This past Sunday, we raced against time to save a greyhound.
She had been thrown away like garbage, left in the middle of nowhere to die alone. Her body was stiff, her wounds rotting, her frail frame crawling with maggots.
Her name was Sarita.
And she lay there invisible, unseen by the world. People walked past her, glancing away. Some hesitated to report her at all—afraid of the “trouble” it might bring.
How could they not leave her even a bowl of water, a morsel of food?
This was Marchigue, Chile—a place where greyhounds are discarded once they are no longer “useful” for hunting or racing.
Sarita was a ghost in life. Her body had collapsed, her spirit flickered like a candle in the wind.
When we found her, she looked up at us with eyes that seemed to ask:
“Can I trust you?”
She waited in agony—unwanted, unseen.
But no longer.
We called for rescue immediately. Yet the small team of women who first took her in lacked the resources to keep her. The challenges were overwhelming. A veterinarian advised euthanasia if there was no way forward.
But we refused to let her story end there.
We decided to expand the circle of help and bring her to Santiago. There, she could have one more chance. Her wounds were deep. Bones might be broken. Time was not on our side.
We rushed her to emergency care.
The tests were devastating: spinal infarction, multiple fractures, open wounds. The prognosis? She might never walk again. Her small legs showed no signs of life.
The vet spoke softly: “It might be kinder to let her go.”
But Sarita’s eyes pleaded for something else: a chance.
For a moment, we faltered. Hope seemed too fragile. But one truth remained—we could not deny her the right to live. Sarita deserved to experience life, not just existence.
A kind woman named Cata stepped forward. She opened her door and her heart, becoming Sarita’s foster mom.
At last, Sarita was safe. At last, she was loved. At last, she was visible.
Her body was frail, but her will was unshakable. Each day, Cata fed her, cleaned her wounds, gently moved her legs, whispering hope into her ears.
Thanks to countless donors, Sarita began intensive rehabilitation. At first, she lay still, her eyes wide with fear. But slowly, her tiny tail wagged whenever Cata entered the room. Fear began to dissolve. In its place grew trust.
It was November 2024. Her legs remained lifeless. The vets warned: “Don’t expect too much.”
But Sarita had been born to break limits.
Every day, Aunt Eve, her physiotherapist, came to help. They massaged her legs, applied warmth, encouraged dormant muscles to awaken. It was a race against time, but Sarita was ready.
Days turned into weeks. Her fragile frame began to fill out. Her sorrowful eyes found light again. She ate eagerly, wagged her tail more often.
And then—one day—miracle.
A small twitch. A fleeting movement in her back leg.
The vet could hardly believe it. The dog who was told she would never walk might just prove them wrong.
Rehabilitation became her new life. Twice a day, every day, Sarita trained. Acupuncture, hydrotherapy, treadmill sessions, massages. She stumbled. She cried. But she never gave up. And neither did we.
Step by step, Sarita began to find her legs. At first, she needed help just to stand. We gave her confidence.
Then, without warning, she stood on her own. No hands. No wheels. Just Sarita and her stubborn, brave little legs.
Everyone present that day cried tears of joy.
It was her 23rd therapy session. A miracle in motion. The vet said her back legs had once been lifeless. But Sarita never believed that. With each session, she grew stronger.
And then came the unforgettable moment—when she gathered all her strength, stood tall, and walked.
She moved like a tiny airplane, tail wagging furiously, joy radiating so powerfully that everyone felt it.
Months passed. The stiff, cold body we had once found was now vibrant, full of life. Sarita learned again how to play, to stand tall, to wave those long, silly legs in the air. She ran freely in her backyard, chasing toys, barking with delight.
Her spirit had never been destroyed—only hidden, waiting for the right moment to shine again.
After seven months of therapy, Sarita was discharged—stronger than anyone had dared hope. She fulfilled the promise we had whispered over her broken body: she would walk, she would run, she would know freedom again.
Those who abandoned her never imagined her story would become one of hope and love.
Today, Sarita is not just surviving. She is living.
She plays freely with friends, eats proudly from her own bowl, chases squeaky toys with her head held high.
Every step she takes is a miracle. Every wag of her tail is proof of what love can achieve.
And her story ends the way we all dreamed it would: Sarita was adopted by Cata—her foster mom, the woman who never gave up on her.
Cata was there through the darkest nights, when Sarita couldn’t walk, when she couldn’t sleep, when she required treatment and movement every single day. The woman who carried her through pain now calls her family.
Once, Sarita’s world was a patch of dirt beneath a tree. Today, her world is a warm bed, gentle hands, endless kisses.
Her journey is more than a rescue—it is a call for change.
Chile must end the cruelty inflicted on greyhounds.
No more Saritas discarded for entertainment. No more pain for sport.
We owe her—and every dog like her—that much.
