Will you be my Toto…🐾

What began as a forwarded message on a December afternoon turned into a month-long journey of hope, heartbreak, and humanity. This is the story of Toto—a dog rescued by a village—and how, in the process, he rescued me too.

It was sometime on a Sunday in December—I remember that much distinctly.My phone dinged with a text notification. I opened it.

It was a forward from a friend, shared among a few fellow dog enthusiasts: a message about a dog found wandering the streets of Thondamuthur, Coimbatore.

I promptly reposted it—to my WhatsApp status, to my Instagram story—and then went back to my book, as if that were the end of my part in the story.

But something about it refused to let me settle. The photo stayed with me.

The dog looked small, a terrier perhaps—definitely a house dog, the kind that once belonged in a home, cozy and warm. It was a cold day, and the dog looked terrified and filthy, its hair matted and stringy. Something about its eyes—the haunted look on its face—kept returning to me.

As luck would have it, the universe quietly set things in motion. I managed to get hold of the person who had posted the SOS about the dog in the first place, hoping I could simply pick it up and bring it home. Alas, the dog was not in her care; it had been seen wandering in a field across from her two-floor walk-up.

That was when my network of like-minded friends and professional dog rescuers kicked in. Messages were exchanged back and forth, calls were made, and a plan was hatched.

I drove my trusty SUV, stocked with a crate and a few blankets, determined to make the dog feel comfortable and safe. I reached the spot only to be met with disappointing news—the dog had sprinted off somewhere else, as if on cue.

The woman coordinating the rescue, a mathematics professor at a reputed college in the city, was visibly anguished. Just when we thought we were close, the dog had pulled a perfect Houdini and vanished.

The entire neighbourhood was soon sounded out, and everyone wanted in. Out came the Activas, the scooties, and people on foot. Together, we combed the area, desperately looking for one small dog. We searched through chicken coops, ducked under bramble-choked bushes, and peeked into rundown buildings—but it was all in vain.

Hope was wearing thin. The sky began to darken, and my heart sank into icy waters of disappointment. This was the first rescue I had ever attempted, and the weight of it pressed down on me heavily.

Before we dispersed, the people there promised to keep an eye out for the dog and to feed him if he was seen in the area again. The plan was fragile but hopeful—to entice him with food, coax him into a home, and keep him safe there until he could be moved to a foster home, or perhaps to mine.

All I could do was wait.

I kept receiving updates from the professor, who, in the midst of all this, quickly became a good friend. I was on my way to Bangalore for the Sankranti break—the festival of new beginnings and gratitude for a bountiful harvest—when my phone rang.

The dog had finally been persuaded into someone’s home. They were waiting for the rescuer to arrive and relocate him.

Off went the professional rescuer, and Toto was rescued at last. He was taken straight to the vet—for grooming, a thorough check-up, and his vaccinations. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was safe.

Toto stayed in a foster home for about two weeks while I made sure everything at home was ready. For some perspective, I already have eight dogs. Preparation mattered.

It was on the 4th of February when I finally went to see Toto. That was also when I met Kaido—a retriever who had been subjected to horrific abuse and was now, quite miraculously, thriving. That is a story for another blog.

I scooped them both up in my arms, loaded them into my car, and brought them home. It had taken more than a month to get Toto off the streets and into a home—but we had made it.

Their forever home.To a promise of love, protection, safety, and warmth.

I had wondered once, quietly, Will you be my Toto…By the time we reached home, he already was. Somewhere along the way—like Dorothy learning what home truly meant—I realized I wasn’t the same person who had started the journey.He had already healed me in ways I cannot quite put my finger on.

So thank you, my Toto, for reminding me that home was never a physical construct—it was a space shaped by the people I love. And for rescuing me, not the other way around.

I will also be forever grateful to the community that came together to help—people who showed up for such a beautiful cause. From the professor who coordinated tirelessly, to the milkman uncle in his veshti who fed Toto biscuits and milk, to the doctor who finally coaxed him into her home, I carry deep gratitude for each of you, and you will always have a special place in my heart.

Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible  

First dreamer. Accidental chemist @ Green Molecule - Clean Confidently

A Personal Note

P.S.: This is simply my personal experience and not a prescription for anyone else. We all find our spark in different ways—to each his, her, or their own. This is not a roadmap at all, just something that worked for me.

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