While on his way home from work, Rico Soegiarto witnessed a heartbreaking scene on the streets of Denpasar, Bali – a dog that was partially buried in the road. This poor creature was in dire straits, suffering from severe malnourishment, covered in wounds and completely hairless.
Despite being a Siberian Husky, the dog was in such a sad state that it was difficult to recognize her breed. However, Rico’s compassion knew no bounds, and he was determined to rescue her. Although Rico already had four rescue dogs waiting for him at home, he felt an instant connection when he looked into the suffering pup’s eyes. He named her Hope, inspired by the glimmer of optimism in her bright blue eyes, even in the midst of her deplorable condition.
Without hesitation, Rico swiftly took in Hope and welcomed her into his home, initiating the beginning of her miraculous recovery journey. He aided her in regrowing her fur by giving her soothing medicated baths and providing her with plenty of nutritious food. Nursing Hope back to health was a labor of love, a task that Rico approached with unwavering dedication.
As time went by, Hope’s remarkable transformation became increasingly evident. Her newfound confidence shone through as her once-bare skin was now covered in a lush coat of fur. She was unrecognizable once again, but this time, it was a testament to her incredible revival.
A year later, Hope’s metamorphosis was nothing short of extraordinary. She had transformed into a stunning, disease-free Husky, radiating with life and vitality. Rico not only rescued her from the brink but also decided to make her a cherished member of his family.
Currently, Hope is residing in Bali with Rico and his loved ones, relishing her “second chance” at life which is now filled with happiness and affection. Rico’s act of kindness and commitment has not only granted Hope a new lease on life but also showcased the deep bond that can exist between humans and their four-legged companions.
The pet I’ll never forget: Ella the puppy threw up on me, snubbed me and after 10 years decided to love me
Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
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