In first person: freeing Frida

Facebook searches, reconnaissance, hoodlums breaking into houses in the dead of the night… Inderpal Sandhu on what it takes to rescue puppies.

October 25, 2014 03:52 pm | Updated May 23, 2016 07:40 pm IST

Frida Kahlo, the puppy, after being rescued

Frida Kahlo, the puppy, after being rescued

At the end of a long day, the newsfeed on my Facebook page races upwards as I pick up my re-heated sandwich and take a big bite. I choke when I see the image of a puppy, reposted from a page. “Puppy for sale. Will let it go for 100$.” Several people have commented ‘how sick’ they are with such posts and ‘how can FB allow people to post dogs in an item sale’. Some want to ‘kill the person selling it’, but most just say ‘how sad it makes them’.

A rescue worker sometimes functions involuntarily. The brain is put in the Tupperware along with the awful sandwich and the heart kicks into overdrive. The long day will now be a long night.

My desktop, laptop and cellphone are conducting Facebook searches, scanning Craigslist as I try to rally a team to save the coffee-brown pit-bull puppy with a white butterfly patch on her chest. The hazel-eyed puppy’s picture is pasted over the portrait of my own beloved dog Speed. Her eyes stare into mine asking: will you save me?

In half an hour, I am overwhelmed by the number of ‘free puppy’ postings on Craigslist. All these sweet pit bulls are headed to the dog-fighting rings that scour the underbelly of the American landscape. Why am I losing sleep over this one puppy? Because she became mine when I looked into her eyes and saw a soul. Yes, there are countless others but right now this puppy’s rescue will signify the victory of good over evil.

By morning, I’ve tracked down the puppy and its owner. Now it’s a matter of pin-pointing the house and stealing the puppy. Yes, steal it! I will not pay the dog fighters. I offer a hoodlum 50 bucks, give him the picture and show him the house. He leaps across the fence and I drive around the corner and… wait.

My engine has been idling for 20 minutes when he turns the corner. Once he dives in, I run every stop sign in the wretched neighbourhood and let the man out at a local store. He counts the money. “Lemme know if you want sumthin’ else, bro. Pretty dog tho’. What you be naming her?”

Her pink nose has been on my mind all day. She’s as pretty as the first stroke of paint on a blank canvas. “I’ll name her Frida Kahlo; after my friend Tina’s favourite painter.”

I drive away. The puppy sits cowering on the back seat. “Come here, little girl. You’re safe now.” Surprised by a kind touch, she tentatively licks my ear and backs away. At her next lick, I pet her head and she plants herself in my lap as we zip down on the freeway. She’s enthralled by everything: the steering wheel, the music, the air-conditioning. For the first time in my life, I take a selfie with a dog in my lap. In three minutes, she’s snoring.

After two baths and some food, we head to my newly-found friends Jill and Dori. They rescue cats but, like me, cannot close their eyes to this puppy. My hard work for the night is over but theirs has just begun.

Within 24 hours, Frida is adopted. Tonight, the evil will be out in full force again, money will exchange greasy palms, dogs will die, several rescue workers will be disheartened… Tomorrow, I’ll be disillusioned by a fresh dose of cruelty. But tonight, I sleep with new hope.

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