Every time we travel to Romania, it breaks our hearts to see all the stray dogs and cats roaming the cities, villages, and countryside. It wasn't always like this, but in the early 1980s the evil dictator Nicolae Ceaucescu forced a great number of people to move from their private homes, country villages, and farms to small city apartments. With little money and barely able to care for themselves, many families faced the difficult choice of having to turn their companion animals out to fend for themselves.

There are essentially no shelter facilities for homeless animals, and the few that exist are very poorly run. The new mayor of Bucuresti announced a program to shoot the stray dogs, but rescinded his orders when Brigitte Bardot went to him and pleaded on behalf of those who cannot speak. A neuter-and-release program has been in effect for about two years, but again it is mismanaged, and only a small fraction of the animals on the streets have been neutered.

Most people do not harm the dogs, and many are kind to them, petting them, offering them temporary shelter, and feeding them whatever they can. With life so difficult for most Romanian people -- where the average monthly salary is less than $120 -- this is often a great sacrifice.

When we walk around we carry dog and cat food to feed the many sad strays. It's not much, but the situation is so bad that maybe even a little bit helps. People sometimes tell us that it's pointless to feed the strays because sooner or later they will starve to death. We tell them that may be true, but it won't be today.

One evening in late June when we were walking on the boardwalk in Eforie Nord, a lovely resort on the Black Sea, we saw a boy who was maybe ten years old hitting something on the boardwalk with a bottle. As we got closer, we saw that the "thing" had fur, and tried to protect itself by cowering behind someone else's legs. The someone turned out to be the boy's father, and he not-so-gently nudged the furball back towards his son for more mistreatment. Without thinking, we ran up and grabbed the little ball of fur, picked him up, and walked away with him. (And made sure that both father and son understood our opinions of them.)

The puppy couldn't have been more than a few weeks old, and was very calm and content being carried. We looked for a spot away from the beach in a grassy park, and put the puppy down. He rolled over and wanted to play, so we petted him some. Then we put out a pile of food and showed it to him. He sniffed the food, and came over to us for more petting. We tried again: we showed him the food, and started to walk away. He ran after us. I put down the cloth bag that we use to carry animal food, and tried to show him once again that he should eat the food we left. But he didn't seem to understand what to do with the food, and we were afraid to leave him. While we were talking about what to do, he crawled into the bag, curled up, and went to sleep.

So we took him back to the villa where we were staying, trying to figure out what to do with him. The owner of the villa already had three dogs and couldn't take another. Nobody else we asked wanted to give him a home. But the staff at the villa put together a bowl of warm milk with bread for him, and found a box for him to sleep in. We took him to our room, and the owner offered to call the local vet the next day so we could have him checked out, and maybe find him a home.

We gave him a bath -- which he desperately needed! -- and saw how skinny he was. All he wanted to do was eat, sleep, and have his tummy rubbed. He kept scratching himself, but we couldn't find any fleas on him and so kept him in the room with us.

The next day the villa's owner arranged for the vet to come by and look at our puppy. By this time we had grown attached to him and planned to bring him back to the USA with us and find him a home here. The vet told us that would be difficult because the puppy was barely a month old and couldn't get a rabies shot until he was three months old, and we wouldn't be permitted to bring him in to the country without a rabies shot. (We later learned that we might have been able to bring her, but she would have had to stay in quarantine for three months -- and we didn't want to confine her for that length of time. And of course you never know if there will be problems with Customs. So we decided not to risk it.) She also told us that he was scratching because he was malnourished and because of the hot weather. We were directed to the local pet food shop, where we bought food, vitamins, a two-bowl feeding dish, some chewing sticks (so he'd chew something besides our toes!), and a collar and leash. 

Still thinking what to do with our puppy, whom we had now named Pita (as in Pain in the a--), and decided that we couldn't just dump him. So we made plans to bring him to our summer house in the Carpathian mountains, in Campulung-Muscel. (See pictures of this pretty town in our photo gallery.)

We called up the neighbours who watch the house and tend the gardens, and they said Sure, bring him! We should have known that they like dogs :-).

It was going to be tricky bringing Pita home on the train, because dogs aren't allowed. Just as we settled into our compartment, a woman walked in with her two young daughters -- and their dog, a pretty auburn-haired pug-type who we learned was just over a year old. And who was at least four times bigger than Pita. We left the station, and as the conductor came around to check tickets, the family told us to hide Pita under a jacket -- their dog was somewhat more difficult to cover, but they managed to do so, and the conductor, if he suspected anything, didn't say a word.

Pita was kind of hot on the train -- he has very thick fur and doesn't tolerate heat well. (Another guest at the villa had told us that he looked part Siberian Husky, which would explain the intolerance for hot temperatures. And made us wonder how he would have managed at the seaside.) But we kept the windows open a smidge, and cooled him down by rubbing his fur with cool water. The two girls played with Pita for a while, tiring him out, and he fell asleep on my lap about a half-hour from Bucuresti. As he was sleeping, and their dog was napping on the floor, the conductor returned. I think we all turned the same shade of white. But to our surprise and delight, he just looked at the two dogs, started to laugh, and walked away. We would have gladly paid him some baksheesh but were pleased that it wasn't necessary.

Back at the apartment in Bucuresti, we made Pita comfortable on the terrace, where -- when he wasn't eating or sleeping -- he could engage in combat with the many houseplants :-).

The next day we brought Pita to the local veterinary clinic, and the vet gave us some worm pills along with general care and dietary advice for his first three months. Since Pita couldn't get the first puppy shots at the same time as the worming pill, the vet told us to get the shot in a few days. We ended up buying some more chew toys, and a halter and leash in a larger size "for later." 

Oh, and the vet told us that Pita wasn't a he, but a she ;-).

A couple of days later and we headed up to Campulung. The bus was barely half full, so we let Pita walk around a little bit while still on the leash for the first part of the trip. But at Pitesti we picked up a lot of passengers, and with the bus nearly full we had to keep her on our laps. It was hot for her, but fortunately this part of the trip is less than an hour, and then we were in the countryside: Campulung. 

The vet's office is near the bus station, so we stopped in. The attendant told us to return between 5 and 7pm to see the vet. Since it was just past noon, we headed for the summer house. When we got there we showed Pita her new home, complete with big gardens, sun and shade, and a big Dalmatian next door for company! Well, maybe not just yet -- although they seemed interested in each other, poor little Pita fled for the house every time the Dalmatian made a sound! Once Pita's bigger, though, she will no doubt enjoy her doggie neighbour.

And she made herself right at home, picking out favourite spots for napping, playing, and "doing her business." At 5pm we packed her up and headed off to the vet's office. He gave her a shot, and put some drops in one of her eyes, which was teary and a little crusty. And he gave us a schedule of when to get the rest of the puppy shots, and her rabies shot, and a date to be spayed. (You bet we're having her spayed -- we will not add to the problem of homeless dogs!) Then we bought a bottle of the eye drops, some more vitamins, chew sticks, dry food to mix in with regular food, and two nice no-tip dishes. 

Our neighbour's son was with us when we went to the vet -- the same vet they visit for their own kitty. Marius had come by shortly after we arrived, and was immediately smitten with little Pita, playing with her nearly constantly. It is Marius who is the primary person responsible for taking care of her, pilling her and putting in the eye drops, feeding her according to the vet's instructions. He will also build her a doghouse when she gets bigger ... for now she stays in the garden when someone is with her, and in the house when they leave. But I think she's in the garden a lot, because every time we call our neighbours to see how Pita is doing, they tell us that Marius can't talk to us now because he's over at the house playing with her :-). 

It was very hard to leave her, especially knowing that we'll miss seeing her grow up. The next time we see her she won't be a puppy any more. Sometimes I dream about her, and we look at her pictures a lot. We look forward to petting her silly tummy.

The Talmud says that to save one life is to save the world. We cannot save the world, but only one life. We think she will be happy as a country dog, especially with Marius and his family looking after her.

Here are some photos of our little Pita. As we said, someone in Eforie suggested that she might be part husky, and a fellow tea lover recently pointed out the resemblance to a keeshond. Whatever she is, she's a pretty cute little mutt ;-).

See more photos of Pita