Ila has been an animal advocate since I met her in high school in 1965! Today, she is an international artist and author. Here is a peek into her and her husband, Franck’s, hearts.
"Living in Tahiti, I was astonished to find a pure-bred German shepherd abandoned and
starving on the roadside," said Ila.
The Polynesian island’s dogs have been isolated for centuries from the rest of the world, resulting in a breed of dog that is small and slender with a nondescript color and a ratter's temperament.
Ila gently helped the weak female dog into her car, spontaneously naming it Misha. It took weeks for the dog to regain her strength.
"What was more curious,” said Ila, “was that after Misha
returned to health, she produced eight black sable and pinto puppies. Our pet hen, Babalu, and rooster, Kubilai, stood by her all day in apparent appreciation of the event, as she lay giving birth resembling a little manger scene.
It soon became obvious that one of the pups, Cesar, was an unusual dog who possessed a great sensitivity and spirit. He and Franck were inseparable. Cesar grew into the biggest dog on the island! He was so handsome and gracious, that he
was known all over the island.
Each evening Franck and his dogs went for a swim off our beach and they played uproariously. Sometimes, Franck would play a trick on them by pretending to have drowned.
Only one dog responded to 'the emergency'. When Cesar saw his beloved friend looking dead in the water, he lost no time in saving his life! He ran to the water edge, swam to Frank, grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to the beach. Cesar did
this whenever Franck tested him, which wasn't often.
Cesar’s behavior demonstrated his insight that humans need to breathe indicating that dogs, love, think and respond.
I was busy rehabilitating seabirds and roosters that had been used in rooster fights and was amused that when Franck was traveling on business, Cesar went to considerable effort to become my closest buddy. This unusual dog tried convincing me that he loved the birds as much
as I did.
When we moved to France in 2009, only the three youngest females were still alive. We lived in Paris, then they accompanied us to our mountain home in Canada two years later. Our dogs have swum in warm Tahitian waters, the cold Cascade mountain rivers and the Mediterranean.
One of our female pups, Petite Loup, named for her wolfish look, was dog-napped at three months of age. The captors kept her tied up with a rope
around her abdomen, for their future meal.
After living in captivity for two weeks, Petite Loup escaped and found her way home. She had a deeply infected injury around her belly from the rope and her struggle to break free. It had to be kept bandaged for weeks before it healed, and for the rest of her life she refused to stay in a shelter where rain was pounding on the roof -- a clue to the torment that she had lived.
In Tahiti, Petite Loup
had been my only companion on the long excursions, far up a variety of uninhabited valleys, that I took to find places to release the birds. We had to remain undetected by everyone, including sharp-eyed marijuana farmers, who would be very interested in finding such gorgeous fighting birds in the wild.
Petite Loup could tell, from a glance at me, if it was the moment to bark or hide. When we moved to France, she was a town dog, walking at my side and politely
socializing in the village square. On our return to Canada, she was able to come with me on hikes until she became too old last year.
The dogs led free and happy lives for many years, then one by one, they passed away. When the alpha male, Wolf, died of old age, the birds noticed immediately. We found him lying on the lawn in a circle of chickens, all standing perfectly still in homage, gazing at him, just as they had stood waiting and watching the night he was
born."
