In this extract from Niall Harbison’s new book, we relive how he met the dog who has inspired a rescue movement…
With over a million followers on social media, Niall Harbison has become recognised for his incredible work rescuing street dogs in Thailand. It’s a mission which has been part of Niall’s journey to overcome and cope with personal demons. And the rescue work has created a movement around the world. Tina is the story of the dog that inspired that movement. In this extract, we visit the point of the story when Niall first rescues the Golden Retriever – a rare breed to find in the country. It’s almost the beginning of Tina’s redemption story and the start of a world- changing friendship; we are sure
you’ll want to read the rest…
The retrieval of our golden girl Most of the dogs I come across could all do with a bit of TLC. They’re in need of food in their belly, some basic medication to ward off parasites, and a dollop of love, or at least attention, from a human. But some animals do stand out more than others. I’m not claiming to be Doctor Doolittle, or possess any special powers to ‘talk to the animals’ (if only I could, it would save a hell of a lot of hassle). But if you yourself spend time with any dogs or other pets (and I’m guessing you might, if you’ve picked up this book) then you’ll know where I’m coming from. You’ll know yourself that you don’t need to learn any new language to be able to read an animal’s expression. Look into their eyes – what are they really trying to tell you? Watch their body language. Just like us humans, dogs all have a huge amount of feelings. And the best thing is they don’t lie, or act up, like us complicated humans do. They wear their doggy hearts on their paw-like sleeves and in the movement of their tails. And there was just something about that mournful, puppy dog face as it was shackled to a short chain that really got under my skin in particular, for some reason.
So to the mountains I headed that February afternoon, along with my trusty great pal Rod, who moved out here to retire from working in the police force, but because he’s as passionate about animal welfare as I am, he seemed to work even harder now in his so called retirement. We jumped in the truck and steadily made our way up the winding muddy
tracks to the summit to see what was what. We skidded around a bit and I was definitely grateful I hadn’t attempted the trek on my moped. I was also bracing myself. My instinct wasn’t good for what awaited us.
It took us about 20 minutes to find the mountain shack where the dog was chained. Asking locals for directions isn’t always that helpful, and I’m ashamed to admit I’m not exactly fluent in Thai. So there was a fair bit of peering at the picture to see what backgrounds we could recognise, and some being pointed off in the wrong direction, until finally we found the spot. Bingo.
On reaching the shack we saw it was more like a basic wooden house, with an open basement part beneath the main structure. And inside that basement area, we found the
sorriest sight you can imagine. However bad an impression is in a picture, it’s always even more heartbreaking to be confronted with the living, breathing animal having to just put up with their miserable situation.
This one, curled up and tethered on a chain that was barely two metres long, was one of the most tragic I’d seen. The dog was dozing as we walked in, and as I quickly took in the dingy surroundings and inhaled the dank smell of the shack, well, I couldn’t help wondering if here in front of me was a dog thinking whether it might not be the worst thing never to wake up at all. There wasn’t much incentive to keep going if this was your lot in life.
I know all too well the feeling. Many times in my life I had felt this way in the low and dark corners of my mind. As if I had nothing going for me at all. Like life has exhausted you and sucked you dry. But as I inched a little closer to the dozing creature, she stirred from her slumber.
I could spot some teats on her tummy, so it was clearly a female bitch, and she didn’t seem that old (though it can be hard to tell until a vet trip and a look at her teeth). She had the biggest, softest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. There was a quiet pleading expression in her dark eyes which begged, “Help me, do something to help me here, Niall.” Poor little sweetheart.
I crouched down gingerly to stroke her head – but there was no flinching. She looked me directly in the eyes. Kind dark eyes, with a real soul inside them. What’s more,
she didn’t seem at all scared of human touch, though God knows she certainly hadn’t been on the receiving end of much of that, from the look of things. She even gratefully nuzzled into my arm as I carried on stroking her, as if to say, “Please don’t leave me here, give me a hand.”
She was an absolute bag of bones – every rib on her little body seemed visible. Clearly it had been a long time since she’d got a decent dinner in her belly. There was a plastic container of water which wasn’t exactly fresh, but must have been enough to keep her going. Jesus, I muttered under my breath. What the hell has happened for her to wash up here? What I always do in these situations is to try and find out as much as I can about a dog’s backstory. Any information you can gather about how they wound up in this state, might then help you give them the right kind of medical support that they need. Of course I’d love to know
why she had ended up here too, but I’d long learned that wasn’t always possible.
An extract from the book...
Generally defensive, knowing in their heart that they’ve not done the right thing. Even if that person is not directly responsible for putting the dog in this misery, well, then they certainly know that they haven’t helped either. So I was prepared to be fed one of the bullsh*t kind of stories I hear all the time. There were ‘owners’ around, apparently, but no one was taking any responsibility. Someone said the dog had been hit by a car, and had then been tied up ‘for her own safety’. Others suggested she was old and injured, though quite why that would mean she should be left tied up here I never understood. People mainly don’t want to lose face, and don’t like an annoying Westerner asking questions. I am in no way trying to do anyone down, especially being a foreigner in this country, but not ‘losing face’ is a really big
deal in the culture. And I need to understand and respect that, even if it leaves me confused.
Whatever the real story, I could only work with the reality in front of my eyes. Here was a female dog, who was tied to a chain which allowed her only the length to jump up a bit and go to the loo. And not even that far really – the poor thing was surrounded by her own poo and wee. Neither hygienic, fair on her, or remotely dignified – sleeping surrounded by her own mess is just horrible. The floor was concrete, and there were some random dirty buckets lying around and an old green towel that I suppose might have originally been placed there to offer some respite from the hard floor. Or perhaps had been used to mop up the mess, and then no one could be bothered to wash it or even pick it up afterwards.
Jesus, what’s wrong with people? What happened next is now a very familiar scenario to me, when you open up ‘negotiations’ to take the dog away. I knew this ‘owner’, or whoever they were really, didn’t want her anymore. Clearly! And they were actually hoping I’d
take the dog off their hands and be done with it. Their basement would be rid of her – as would their conscience, what little they might have had.
But no-one wants to lose face, and me trying to ‘shame’ anyone is of no real benefit in the long term. I know that may sound ridiculous to people reading this book back home in the UK, because there you’d call the RSPCA (Royal Society for the Protection of Animals), or even the police in situations like this. But I always have to remember things work differently in different parts of the world and in different cultures.
Confrontation is rarely the best approach. And I’m just not an aggressive person; there’s no point getting mad or angry about the way the animals have been treated. It’s much better to channel my energies in a more positive way – and to make a hands-on difference to dogs’ lives. Being diplomatic usually gets a better outcome, and the goal here is always to help the animal. Be nice, Niall, be nice, smile and get the dog the hell out of there. With loyal and kind Rod next to me for moral support, we stepped outside of the basement to escape the dinge and I talked to the supposed owners. After some half-hearted persuasion, they agreed we could take her to the vet. I was relieved, but I knew the situation was still precarious. Much work lay ahead.
Once the owner had shrugged and left us to it, Rod and I went inside to get her, and the first thing we did was remove the tatty thing that she was tethered to; it seemed like a makeshift lead made of string and bits of rope. It had been shackling her down like a prisoner for God knows how long, and it was tricky to remove, especially as we didn’t have any tools with us in the back of the jeep. What we desperately needed was a set of pliers but in the end we had to improvise a bit with some patience and brute force, yanking at the chain while making sure she felt nothing tugging at her. The rope was wrapped around her neck several times but somehow we managed to untie it from the wall and free her.
A small step, but a start. The moment the dog was out of that tatty basement, it became clear just how dire her condition really was. She was pitifully weak and her horribly malnourished and neglected body broke me. Her bones were sticking out so sharply that it was hard to believe she was still alive, and she could barely use her shaking four legs. It was clear she hadn’t walked in a long time, and she was completely disoriented and uncoordinated. It was horribly sad to see. But what was even more heartbreaking to observe was this sort of look of utter confusion she had. Here she was off the chain and free to walk, yet her little legs seemed to have forgotten what they were there for. By all rights, the creature should have been angry, bitter, aggressive and withdrawn. She kept shaking her head to test if it really was liberated from the neck restriction, not quite believing it was happening.
Yet the trusting little girl she was, she came with us right away, as if she could sense she was finally safe. I bent down to her level and stroked her head, looking into her eyes, amazingly entirely lacking in any suspicion. “We’ve got you now, we’re going to protect you, don’t worry about that, my angel,” I soothed her.
I kept hold of her manky fur (I couldn’t wait to get her clean) to make sure she was close to me, gently guiding her towards the jeep. Though there was no need really – she wouldn’t have had the energy or strength to run away. And she also seemed to instinctively not want to. As if knowing that this was the turning point for her – and now life was looking up all of a sudden, she wasn’t going anywhere, thank you. As soon as we’d carefully lifted her skinny body onto the truck, we gently secured her, her little bemused face in the back seat looking out the window. We then put our foot down to get her to the vet before closing time.