Ollie Tamale must have been about 9 months old the summer that Hurricane Katrina swept across New Orleans and left sheer disaster in its wake. Ollie was a black eyed, black furred puppy, with a tail that circled up over her back.

We don’t know how she came to be separated from her people, or how long she was on her own. She is covered with little patches of skin where hair no longer grows, so she had a rough time of it. But the worst part was, in the middle of all that chaos, urgency and confusion, somebody left little Ollie on her own. And trying to survive, she was swimming and trying to find food, when someone aimed a shotgun at her and pulled the trigger.

Buckshot lodged in her face and forehead, her neck, chest and arms. It broke her teeth and sliced through her tongue. It’s a miracle she wasn’t blinded. She got very sick. Her broken teeth became infected, and the infection followed her blood vessels up her nose and towards her brain. She stopped eating. She got weak. She started to die.

Then, by someone’s kindness and grace, little Ollie Tamale was rescued. Along with hundreds of other animals, she was checked over by a veterinarian, given some antibiotics and some fluids, and triaged to a camp full of dogs and cats needing transport to animal shelters all over the United States, which would provide homes and the possibility of adoption.

Ollie Tamale landed in a euthanizing shelter in Denver. By that time, her infection had overpowered the antibiotics, she had stopped eating again, and now wouldn’t even pick her head up off the cold cement floor when someone passed her cage.

It was a Saturday that we came by the local shelter to get a housemate for our older dog, Eliza, who’d just lost her 2 year old buddy to lymphoma. We passed by Ollie’s cage several times, each time asking to see a different dog. None of the dogs we picked were available for adoption that day. The only dog who was adoptable that day, was the little black dog who wouldn’t raise her head off the floor. So we had her leashed up and brought her out to meet Eliza. She passed the test, no fight erupted. Eliza looked dismayed, and Ollie looked out of it.

By the time we got the two of them home in the back of the truck, Ollie had pooped and peed and vomited. Eliza was appalled. We knew we had a terrified and sick dog on our hands. That very day, we took Ollie Tamale for an examination by a veterinarian, who immediately scheduled surgery for the infection in her face.

Years later, Ollie Tamale is a wonderful housemate. She is brave to a fault in protecting her people. She is still terrified of thunderstorms and loud noises that must remind her of Katrina and the sound of a gun shot. When she hears them, she hides in the bathroom, hoping she won’t be found.

But on sunny days, she grins from ear to ear, loves to play with her squeak toys, chases squirrels, and stays on fox patrol. She has had a difficult journey to reach her forever home.

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