My name is Goldfish.

At first, my foster family here in the USA found my name a little bit odd.

Goldfish?? Umm…not even the right species.

But quickly, the name began to make complete sense.

Goldfish can be found at any pet store for a dime a dozen. They are throwaway pets – if they are even bought to be pets at all, rather than as food for another pet. You find them at carnivals, baking in plastic baggies, to be won, banged around all day in a child’s hand, and finally imprisoned in a plastic bowl for a few days until their inevitable demise.

But there is a secret side to goldfish that few are lucky enough to see.

Did you know that if you put your carnival winning or 10-cent pet store buy into a 10-gallon tank (the minimum recommended amount of space per goldfish, though few realize that) and add the proper ingredients: quality food, compassionate caretaking, and lots of love – you might very well end up with a giant, gorgeous, sweet, responsive pet that your friends and neighbors think is some exotic breed? Well, it’s true. Goldfish can grow as large and healthy (or stay as small and sickly) as their care and environment allow. The sky’s the limit for a goldfish…though how many ever get to realize their true potential?

I was born in Klang, Malaysia, a suburb of Kuala Lampur, half a world away from where I am today. And I was someone’s throwaway once, too. I lived on the street, eking out an existence, just like millions of other abandoned and neglected street dogs in Malaysia and all over the world.

Klang, like many urban areas, has two sides: it is in many ways a vibrant, well-maintained, beautiful and historic city that appeals to tourists. But it also has its busy, urban, less well-to-do areas where speeding traffic abounds and many street dogs prowl in search of safety and scavenged meals while avoiding malicious harm at the hands of some humans.

I can hardly remember much about my earliest days except vague images of Mama’s rough tongue and gentle but stern lessons schooling me and my siblings for survival on the streets. My first REAL memory is of being sickly and small enough to fit in someone’s cupped hands – and of being in agonizing pain.

Although I had miraculously survived my first couple of months, thanks to Mama’s schooling, on this terrible evening, some teenagers were out practicing before their driving exam. They meant no harm to me, but their inexperience and the carelessness of youth combined in one tragic moment, and their car, veering about precariously, drove right over my right rear tiny paw.

I had been ambling across the street behind Mama and my siblings when I saw the lights and heard the noise of the approaching vehicle. I ran as awfully fast as I ever could, but I was still such a young, tumbling puppy, in that adorable clumsy stage – and although I had got 95% of me across the road in time, it was that last little bit, my baby foot, that bore the weight of thousands of horrible, crushing pounds.

I blacked out from the blinding pain…and for most puppies like me, that would have been the end of my short, tragic life story.

It was the end of one chapter of my life, anyway – I never did see Mama again. I think about her often and wonder where she is today and how she and my siblings fared. I hope somehow she knows I ended up in good hands, despite her final memory of me that day.

My new chapter began when I opened my eyes. A crowd stood around me composed of sorrowful, guilt-ridden teenagers and one insistent woman. She was shouting that the teenagers could not leave me, that they must take responsibility for me and bring me somewhere for care. They clearly felt terrible, but also at a complete loss as to what to do with me. It was hard to understand any words because a shrieking, piercing, scream of pain drowned out almost all noise around me. It took a few moments before I realized it were coming from ME.

The woman pulled out one of those small black plastic things that humans like to carry, and began speaking into it urgently as she wiped away tears. I know now that it was a cell phone, and that she was calling the woman who would become my guardian angel, Wani Muthiah, director of an animal welfare group called Malaysian Dogs Deserve Better (MDDB). Wani called one of MDDB’s vet clinics in Klang and urgently described the situation, and the kind-hearted veterinarian agreed to return to his closed clinic and receive me.

The woman helped the teenagers gently pick me up and together, they drove me to the nearby vet clinic. I hardly remember the drive and I heard Wani tell others later that I never once stopped screaming during the drive. My foot felt as if it was on fire and though I tried to be brave and keep quiet, as Mama had always taught us (the squeaky wheel gets the grease, we knew), it was impossible to do so. The pain was blinding.

The vet gave me some medication that made the hurting recede immediately. Then he gently examined me from head to toe. By the time I was really good and woozy, he was able to check out my right rear foot in detail, which was not much more than a bloody, skinned stump.

He realized that there was almost no chance my foot could be restored to its previous abilities. However, with time, TLC, and proper medical attention, he hoped I would regain some limited usage of my leg – a prediction which has turned out to be more than correct. In fact, today I can run, jump, and play with my foster doggie siblings and human foster brother just fine! I use my leg for most everything: standing, sitting, walking, and even running.

Although sometimes, when I’m REALLY flying, I do find it easier to pull my foot up towards my body a bit and just cruise around full-speed like a tripod – an unusual look, but it doesn’t bother me in the least. I mean, let’s face it…I’ve never been much of a “usual”, run-of-the-mill, ordinary type dog – and that suits me and my foster family just fine!

They think my foot is actually really cute. My foster mom says two of my toes point towards the sky like sunflowers happily reaching for more light. I like that description! I hope my forever family will think my funny foot is kinda cute too one day…

But anyway, back to the vet clinic. I’m getting ahead of my own story.

I was out of the woods, luckily, with the bleeding stopped and my vitals all stable. But I still had lots of healing to do. Besides all the intensive wound care (antibiotics and bandage changes to make sure the deep flesh of my foot stayed healthy during the time it took for the skin to completely regenerate), there was all the usual puppy stuff: I needed a vaccine series, deworming, and good nutrition to make me strong again.

I stayed at the vet clinic for almost four months, and I admit there were many days when I felt I might be in that cage forever! But I have been a calm, patient, optimistic girl forever. In fact, I was even as a puppy – so rather than sit around complaining about my situation, I learned instead to trust in my human caretakers, to crate politely and patiently and quietly, and to appreciate all the good things I DID have: walks for exercise, regular meals (a miracle in and of itself for a former street dog scrounger!), and kind words and pats from the clinic staff. As a puppy who had ranged freely for my whole short life, it was a big adjustment – but it’s a testimony to my exemplary personality and adaptable nature that I learned the ropes so quickly.

At almost 6 months old, I was ready to transfer out of the vet clinic and into MDDB’s care. I didn’t yet realize what was happening but I’m a very sensitive, clever girl so I knew enough to know a big change was in the works.

The clinic staff were smiling at me from the moment they came in to start their day. They patted me and wistfully bade me good luck. They scratched me behind my ears and whispered that I was such a good girl, I should not worry – surely I would find a home very soon.

I could sense their mixture of elation and sadness and it was hard for me, too, to say goodbye. I closed the door on the second chapter of my life the day I was lifted from my cage – my “home” – and taken to a waiting car, where I was driven to one of MDDB’s dog shelters in Klang.

I spent two and a half years at the shelter in Klang, which volunteers affectionately dub “the halfway house”. And it really WAS a sort of halfway house for us street hounds!

It is where we have one foot in the door and one foot out, so to speak. If we came to MDDB injured or ailing, we have been healed. But we have not yet been adopted. And we need somewhere to go where we can learn basic manners and the general rules of life as house dog. We enter with high hopes that our stay will be short – not because the staff are not kindly and the setting paradisiacal for those of us who have navigated the mean streets for so long – but because we are all dreaming of reaching for that golden ring: a home and family to call our own.

However, the sad reality is that most of us will live our lives out here in the halfway homes. There are far too few adopters of us street dogs in our home nation, where pedigreed and imported dogs are all the rage and we are viewed as little above street vermin by many. My plight was even more woeful: some – unable to see my true and rare beauty and my gentle, regal bearing – might consider my notched ears (to signify I have been spayed), my funny little foot, and my striped nose to be homely, even unattractive. And I am considered “big” in Malaysia, at 40 lbs (yes, I know, I need to shave a few pounds off my portly figure, but I’m in no hurry)! And I am a mixed breed, a mongrel, a “mutt” in many of my native countrymen’s eyes. Beyond these factors, I am a black adult dog – and senseless as it is, dark dogs around the world (no boundary lines for this prejudice) are the most difficult dogs to adopt out across the board, as any animal welfare worker will attest.

The shelter was essentially a home setting, and the majority of us enjoyed free roam of the house and grounds. We mingled with one another, and though there were grumbles at times due to our cast of characters frequently changing, for the most part, harmony reigned.

As I said, life here was good. Wondrous, actually, compared to everything that had come before it.

But as I watched many friends come…and then go…time and time again…walking out the door with wagging tail at the end of a brand new leash held by a shiny new human companion…I admit, I began to feel a little blue.

When would it be my turn? I have so much love to give and I want nothing more than the chance to give freely of it, forever and ever, to some lucky recipient.

Little did I know that MDDB founder Wani was watching me. She recognized my star quality and dreamed of a better life for me, but my chances of adoption in Malaysia being slim to none, she knew my one shot would be an overseas home. So she dreamed big, all the while keeping a close eye on me to make sure I never got too depressed. I was even featured in MDDB’s 2015 calendar, in hopes that it would increase my adoption chances, but still – I was sadly passed by day after day.

Early this year, it was determined that a move to MDDB’s other “halfway house”, in Petaling Jaya, would benefit me greatly, Sure enough, I enjoyed greater freedom there and made many new friends. Wani grew more and more fond of me each time she visited with me, and her dreams grew even bigger along with her affection.

In April of this year, ISDF founder Dawn Trimmel visited Malaysia. Wani introduced me to Dawn and we hit it off right away!

Little did I know that Dawn was hoping within minutes of meeting me that ISDF could help me…and little did I know that Wani was planning on asking Dawn for that very help. And she did ask, and Dawn did eagerly agree, and so my ball at last began its slow roll towards destiny!

It took a few months but my travel paperwork was settled, my airline kennel and plane ticket purchased, and I was just about on my way. Of course, I had no clue that I was about to board a plane and fly halfway around the world to my sparkling new future! I just knew that my caretakers seemed melancholy on that big morning. They kissed and petted me and assured me that I would have a wonderful life. It was kind of like the vet clinic goodbye all over again, and I realized that another game changer was about to occur. I just had no clue what it would be.
I licked my old friends goodbye and stepped into my airline crate with a heavy heart but much excitement, wondering what adventure lay ahead next. Thus closed the door on the third chapter of my life.Traveling to the USA was an exciting adventure! I am a glass-half-full kind of gal, so since I am fabulous about tolerating a crate, it was mostly stress-free. I had never even heard of a giant flying silver bird, so it was a little intimidating being loaded into its belly and wondering where it would spit me out when it came back down to ground! But the sights…the smells…the different languages I encountered…and the amazingly kind staff at my halfway point, who fell in love with me…all made the journey as fascinating as it was unusual.

I arrived at O’Hare Airport and immediately recognized Dawn from her Malaysian visit. It was quite a reunion! And very reassuring for me, to find that the silver bird dropped me right into the arms of a familiar face.

I spent a couple of weeks at Dawn and Chuck’s home with their dogs, getting over my jet lag and acclimating to the strange new culture, food, language, and customs.

Even the weather was so different! Our temperatures ranged from the 50s sometimes at night to nearly 100 on some of the hotter days. I know I’m not in Kansas anymore, Toto…but I sure do like it here in the USA!

A week ago, I met my foster mom and doggie siblings at Dawn’s yard. We all went for a walk, which was quite a tangle!

And then because things went so well, I came here to my foster family’s house, in a pretty little lakefront city called Evanston. My foster family has three resident dogs and a 7-year-old boy who is crazy about me (and I admit, the feeling is mutual).

I run and play in the big garden here (where I love my yard, except for that weird gnome guy who stares at me from the overgrown plants and intimidates me a bit)…

…and at my foster Grandma’s house down the street, romping and sunning with the two big dogs of the house.

The big girl with three legs intimidates me a little also (kinda like the garden gnome!), but I am very respectful. I don’t try to take her special places in the house and yard and I never growl at her or act frightened, but I generally keep my distance, though she is friendly and interested in me.

I have a major crush on the medium-sized, long-haired guy and follow him around eagerly EVERYWHERE, but he refuses to knowledge my existence, much to my disappointment. I gather he is so loyal to his big sister that he’s afraid she will be jealous. He’s such a fun, wild ball of energy, and I know we could have a blast playing – but other than letting my lie rump-to-rump with him when we’re sunning outside, he tries hard to disdain me.

The littlest one is 18 and pretty senile and not aware of other dogs’  space anymore, due to blindness – so he doesn’t run with us, and I’ve never seen such a tiny dog. I do find him fascinating: kind of like a sedate puppy who sleeps all day. I am aware he is much smaller than me and when he gets in my space, I do often give warnings, much like a mother would to a puppy. I would never hurt him, but I may be best in a home without tiny, old dogs (and he really is tiny, about 7 lbs, so I don’t think there are too many petite guys like him out there anyway).

My foster mom thinks that if I end up with a doggie sibling, a medium- to large-sized friendly male dog would be my personal pick. One who will actually acknowledge my existence! I have a sweet and playful nature that could be coaxed out by a friendly boy in no time. And if I end up in a house without other dogs, I would have no complaints either. Although I do remarkably well with dogs of all ages, sizes, and both genders, you can see that my heart really yearns for human love and affection, so I would also do just fine as an only dog.

My 7-year-old human foster brother is gentle and very quiet and calm with street dogs, so I gather he has been around lots of them.

I did beautifully with him from the moment we met, but extreme noise and lots of grabbing and hugging are probably not for me, as I am still getting used to little people being in my immediate environment, something I didn’t experience much of in Malaysia.

I am totally tolerant of kids and even solicitous of affection now with my foster boy…

…but I retreat sometimes in anxiety if there is too much noise and ‘kid activity’, especially when it is directed at me. I would do fine in a house with kids but if it was up to me, I can tell you honestly that I would really prefer older kids, or younger kids like my foster boy, who knows to move quietly around me, and who is extremely gentle in all interactions with us street dogs til our bond becomes strong.

And speaking of retreating, I am housebroken, quiet, and clean when left to roam free in my foster home, but I have very much enjoyed having a safe little den retreat to call my own. So my foster family has tied my crate door open and put a cushy blanket inside it, and whenever I want a little space, I can go there. I go in and out as I please, and the family’s house rule is that when I want space, no one can disturb me. I really like the set-up (even though sometimes my doggie foster siblings get curious and try to coax me out after a while)!

When I need to be confined, I have the guest room to myself (my crate is inside it), and I never make a peep or complain. I just curl up on the smallest dog bed in the house (for some reason, that one is my favorite – I’m kind of silly like that) and wait patiently, chewing on my Nylabones, until it’s time to come out again.

I have met many adult women and men, and have done fabulously with both – from Grandma and Grandpa, to my foster family’s friends of both genders and all ages. I visited my foster family’s veterinarian and was wonderfully tolerant of all handling. It helps that treats were part of the equation! I am a sucker for yummy tidbits and they help me make positive associations with things that can be a little scary, like toenail trims and bathing/grooming.

I ride beautifully in the car – no motion sickness whatsoever, and no whining or anxiety. In fact, true to my character – I seem eager and happy with each drive, because the world is my oyster and I can’t wait to explore it further. New adventures await and I am always excited to experience them!

This is my characteristic attitude about long car rides. This particular one was 1.5 hours and brought me to my new foster home in Evanston – there were zero complaints from me, though.

 

This is me at an adoption event last Saturday, an hour’s drive away (once again, I did fine on the car ride).

I had a great time and played with Finny, another ISDF adoptee, while there. I loved meeting ISDF rescue partner and friend from New Delhi, Yo’av, as well.

My new foster family world is weird and wonderful, and I am thriving in it. And I think about what lies ahead for me – a situation like this, but one I will get to call my very own, forever – and I just can’t stop wagging my stout little tail at the very thought of such an amazing future!

Everyone is so friendly and kind in the USA and people just seem to be crazy about us street dogs. Who knew such a land existed…and who knew I would get to call such a place home? A year ago, if you told me I would be standing here, I would never have believed it. I really thought, after so much time, that the Petaling Jaya halfway house was to be my only home forever.

So all this business about my unusual name…well, I just wanted to say in closing that my foster family knew all this goldfish stuff because they used to rescue pet store and school-prize goldfish and nurture them into wonderful pets. So you might think my name is a bit odd or even a bit silly, but it really does suit me.

Love, Goldfish

If you are interested in adopting Goldfish, please contact Dawn Trimmel at trimmel@usa.net or 414-426-4148.