At the entrance of a small Costa Rican town called Ojochal, there’s a massive abandoned building. I pass the building daily and I know all the details about the building. But this day, it was different. Not only did I notice a black bucket, but as I crossed the little dirt bridge, I noticed a dog in the middle of the river, crying out for help, stuck. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop—I was rushing to the vet with another dog emergency. Desperate, I texted everyone I knew to see if they could help. Later, I discovered he wasn’t alone; it looked like he had been dumped there with two other dogs.
On my way home, I decided to stop at the building to assess the situation. What I found broke my heart. All three dogs had clearly been abandoned—skin and bones, with ticks the size of nickels hanging from their noses, ears, and necks. The mama dog, weighing no more than 15 pounds, had dirty short black fur and the sweetest face you could imagine. Her son was a mini version of her and also terrified of humans. I couldn’t get close to them. The dog in the river was friendly, and luckily, a family took him in. But the other two—mama and her son—were going to be a challenge.
The mama, whom I began calling Nova, looked like she had lived through a horrific nightmare. Her tail had been crudely cut in half, with skin hanging from the wound. Her tongue, split right down the middle, signs of unimaginable abuse. Yet, despite all she had endured, you could sense her gentle soul. She never barked but would move away if I got too close. Her son, Toby, was only about five months old and consumed with fear. He barked at me, trembling every time I arrived with food and water or moved too quickly.
For the next week, I didn’t miss a meal or an opportunity to sit with them. Nova began to trust me slowly, and Toby even started to gain weight. But catching them was another story. I tried everything—setting up traps, coaxing them with delicious chicken into a crate, even giving Toby a sedative meant for a 70-pound dog (which he somehow resisted). Nothing worked.
By Day 5, they began looking for me at mealtimes. They’d run up to my old magenta Jeep when I arrived, wagging their tails, but always keeping just enough distance. After eating, they’d follow me back to my car—close enough to show they were happy but far enough to stay cautious.
On Day 7, a huge breakthrough: Nova allowed me to pet her while she ate. It was a monumental moment. Taking advantage of her trust, I slipped a leash around her neck and brought her home for a bath. Removing the enormous ticks from her fragile body felt like a small victory. But as a single mom to a son myself, the thought of separating Nova from Toby weighed heavily on me. After cleaning her up, I brought her back to him. Their reunion was heartwarming—they jumped and wagged their tails, thrilled to be together again even though only a part for one hour. Nova was Toby’s lifeline, they kept each other safe.
For the next few days, I continued feeding them, but Nova’s trust in me deepened. She’d run up, her entire body wagging with joy, begging for affection. Toby was still hesitant but showed his excitement in his own way.
On Day 9, I decided to bring Nova home for good. I thought leaving Toby behind might make him desperate enough to come to me. I have run out of all other options. This had to work.
On Day 10, Toby spent his first night alone in the jungle without his mom. When I returned to feed him breakfast, he was gone. Panic set in. Had he gone looking for her? I sat in the abandoned building, overwhelmed with guilt and heartbreak. I felt I had failed him.
That afternoon, he was still nowhere to be found. But during one last attempt that evening, something incredible happened. As I searched near the river, calling for him, Toby cautiously emerged from the jungle, his tail wagging. I couldn’t believe it. He was here! But he still wouldn’t come near me.
I brought some of my dogs to help, hoping their presence would encourage him and make him feel more comfortable, but it turned out to be quite the opposite. He seemed terrified of them. I decided to walk into the building and set down his food and began to walk away, looking back I couldn’t believe it, he peeked around the corner. Then, to my astonishment, Toby ran straight to me. Overwhelmed with fear, he was shaking and peeing as he approached—but he surrendered. Why didn’t I bring my dogs from the start?!? That was the magic ticket to catching him! But better late than never. I was so excited I felt like I was jumping out of my skin. I could NOT believe all of my effort paid off. I GOT HIM!
I scooped him up, kissed his head, and held him tightly. For the first time, Toby felt safe I could feel it. The five-minute drive home felt like an eternity, but once we arrived, I reunited him with Nova. Their joy made my eyes leak. Nova licking his head and face as if she were telling him, “it’s ok, we are safe now.”
For the next two days, Toby stayed frozen in fear, curling up in the dog bed. But then, on the third day, he stood up, wagged his tail slightly, and approached me. It was a breakthrough. I knew then that Toby was going to start living his best life. A few months later, it was time to separate them. Nova found an incredible forever home with a family from Canada. To this day, they send me updates about how much they adore her. Despite her horrific past, Nova’s spirit remained unbroken. She reminded me about the depth of forgiveness and resilience.
As for Toby, he’s still with me. He’s been up for adoption, but his trust issues remain. He freezes when scared by new people and runs to his crate for comfort. Though he IS getting better and he still has no aggression—just fear. Toby may always be this way, or perhaps he’ll grow out of it. At about nine months old, he’s fully house-trained, loves his crate, and adores playing with my other dogs, Snoop Dogg and Freedom Girl. Watching him learn from them—how to be a dog, how to explore, how to trust—has been so rewarding.
I pray Toby finds his forever home one day, but if he’s meant to stay with me, I’m okay with that too.
