and much-needed funding from GAR, Joeri rebuilt the facilities from just about nothing to a concrete and fenced structure that’s the best we’ve seen in Greece. Garbage, everything from toilets to lawn furniture, sits in relatively neat piles – lighter rubbish like plastic bags and bottles dot the rocky ground along the paths, as if the wind has carried it there.
Outside, there are some wild dogs who won’t be touched, but inside the gate we make a slew of new furry friends quickly. We meet Stan – we know her name because before they dumped her, someone wrote “Stan” in now-fading blue magic marker on the side of the little beige pup. Stan and the others greet us with barks and jumps, but it’s not the frantic “Get me out of here now” barks we remember from some of the chained dogs we’ve seen in other parts of Greece. It’s much more “Helloooooo, come and play!!”
Just inside the gate is a big table and chairs, covered with an awning. Next to this is the office where the shelter also sells T-shirts to raise funds. The place has about 100 dogs now – more than usual, he says, because it has gotten tougher just now to send large groups abroad for adoption. Laws changed and they can get fewer batches of passports for the dogs. Another new law requires the van driver to have a special certificate to transport larger groups, they tell us, so some volunteers must get this document before they can send groups of 25 or so to Germany and Holland. Beyond the office are the pens, now nicely rebuilt with concrete, fences and gates. While we’re there, a few volunteers scoop the poop and clean out the kennels. There aren’t enough tools for us to help, so we ask if we can walk some dogs. We take two on leashes, including Duffy, a sweet black and white pup who hardly leaves our side while we’re here. A small group follows along as we take a turn through the hillside.
Back at the shelter, Joeri tells us that a crazy man owns the dog – he has already purposely aimed his car at some dogs from the shelter, hitting one quite recently. And, he adds, we could go back and steal the dog, but tomorrow there would just be another tied in its place. As usual when we hear these things, our first question is “Why?” But as the days have gone on and we’ve seen the cultural contradictions that often result in misery and pain for the dogs and cats here, we’ve learned that there’s no rational answer to that question. It is what it is, and that’s the reality workers like Joeri and Mary and Dimitris must deal with every day. We decide to take a couple more dogs out and bring fresh water to the chained dog as well. This time, Duffy follows and when we get there he lies down with the chained dog and won’t leave. Eventually he follows us, but it’s as if he wants us to save his friend. The shelter in Samos is largely the product of Joeri’s passion for the dogs combined with his practical way of dealing with the day-to-day craziness. He’s also something of a computer whiz. In the afternoon, we head to his house, an old building that used to house donkeys downstairs and people upstairs. Like the shelter, there wasn’t much to it when he took it over. It’s still rough and worn now, but the parts he has added using his carpentry skills are solid and beautiful, especially the cupboards in the surgery room he has made to care for sick and injured cats and dogs. There are no vets on Samos that do sterilizations, but an organization called Worldwide Veterinary Service comes periodically to help. Sometimes it’s a training trip, which means fewer of his animals get spayed and neutered by the students learning their skills. Sometimes, though, the group sends experienced docs, Joeri tells us. Then it’s like an assembly line, with one shaving, one operating and one stitching. In the cupboards and drawers, we see neatly arranged packets of sutures and medical supplies – it may just be one of the tidiest things we’ve seen on the entire trip. The house has another surprise – in Joeri’s office sits a new looking flat screen Apple computer – it’s where he creates videos of the dogs, often set to music. He shows us a video of what the place looked like when he got there and takes us through most of the construction efforts, as he and some dedicated volunteers build the place we saw earlier. What he doesn’t do, he tells us later, is post the pictures of dogs for adoption. “I don’t do it because it’s not a grocery store,” he says.
He takes great care of all those who come to him, making tough calls and trying to do his best by each and every one. In the garden at his house, kitties and puppies tumble and play together, obviously happy but untouchable at the moment – they’ve got ringworm, he says. He’ll treat them, of course – it’s what he does. It’s what they all do, the dog-loving souls we’ve met in this trip, which seems at once so long and much too short to really learn about all the problems. We’ll head home in the morning and give a fuller accounting of this trip as we re-acclimate. In the days and weeks ahead, we’ll also give more information on ways you can help. Meanwhile, here are two great places to start: www.animalcaresamos.com – Joeri has created a Web site that details how the shelter started and gives a list of ways people can help.
Finally, we want to thank everyone here who took the time to share their lives and show us what they do every day to better the lives of the dogs. We hope to know you all a long time and to work together until the problems are solved. Signing off, Heidi, Connie and Janet _____________________________________________________________ |
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Greece Day 5 We’ve smelled some pretty bad stuff on this trip, but Saturday morning at the dump in Ioaninna is nauseating.
He trots along beside Mary – a behavior we’ll see repeated by strays at other sites throughout the day. They know her, along with a handful of others who regularly feed them and provide what is often their only human contact. Mary’s car is never without a kit that includes brushes for scrubbing muck out of makeshift water buckets – the water here gets filthy fast, she tells us, because of all the dust kicked up by the big trash-moving trucks.
As Mary works at different spots, filling food and water, we notice Aris has something in his mouth. It’s the dump dog’s version of a toy – a filthy gray paw that we assume used to belong to a sheep. We see a few of the dump dogs, but the day quickly grows hot and the majority only come under cover of the night, she tells us. Next we go to pick up Despoina, the woman we met the night before when we found the German Shepherd. She’s Greek, married to a dentist in town and part off the group in Ioaninna that also includes Roxanna, an anesthetist at one of the hospitals and another woman, a professor at the university. Each has her own area where she primarily feeds and cares for the strays there. Each also has her own abilities and areas of expertise. Mary has a car and so she and Despoina, who doesn’t drive, often work together to check out calls of strays or injured dogs and to catch dogs for neutering or homing. Despoina, who didn’t grow up with animals, loves the pack of dogs that lives in her front garden. She also loves all the others creatures she comes across. Roxanna grew up in Romania, learning to care for dogs on a small scale from her mother, also an animal lover, she says. She met Mary when she needed help with a big stray that had two broken legs, and soon was part of the group that regularly cares for the packs – her area is around the hospital where she works. As the day wears on, we learn more also about the poisoning – people use pesticides or rat poison or ground glass, she says, all horrible and painful ways to go.
We meet more of the volunteers later, when it’s time for evening rounds. Another woman regularly feeds the packs at the university nearby, but this night we go there, too, because we’re looking for one of Mary’s dogs that has been spayed and vaccinated and is scheduled to go to a new home in Germany – she’s been missing for days. When we pull in near the hospital to meet with Roxanna and search, Mary thinks she sees this dog in a fence in a field with a couple other pups. She treks over to investigate and is confronted by the man who “owns” the dogs. She’s pretty sure by now that it’s not her pup, but she asks the man to go in and pick her up so Mary can check for scars from the spaying to be sure. He says no, he’s not going to touch his dogs. Once again, it’s something we’ll just never understand – why people keep these dogs if they don’t love and care for them. It’s common here, we hear time and again, for people to own dogs – for guarding mostly – and never to touch them. If they’re lucky, they get water. Meals are often some scraps of bread for these dogs, who spend their lives at the end of a short rusty chain stuck in barrels or small dilapidated shanties. They get little if any human contact and, without rescue, may live this way for years. The chained females are not spayed, so they have no means to escape from all the males in the neighborhood. Too many here treat dogs like they’re objects, she says. If they don’t want one anymore, if it’s a hassle, just throw it away. Worse, they’ll decide later they want another. Puppies get tossed in the trash – if they’re lucky, the trash man finds them before they go into the grinder and calls Mary or Despoina or one of the others to come and get them. It’s confusing in Greece – because there are no government sponsored animal welfare efforts, small societies and groups form, including the one in Ioaninna. Like Dimitris in Patras, the group here gets some help from abroad, including much needed funding from an active UK-based Group called Greek Animal Rescue or GAR. GAR sends money to help subsidize the spaying and neutering efforts in Ioaninna as well as to Dimitris’ group in Patras. The group is also a regular financial supporter of Animal Care Samos, the shelter we’ll visit on the last leg of our trip.
The women have also found homes for 58 dogs in the last 12 months, primarily in the UK and Germany. Back at hospital, a few others are fed, including a big black dog and a lame puppy, neither of whom can be touched. Then it’s off to the university – we follow Roxanna and Despoina, all glancing this way and that in the hope of spying the missing dog. On the road up to a monastery, we see two sheepdogs, a flock of sheep on a mountainside and the man who apparently owns them all. He and Despoina exchange some heated words, but we’re soon on our way again. We drive to another part of the campus and hit paydirt – the missing female is roaming with a pack of nine others, all happy to see us and hungry for the food and petting we bring. The pack seems OK – Mary believes they’re always better off running free than being chained as they are in other places. When they have injuries or illnesses, the women can help. The problem isn’t that this group is particularly unhappy – the problem is they’re very much in danger from those who just don’t understand. Cultural differences in this country continue to astound us, from the shopkeeper in Athens who shoos dogs away from the bowl of water he leaves for the pigeons to the woman the night before who cried over the German Shepherd but was afraid to put the obviously sweet dog in her car. They’ll keep chipmunks in cages but shy away from dogs and cats. This pack is beautiful and sweet and we feel safe among it for the hour or so we spend. But during that time, groups of students pass by and never glance at the pups, much less offer sweet talk. More ominously, cars whiz down the hill and part of the pack starts barking and chasing. One driver gets out, perhaps planning to do something, and we worry that he or others might try poisoning or otherwise hurting the dogs later. Some will get out in time, to homes in Germany and the UK, thanks to this group and GAR and others interested in the welfare of the dogs. And this night, the little black and white female is safe with Roxanna and bound for her new home. Update: When we come home this week, we expect to have plenty of company. Our plan at this point is to bring 11 dogs from Dimitris’ shelter in Patras. As we write, Dimitris and Anastasia are making sure all the shots and paperwork are in order and the dogs are ready to go. We’ll send bios and pictures of the dogs as soon as possible, plus details on where they’ll stay and how soon they’ll be ready for adoption. _____________________________________________________________ |
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Greece Day4
An early bus got us to Ioaninna midday, where animal welfare activist Mary O’Connor met us at the station and drove us to a hotel behind the ancient stone wall of the original center of town, which dates back to the 400s, she told us. An afternoon with Mary’s menagerie cheered us after days of dealing with sadder stuff. Originally from New Zealand, Mary and her Greek pharmacist husband now live in a lovely home on a hillside outside the town. Greece has no governmental agencies dedicated to animal welfare and no organizations comparable to the ASPCA or Humane Society. So, like others we’ve talked to this week, Mary jumped in where she saw a glaring need and suffering she couldn’t ignore. Today, she’s one of a handful of women in this small town who feed packs of strays in certain locations; catch, neuter and release dogs; answers calls to pick up sick, hurt animals.
Too soon, we’re off again. Mary has one kitten with a broken leg that was set by the vet. Now, the pin is coming loose so we take the cat to the vet, who decides to wait a bit longer. We’ve also picked up Vesthina along the way. She’s one of Mary’s few loyal and dependable helpers, who has a pack of her own dogs at her home. After the vet, we go to investigate a call Vesthina got that there was an injured dog living near a dumpsite on the road to Egomounitza, a port city about 90 kilometers away. The lady has told them that the big dog has a problem with its leg. So all of us, including the kitten in the carrier, hit the road. We find a dumpsite, with buckets working as makeshift food and water bowls amid the trash strewn landscape.
A dark car pulls in behind us as we’re getting ready to leave. A woman gets out. We learn she’s Georgia, the woman who called about the dog. She’s in tears, and we later learns she’s afraid there’s something badly wrong with the dogs leg. We don’t see anything wrong with the leg, and wonder why Georgia didn’t take the dog herself. It’s largely cultural, says Mary, who has pretty much had it with these attitudes.
Later, Mary tells us, very few if any of the animals they find are feral. Almost all dogs here are catchable because they’re all formerly owned pets. Her push here to educate neighbors to get dogs and cats neutered seems to be working slowly, she says. Dog owners a few years ago who wouldn’t have dreamed of fixing their animals now show up to do it or at least ask Mary to have it done. Many still don’t pay, she says, so the money comes out of her pocket but at least it gets done. It seems money and cultural misconceptions are the two biggest stumbling blocks to fixing the problem here in Ioaninna.
And, she says, she often has it done on “owned” dogs, as well as taking care of treating wounds and illness. The neighbors accept it but don’t offer to pay for it, she says, even if they’ve got the money. All through our trip, we’ve seen glimmers like this that things might be getting better slowly. But it’s baby steps and huge obstacles remain from the government and fringe groups that object and make trouble. Meanwhile, the caring people we’ve met who do this work daily keep putting out the fires as the come. _____________________________________________________________ |
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Greece Day3
The pups come with us to her land – a piece of property in a hillside village outside Patra, where the dogs she fosters can roam. They’ve got a fenced in enclosure with shady areas, and can run even more freely during Anastasia’s twice daily visits. At 31, the activist holds a civil engineering degree and works for an international oil company – that is when she’s not giving her hours and days to the furry creatures she loves. With the two latest additions, the property she bought for a song not long ago now houses 15 dogs, most of whom run together in a pack. Most look healthy, but the couple of sick ones seem very sick.
She has been giving him pills for the disease for a month. She’ll continue for another 30 days and, if Truffa gets better still, she’ll take him to the vet for a course of injections to ensure the disease is gone for good. So many moments of this trip get touchy as cultures and ideas clash and we bite our tongues and try to figure out a diplomatic way to ask people doing such saintly and needed work why they don’t put the dog out of his misery as we would likely do. Just since we’ve been here, Dimitris has told us stories of two of his dogs that came down with Parvo, a serious virus. One died from the disease and the other was ailing at the vet.
Truffa’s serious condition aside, Anastasia’s land offers a nice contrast from the shelter we toured with Dimitris the day before. Without chains, the dogs are calmer and as the morning quickly grows warmer the pups mellow out by the time we leave, after Anastasia fills water buckets and scoops poop. Anastasia will eventually build a house on this land, she says, but before then she plans a couple more fenced areas. Many of the dogs on her land are smaller – what we’d consider mid-sized – and more easily adoptable to homes in Germany they’re destined for soon. It’s another contrast to too many of the bigger chained dogs back in Patras, who can exist in limbo for years waiting for their forever families. The afternoon brings a bigger contrast, as we meet up again with Dimitris and head to a shelter on the campus of the university where he teaches. The shelter is run by a different animal welfare society, and the finishing of the huge facility, with its rows and rows of concrete-floored, fenced in bays was paid for by a wealthy Greek shipping family, Dimitris tells us. It’s separate from the Achaic Animal Welfare Society that was started by Dimitris and others in 1994, after deciding the first group cared more about image and getting public money than doing good for the dogs.
Today, dogs are barking all around as we walk in, a deafening din spurred by our arrival. They’re mostly strays picked up on or near campus, as people know the shelther is here and so they drop them off. Many eventually disappear, he says, and very little evidence of adoption is ever provided. Dimitri and others strongly suspect the shelter euthanizes, although a director who is there tells us in a good week they find Greek homes for three of the pups. She tells us that adopting them in Germany and other countries, as Achaic now does, is “too complicated.” The place is clean, with space for many more dogs than are housed there now. Still, Dimitris says, they turn away dogs and often call him to come take strays away. This day, we see Kimon, a dominant male who for years lived outside Dimitris' office building, often playing with his then-toddler son who is now 11. In recent years, though, Kimon has started to roam and is now in the shelter. The director has asked him to come and take the dog to the vet - she suspects an illness, she says. Dimitris believes it's more likely that they just want the dog out of there. But, we take him to the vet who clips his nails, takes some blood and sends us on our way. We show up back at the shelter - all five us, two of us armed with cameras. They take Kimon back - Dimitris has determined that none of his usual temporary places have room and this place is better than a chain at his shelter. Besides, he says, they know him and so he doesn't fear that Kimon will disappear as he believes so many of the others will. All day, as we visit these new places, our minds jump back to the chained animals we saw the day before. We want to help, and over a late dinner with Anastasia and Dimitris, we come up with a tentative plan to begin getting some dogs to the states - we'll tell you more on that in the days to come. _____________________________________________________________ |
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Greece Day2
Though their chains leave them only about three feet to move in any direction, for the most part their eyes gleam with trust. Many show a bit of interest in the treats offered, but all are much more intent on the attention. Food they have – it’s the petting and sweet talk and hugs these dogs crave from visitors. Like the trash that accumulates around them on the property, these dogs in Patras have been tossed away after the new baby came or the puppy cuteness wore off or the freedom for a summer vacation became more important than keeping the dog given months ago as a Christmas gift.
Dimitris Karabalis, an engineering professor at the university here, helped start the society in 1994 and revive it in 2000 after a couple years of flagging activity. Today, his wallet is full of bills to be paid from a meager budget that includes 30,000 euros annually from the city’s mayor and another few thousand from Germany- and UK-based rescue groups that also help the dogs find homes. In addition, Dimitris tells us, 10 members of the society chip in monthly fees of between 30 and 80 euros apiece. Fifteen years ago, Patras had only one vet and no spaying or neutering services. People would ignore sick or injured animals, or shoot or poison them. Today in Patras - a major shipping port to Italy - there are 15 or so vets, he said, two of whom offer low-cost spaying and neutering services to the dogs and cats the society brings them.
Yiota, an elderly woman who wears knee-high rubber boots as she works, her typical uniform twice a day as she comes to feed and clean and spend time with the dogs. She’s paid, but only about 250 euros a month, Dimitris tells us. A few things happen as we’re touring the shelter with Dimitris – the first one gives a glimmer of hope in a country where love and compassion for animals grows by baby steps.
Soon the colder side of the world comes back, when a young couple drive in and try to give Dimitris their dog. It’s just for a few days, they say. The landlord is kicking them out because of the dog, so they must move to new digs and then they’ll be back. Dimitris has heard it all before, he says. He has to turn them down. Just as he has learned that he can’t take in all the healthy strays and must focus on the most needy, he knows that if he takes this dog he’ll have to take all the other suddenly unwanted ones who drive in. “If I take it in, tomorrow there will be 10 more,” he says.
If it’s lucky, the dog will end up at the shelter anyhow, perhaps tied up there in the middle of the night. For more than five years, the shelter has been home to an 11-year-old apparent Shepherd mix who was named after him then called “Mitros” for short. The pup has epilepsy and, while his seizures have been controlled by medication, he’s been impossible to find a home for. Now, though, an Englishwoman who has visited twice in as many years has finally decided she loves the Mitros enough to take him home. Because of the UK’s health requirements, there’s a six-month waiting period after the rabies shot – Mitros will have to wait out the summer before heading to his forever home in time for Christmas.
We call vet John Zapantes then head to his office with the dog. He does a cursory exam and sees signs of a brain tumor, he says. He takes blood and we’ll find out today if Mitros has something that’s treatable. If not, he’ll diagnose a brain tumor. Dimitris is visibly shaken, but later says he knows what he’ll have to do if it is a tumor and it breaks his heart, especially after recent events with another long-time favorite. He tells us about Lucy, another hard-to-place rescue who finally found a home in Germany. The frustration comes back to his voice yet again. He found Lucy in 2000, scratching at a container for food in the street. She lived a meager existence at the shelter for seven years before finding a home in May with a recent widow who lavished her with love and care. Two months later, she was dead of a tumor. “She found a home and she didn’t have a chance to enjoy it – I cried and cried for Lucy.” _____________________________________________________________ |
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Greece Day1
We ended the night more certain than ever of our mission’s importance, after hearing firsthand from an activist who has been fighting to help Greece’s abandoned dogs and cats for 22 years. The day – the first in Greece for Heidi, Connie and Janet – was one of contradictions. As we strolled the blazing mid-afternoon streets of downtown Athens, jet lagged and looking forward to a revitalizing night’s sleep, we happened upon an apparently contented cat and a handful of pups along the way. All the dogs we saw wore collars and tags and, while they also wore that hot summer day ennui, none were panting or being kept from shade.
In the days to come, we know the pictures we’ll see won’t be nearly so sweet and illustrative of the pleasant if scorching dog days of summer. Indeed, we saw previews of what’s to come later on, after dinner with activist Areti Papastavrou at a taverna several blocks from our hotel – both of which have stunning views of the Acropolis, a major tourist stop and a monument to the part Greece has played in creating modern civilization. Eight stray dogs currently call Areti’s Athens apartment home. Twelve others live in one “camp”, 22 in another, eight more are in foster homes and she’s caring for 35 to 40 more strays in the street. Recently, she spent $400 of her own money to ship a dog to a new home in Germany. She’s been sued four times over her work, tying up more money in legal fees, not to mention the time she has to spend fighting, she says. She’s struck daily by the contradictions that face her in the volunteer work she squeezes in around her full-time high-school teaching schedule. In April, when an opponent complained about a shipment of more than 100 dogs heading to Germany where adoptive families waited, Italian authorities seized the pups, who are now growing older in shelter limbo there instead of with the eager families, many of whom have by now given up. In contrast to that sudden capricious enforcement of law in the face of dubious claims of “stealing” Greece’s stray dogs, what hinders her in her work much more often is the lack of any enforcement when it comes to animal cruelty laws, she says. During our meal, Areti also explained that some things are different in Athens than they used to be – visitors are much less likely to see ill, abused strays than they were before the 2004 Olympic Games shone a spotlight on the city. At that time, several thousand dogs disappeared, allegedly taken to shelters and eventual homes. Today, she said, houses in the city can cost more than Manhattan real estate, and many of the new wealthy residents are dog lovers – they’re not afraid of police and politicians, she said, so it’s easier for them to get animal welfare laws enforced. Still, some actions the city took in 2004, including removing public watering holes for strays, haven’t been reversed yet. In the 90-plus heat of July afternoons, strays have few places to go for clean water. Some of the sights we saw on the walk back broke our hearts, like the big mutt who obviously claims at least one German Shepherd in his ancestry. War wounds – some old, some fresh – scarred his face. As we got closer, he began to stir and we could see he had been too tired to get up and relieve himself. We’ll never know if the man who appeared and shooed the pup up the street after he saw our camera worked for one of the tavernas on the street or just generally wanted to keep tourists’ distress over the situation to a minimum. But here’s one thing we know for sure - the need for the work of Areti and her fellow volunteers is as great as it was when she began as a college student in 1985. In the coming weeks and months, we’ll detail more of her work and how you can help. In the coming days, we’ll share some more of our experiences as we travel to several more towns and meet with others like her. Tonight, we’ll just close with a quote that illustrates how frustrating the work can be when her country’s pride, corruption or contrary interests get in the way of saving animals and getting them to the homes they deserve. “If people have the right to take a baby from an orphanage in Greece to a German family who will give it a good home, then it’s ridiculous to say they can’t adopt a dog from the same country and give it just as good a home,” she said. _____________________________________________________________ |
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Watch this space to follow the daily reports that willl be posted here. |
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Samos is by far the most beautiful place we’ve seen on our trip – most of the island, anyway. As they are in other towns in Greece, dogs and shelters are tucked away in the least pretty places. Most of the mutts we’ve met, in fact, live surrounded by garbage.
Since coming to this island about one mile from the Turkish coast, where the human population of about 7,000 swells to 15,000 in the summer, Joeri has made a big difference in the lives of the dogs here. His example is also influencing the people slowly, through education and p.r. efforts. We see a few cared for pups going for walks on leashes while we’re here, although we also see examples of the abuse and neglect we’ve observed since we arrived in the country a week ago.
As we drive up, we see a blue and red double dog house just outside the front gate – it’s where people bring the dogs they want to get rid of, Farida tells us. They tie them up there, knowing Joeri will take them in.
One dog, though, smells horrible and has a gaping wound on her back that Joeri tells us is from a fight. To our eyes, the gash looks bad but Joeri and Farida say it’s much better today than it was.
As we’re walking, we come to a falling down shack with a dog chained outside. The big brown and black guy doesn’t bark, but pulls at his chain when he sees us – an algae filled water bucket and moldy bread are his only sustenance. We want to set him free and take him back to the shelter, but decide to ask Joeri about it first. We climb back up the path and tie an old potato chip bag to a tree branch to mark the spot.
All the adoptable dogs need homes. One of the longer term missions of his group is to educate the people of Samos on respect for the animals, and how and why we must care for them properly.
www.greekanimalrescue.com – this group was started in the late 1980s by UK resident Vesna Jones after a vacation to Greece turned into a nightmare of abandoned and hungry strays. GAR gives money to all of the workers and shelters we’ve visited on our trip, and Vesna was a great help in setting our itinerary and making the introductions to our new friends and kindred spirits.
As we get out of the car, Aris arrives to escort us. He’s one of Mary’s regulars – the dump is one of the areas of town where she stops regularly to feed, water and check up on the dogs. One of the men at the dump has taken Aris’ sister and given her a home, Mary tells us, but the male will likely eventually go to a family in Germany.
The number of dogs at the dump varies, she tells us, with pups appearing and disappearing, and people dumping puppies and as well as older dogs. She tells us about one that we’ll see in a minute, whose owner didn’t want him anymore and decided to dump him here. But because the dump has begun posting a guard, he couldn’t just drop the dog off. The dog was attached to the car with a wire around his neck, she says, so the guy just cut the wire and took off, leaving the dog running around with wires sticking from his neck. None of the other dogs could get close until the wires were removed.
On our next stop, in a big parking lot next to a children’s party area that’s blaring disco versions of American pop songs, we see another few dogs. One won’t come anywhere near, a worry for Mary who thinks the female is pregnant. Another has no such qualms – she’ll apparently lay there for belly rubs as long as they’re on offer. When she finally does arise, we see one ear is cut off – the third or fourth we’ve seen. Some farmers do that to sheepdogs, she tells us, because they believe the dog hears better when it’s laying down. We’re not clear on their reasons for also often cutting off the tail.
Part of Mary’s work is also to keep the records of her team’s efforts. She gives us a copy of her annual report that shows the group provided 153 dog and cat sterilizations last year, 119 of them on owned animals. Sterilizing owned animals is key, she tells us, because most of the strays are the result of peoples’ pets reproducing.
Friday brought a few very welcome and unexpected amusements.
We plan to follow her on as much of this as we can in the next day and a half. But first we play. It’s a bit like Christmas as Mary, surrounded by four dogs and various cats and kittens, unpacks the bag we brought. Samera, a gentle sheepdog whose right ear and tail were cut off before she was dumped, it’s the first time to play with a toy. She catches on quickly, and does the doggy head tilt – the international canine symbol for “Huh?” – when the stuffed shoe in her mouth suddenly bursts into song.
Mary and Vesthina start to coo and call, and suddenly a German Shepherd emerges up the hill, shaking with happiness but wary of the unknown. He starts to eat and Mary and Vesthina eventually get a collar around his neck and get him in the car. It’s too late to get the dog to the vet, and there doesn’t seem to be much wrong with the dog, so it’s decided that Vesthina will take her in for the night.
They’re afraid, she says, that the dog will contaminate the car in some way, and she obviously hasn’t a clue how to go about picking up the obviously friendly pet.
When the government occasionally provides money for a spay and neuter clinic, for example, suddenly every vet in town wants a piece of the business, she says. Unfortunately, because spaying and neutering has been rare to non-existent, many of the vets here don’t know how to do it. The result can be that a clinic and service that’s supposed to be a good thing can actually turn out to be another danger to the lives of the dogs.
Anastasia picks us up at our hotel early Thursday, just after sunup and before the day’s heat becomes too intense. Our first stop is Dimitris’ shelter, the one we visited the day before, to pick up two smallish dogs bound eventually for new homes Germany.
Truffa, a 2-year-old Greek Shepherd, has leishmaniasis, a serious protozoal disease transmitted from dog to dog by sand flies. He lies listless in his old battered crate. His previously black face is missing fur in patches, his marks now resembling those of a burn victim. Anastasia pulls him out to medicate and the view gets worse as our eyes move towards the dog’s bony rear. Raw patches of flesh look angry and painful, though Anastasia tells us he was worse before.
That dog is at the same hospital where we took 11-year-old Mitras who was diagnosed yesterday with Erlichia and was on the verge of kidney failure. Dimitris still can't decide whether to euthanize the old dog, and tears come to his eyes when he tries.
It’s a palace compared to anywhere else we’ve been so far – but there are catches, we hear from Dimitris and Anastasia and other animal activists.
You hear them before you really see them. As you get out of the car in the wooded spot just feet from the sea, the barking starts – a cacophony that gets louder as you begin to make out the jumping shapes, then hone in on the hopeful faces.
And sadly, in Greece’s third largest city, these are the lucky ones. They’ve been rescued by volunteers from the Animal Welfare Society - people who love them and hope to find them homes in Germany or the United Kingdom. That hope keeps these mostly healthy and bright-eyed pups chained to trees or inside a 3,000-square-foot fenced and concrete block enclosure, as Dimitris, Krista, Maria and Anastasia work to find them families.
On this visit to the shelter, loyal staffer Yiota is giving the dogs inside a bath with the hose – relief from the sweltering heat. Ursus, a big black bear of a dog turns teddy bear when visitors come with hugs. The chorus of barks grows louder as a we make our way inside, from dogs Yiota has christened with names like Marlon (after Brando, she says) and Adonis.
A man and his young daughter drive in on a motor bike. The little girl – she can’t be more than 4 or 5 – goes over to pet one of the outside dogs. In the past, Dimitris tells us, the pair would drive in and look but it’s the first time the little girl is allowed to pet one of the pups. She’s clearly delighted and waves happily when they drive away – one of the next generation’s animal caretakers, we hope.
He also knows, he says with frustration, that he’s sacrificing a beautiful pup. Because he turned them down, they’ll leave the dog someplace else – a mountainside or the middle of the street.
No sooner do we hear this story than we see that Mitros isn’t acting right – he’s laying in his little dog house, head in his food dish and eyes unfocused. Dimitris rouses him and pulls him out, but he’s slow to get to his feet and his walking is erratic.
We began the day unsure of what day it actually was – 11 hours of flying will do that.
One tired guy lay still as Heidi petted and cooed – afterward, a man nearby who could have been the dog’s guardian claimed homelessness and asked for 50 cents. The next corner brought the sight of a man hosing down his big blond dog, whose whole body vibrated as he joyously shook off the sheets of water and stood ready for more.
The Greece Journal was started in July 2007, following Heidi and the group and their efforts to change attitudes among the humans who can make a difference in the dogs’ lives.