On the evening of December 2nd, a message flashed in our Pet Parents WhatsApp group— “Young abandoned dog… tied to a truck… barely 4–5 months old.” Before anyone else could react, my wife, Shivani, had already rushed out to find her.
When she reached, the tiny golden retriever was shivering uncontrollably, burning with fever. Shivani called me, her voice trembling, “She’s very sick… I’m taking her to the pet hospital.”
I left everything and said, “I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”
At the hospital, our worst fears came true. She was diagnosed with Canine Distemper—one of the deadliest diseases in dogs. Her neurological symptoms had already begun; she had started twitching. The vet told us her survival chances were less than 10–20%. And because CD is airborne—like a canine version of COVID—we couldn’t take her home to our own dog. Humans were safe, but our pets weren’t.
Everyone suggested the same heartbreaking thing: “Let her go… don’t make her suffer.”
But Shivani and I refused to give up.
We had just met her, yet we felt responsible—connected.
We decided to fight for her life.
Day 1 — The First Night
I took her to my office so she could stay isolated. She slept—restless and whimpering—in my cabin. I stayed awake with her, feeding her, giving water, trying to comfort her. Neither of us slept much. But I kept telling myself… She’ll make it. She has to.
Day 2 — Turning an Airbnb Into an ICU
On a friend’s recommendation, we got a small 1BHK Airbnb near my office. My wife moved in there with the puppy. She cooked for her, fed her using syringes because the little one couldn’t eat on her own. She gave medicines, water, and kept her hydrated all day. In the evening, we hired a nurse to help with IV drips.
My wife named her Mary. Somehow, that name fit her perfectly.
I went home during nights to take care of our own dog, Disco, while Shivani spent every hour fighting for Mary’s life.
Day 3 — A Ray of Hope
I cooked food early morning, Eggs and Khichdi, and rushed to the Airbnb. Mary seemed a little stronger. She even played with her leash—just for a few seconds—but enough to fill our hearts with hope.
We continued feeding her through syringes, giving medicines, and keeping her warm.
Later that day, we found a treatment and rehabilitation center for distemper cases. Many dogs there had survived or were recovering. That gave us courage.
Leaving her there was one of the hardest things I’ve done. She kept looking at us with those hopeful eyes.
In just two days, she had become a part of us—like a child.
But we couldn’t keep her in the Airbnb for weeks, and we couldn’t risk bringing her home. We believed the center could help her recover faster. The plan was simple—help her heal, and once she recovered, foster her until she found a loving home.
Day 4 — Waiting and Worrying
We called the center morning and evening.
The staff sounded unsure.
“Her chances are 50-50,” they said gently. “We’re trying our best.”
We knew the situation was serious.
Still, we hoped.
Sometimes hope is all you have.
Day 5 — The Call We Feared
On the morning of December 6th, around 11 AM, my phone rang.
The words felt like knives—
“Mary didn’t make it… she had repeated seizures… we couldn’t save her.”
Shivani and I were shattered.
My wife had been preparing food—eggs and dal—to feed her during our visit that afternoon. Instead, we were left with heartbreak.
I haven’t been in tears in years… but that day, I broke.
I kept thinking— If she had stayed with us… maybe I could’ve saved her.
But deep down, I know we did everything we possibly could.
Shivani’s grief turned into anger at the people who abandoned her—tied to a truck, sick, suffering, alone.
If only they hadn’t given up on her… If only they had sought help earlier…
Mary deserved love, not abandonment.
She deserved warmth, not a rope on a truck.
Mary… You Won’t Be Forgotten
My little girl, you were with us for just a handful of days, but you changed something inside me forever.
Your short life strengthened a dream that I’ve carried for years— to open a rescue and rehabilitation center called “Smiling Furs.”
And now, because of you, that dream feels urgent… necessary.
One day, I will save many more innocent lives.
One day, I’ll be ready—better prepared, better equipped.
Mary, you were loved.
You mattered.
And I hope you’re at peace now, running free somewhere warm and beautiful.
We’ll meet again, my child. In another life, under gentler skies.