Jeff and I first met Ella, a mixed breed hound dog with crazy backward ears, as she scavenged food in downtown Fira, Santorini, Greece. We got the sense that Ella was well-known along restaurant-row for foraging through the trash cans that lined the  streets. She was greeted by restaurant workers who smiled their hellos. “Ella, how are you, old girl?” or “It’s good to see you. I saved a special bone for you Ella Bella.”

It was difficult not to feel sad for Ella, living on the streets where cars drove crazily and homeless dogs were often hurt. Doesn’t every dog deserve a family that cherished them?Jeff and I fantasized the possibility of bringing Ella back to the US where she would always be safe, loved and cared for. We wrote it off at the time as a dream that would be too difficult to execute.

It was at sunrise the following day that we ran into Ella on the street outside our hotel. She stared at us momentarily, then turned and trotted out of sight. It was a moment later when she reappeared as if waiting for us to catch up. We walked a bit faster, following Ella along the narrow path that wound down the famous cliffs of Santorini. We passed grazing animals and tiny homesteads, until the sounds of village life faded and only the rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks remained.

At the base of the cliffs, Ella slipped into the small opening of a cave carved into the rocks barely out of the reach of the sea. There, nestled in a bed of sand and sea grasses, six tiny puppies stirred at the sound of Ella’s arrival. They yipped their indignation that breakfast was late and happily nursed on Ella’s warm milk.  

We moved slowly so as not to startle the little family. After the puppies were satiated and drowsy, Ella gave her blessing for us to hold them as we carefully negotiated the rocky floor of the cave. She seemed somehow to understand that this was a changing moment in her life and the lives of her puppies. 

Jeff and I, with arms filled with sleeping puppies, and Ella by our side, made our way back the way we had come. We passed several tiny shacks before arriving at a small cabin where a woman was stirring gruel over a small fire. She smiled a wide toothless grin as she noticed the puppies we were carrying. “Koíta ta ómorfa koutávia,” she called to her family. Two teenage girls emerged, smiling and reaching their arms out to hold the babies.

We were fortunate that the daughters, Sophia and Iris, spoke fluent English and couldn’t wait to cuddle the puppies. Before we knew it, we were making plans with the sisters to foster Ella and the babies until we could put together a plan of attack.

It was just a few days later that we returned to the cabin. We were greeted by Sophia, Iris and their mom Chloe with hugs as the puppies chewed our toes while Ella looked on. While the fosters lavished the puppies and Ella with love and nourishment, Jeff and I set a rescue in motion that would cross continents. Travel plans were stitched together from the cliffs of Santorini to Athens, on to Frankfurt, and finally across the ocean to Denver. Each leg of the journey carried the promise of new beginnings and the love of families who would cherish these seven perfect beings for the rest of their lives.

By the time the plane touched down in Denver, Ella and her puppies were no longer the cave-dwellers of the Mediterranean coast. They were beloved travelers, greeted with open arms, teary smiles, and the wonder of a second chance.