Once upon a time in the picturesque village of Düzpelit, nestled in the snow-covered landscapes of Ordu, Turkey, a dedicated veterinarian named Ogün Öztürk found himself on a unique mission. He had been summoned to the village to attend to a sick cow, a task he expected to complete swiftly and return home. Little did he know that this visit would lead to an unexpected and heartwarming connection.
As Ogün wrapped up his work with the ailing cow, he noticed something out of the ordinary. Through the thick blankets of snow, he spotted a determined little girl trudging towards him, carrying a pup on her back. Their extraordinary friendship began at that very moment.
The courageous girl was none other than Cemre Su Türköz, a resident of the village. Her faithful companion, Pamuk, had been suffering from an incessant itch for several days. Worried about her furry friend’s health, Cemre was determined to find a veterinarian as soon as possible. However, heavy snowfall had cut off access to the district center, leaving her with no choice but to explore alternative options. As luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself.
That fateful day, Cemre heard that a veterinarian would be in town to tend to a cow. Fearing that the vet might leave the village before she could seek his help, Cemre Su placed Pamuk on her back and embarked on a journey of over a mile along treacherous snow-covered mountain roads to reach Ogün’s location. Her arrival took the vet completely by surprise.
The resolute young girl approached Ogün and explained her predicament – her dog’s persistent itch, the inability to reach the district center due to the snow, and her desperation to have Pamuk examined. Who could refuse such an astonishing and determined client? Without hesitation, Ogün conducted a thorough examination, and fortunately, Pamuk’s condition was not dire. A simple topical medication would suffice to alleviate his discomfort.
In awe of the 8-year-old’s courage, Ogün refused to accept any payment for his services. Cemre offered approximately 7 liras, but he kindly declined. The kindness and bravery displayed by Cemre were rewards beyond measure for the compassionate vet.
This encounter marked the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Ogün continued to visit the village, not only to check on Pamuk’s well-being but also to spend time with Cemre and her beloved dog. Through the harshest of weather conditions, Pamuk felt the love and care that the little girl had showered upon him. It was a heartwarming tale of friendship and the boundless love between a little girl and her loyal canine companion.
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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