Some of the animals will be reunited with their owners while others will be put up for adoption
Hundreds of animals stranded in Afghanistan arrived in Vancouver on Tuesday night, after more than six months of rescue efforts by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA).
A total of 158 dogs and 146 cats touched down at Vancouver International Airport (YVR) aboard a specially converted Russian Ilyushin 76-TD aircraft after stops in Turkey and Iceland.
SPCA International said partners in Kabul reached out to them regarding the pets when U.S. forces withdrew from Afghanistan.
The groups hoped to evacuate the animals to North America at the time of the withdrawal, but the volatile situation combined with logistical issues resulted in the delay.
“These animals have been on the plane for quite some time,” Lori Kalef, director of programs for SPCA International, said prior their arrival. “We had to reroute at the last minute due to the conflict going on in Russia.”
From YVR, the animals will be transferred to a specially constructed 1,600-square metre facility.
Kalef said about 66 of the animals will be reunited with their owners, while another two dozen will stay with the SPCA until their owners are able to retrieve them.
The others will be put up for adoption across North America.
Anyone interested in adopting one of the animals can visit the SPCA International website. Applications will be handled by SPCA International and the B.C.-based RainCoast Dog Rescue Society.
Treacherous rescue mission
In a statement, the SPCA said numerous pets were left behind in shelters when their owners fled the country following the Taliban takeover.
A local charity, Kabul Small Animal Rescue, had saved more than 70 dogs from Kabul International Airport and rescued dozens of other animals abandoned by owners when they were forced to flee.
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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