THE WILD ONE

Upon reading the title, many of you might immediately think of Suzi Quatro or Iggy Pop. However, this phrase actually refers to an unusual human form… and a very special dog.

I’m definitely a dog person! While I appreciate cats, I’ve never had one as a pet. My soul connects better with dogs. Dogs were a constant in my childhood, loyal companions and protectors.

However, it wasn't until I lived in Slovakia that I encountered stray dogs. I became involved with shelters and began adopting. Something I regret in some ways due to how my last adoption turned out (I’ll save that story for another time).

Most people romanticize adoption, but it can be incredibly challenging, an unending commitment. It's especially demanding if the animal carries past traumas, disabilities, or illnesses. Despite these difficulties, the profound love and unwavering loyalty of dogs ultimately overshadow all struggles. I believe they are divine beings, incapable of the betrayal and abandonment we flawed humans often exhibit.

During my time in Puerto Escondido, I lived in a small, private bungalow with its own yard. Working in the tourist industry can feel quite lonely. Tourists are constantly flowing; you can connect, but deep down, you know they’ll leave, and you’ll be left feeling abandoned. This often leads to an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

Adoption was on my mind, as Puerto Escondido operates on "stray dog time." Yet, having adopted a dog in Slovakia and subsequently leaving it behind with friends, I was keenly aware of the significant responsibility and the potential need to leave them again. My internal monologue was firm: "No way! Remember what happened last time?"

One day, on my way to work, I encountered a mother dog I often saw alone. I’d frequently given her scraps, but this time she had three beautiful puppies: a black one, a small white one (Runty), and a technicolor mutt I called "The Wild One" (Hershey). All my insides churned with pity. Their angelic faces stared at me. I felt an impulse to take them, but I was late for work and begged God for someone good to take them. I walked on with a terribly heavy heart, unable to get them out of my mind all day. The remorse was killing me, especially when I thought about their sad puppy eyes.

I finished work and walked back home, hoping someone had taken them. As I approached my bungalow, I saw three shadow-like heads lift – it was them! I gave the mother the food left from my lunch; she devoured it, poor thing. To my surprise, the black puppy was gone. It was a male, so someone probably took him, as male dogs are often preferred in Mexico to avoid unwanted puppies.

As I pondered my next move, my neighbor and landlord emerged, confessing she'd also seen the puppies and felt conflicted. Her two children, however, were unequivocal, begging us to adopt them. Their fervent "Please, please!" was all it took for us to give in.

We took the puppies to the vet, where they received a much-needed bath to remove their infestation of fleas and ticks. We decided they would stay with me, and the children were welcome to visit and play.

From the beginning, Runty, the smallest and frailest, faced challenges. Hershey, likely the eldest, displayed an alpha attitude ingrained from her feral upbringing, resulting in primal behavior that persists to this day. I frequently had to intervene to protect Runty from Hershey’s dominance.

The difficulties of raising and cleaning up after them were far outweighed by the gratifying moments we spent together: playing, petting, cuddling, running, feeding, and watching the sunrise. Their company was wonderful. I felt safer at night, knowing they would make a terrible noise if anyone tried to break in. They also offered protection from pests, chasing tarantulas and scorpions.




A few months after our encounter, I had to leave Puerto Escondido. Grief pressed upon my spirit. I loved the place, but work opportunities had become scarce, and I was constantly worried about medical care, as the nearest well-equipped hospital was a three-hour drive.

Destiny eventually brought me home again, this time with my dogs. My parents were initially displeased, finding them scruffy and ugly compared to their purebreds. However, the pups eventually won their hearts since they looked after the house better than the "elite" dogs ever had!

Life then beckoned me back to Slovakia, a journey I had to undertake without them. I entrusted them to my parents, hoping for a swift return. My absence stretched on, largely due to COVID. When I finally made it back for a visit in 2022, I was overjoyed to see them. It was a delightful surprise that they recognized me, clinging to me like children to their long-lost mother.

I remained in Slovakia for two more years, but destiny called me back home again. During that time, Runty contracted the distemper virus. Her suffering was immense, and the heartbreaking decision was made to put her down. It was devastating, but I am grateful I was there with her through it all.

I feared for Hershey; the two had been inseparable. Hershey howled and whimpered for her sister for some time. I was deeply disheartened to hear her mournful cries, once harmonized, now echoing tragically alone.

As time passed, Hershey, initially shy and scared, gradually revealed her true, untamed nature—obstinate and tough. Unlike the docile Runty, Hershey's spirit had always been untamed. Within a few months, she was confidently wagging her tail and climbing the stairs to the roof.

From the moment I first saw her, her gaze locked with mine. Her eyes, unwavering and confident, pierced through me; she was clearly the pack's leader. To this day, I look at her bright, orange-brown eyes, ablaze in her dark face, meeting mine. They offer comfort, silently conveying her understanding of my inner struggles and how life’s challenges have forged our souls together.

We share many traits. She's a dog of few barks, content to listen and watch. But when a stranger gets too close or something genuinely upsets her, she lets out a tremendous, lion-like roar. I'm an observer and a listener, too, but when my boundaries are crossed or something upsets me, I can let out my own roar.


There's a primal pull toward simplicity. Hershey embodies this. After her sister's passing, she left the comfort of their kennel and returned to the great outdoors, digging a den in the backyard. She chose the raw simplicity of her own den over the comforts we provided. I've often felt this same urge, leaving home and its comforts behind for freedom and mental well-being.

Our shared journey through life's trials has created a strong bond between us. Now, we often sit together on the roof at night, watching storms build on the horizon. Cuddled up, we're filled with awe by the wild weather, yet completely at ease, comforted by being together.

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