I had paid for the tour. The hot-air balloons over Cappadocia were minutes from lifting when I saw him.
I cancelled it. I lost the money. I picked him up and went looking for a vet instead.
It was a Sunday and everything was closed. The hotel called its own veterinary hospital and the vets opened it specially for him. They told me he was hours from death. There were worms inside him bigger than he was. They gave him antibiotics and fluids, and then there was nothing to do but wait.
And then he started to open his eyes. And he started to drink water.
He chose to live.
I named him Doccio, after Cappadocia. He lives in a garden in Miami now, and he is the reason this foundation exists. You can watch me tell it in my own voice at the top of the story page.
What happened between the street and the garden
A puppy cannot fly to the United States before six months of age, so Doccio stayed in Istanbul with a local woman who fed and medicated street dogs every day at her own expense. There he caught parvovirus, spent weeks in hospital and nearly died a second time. His treatment was paid for from Miami. He was later driven to Spain, collected there in person, and flown to the United States once he was old enough.
Twenty-one other dogs came out of Turkey in that same period.
What happened after him
I could not stop at one. In Istanbul I went out myself every day with food, medicine and toys for the dogs on the street. Nobody sent me. It was simply the thing I did each morning.
About a thousand dogs have been rescued in the past year. Roughly five thousand in the areas we cover still have nowhere to go. You can meet the ones waiting now here.
