COMMENTARY
CHARLOTTE PHILLIPS / SPECIAL TO THE STAR-BULLETIN
Marianne Guillet returns a spayed dog to a monk. About 25 dogs are cared for by a community of monks.
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Woman offers Bhutan’s dogs some salvation
By Charlotte Phillips
Special to the Star-Bulletin
Thimphu, Bhutan » Inside her clinic perched on a hill in rural Bhutan, in the shadow of the Himalayas, Marianne Guillet tossed one more ovary into a shiny tray as classical music from a small CD player filled the tiny surgery room.
She had spent the morning sterilizing homeless dogs. Fifteen lay on blankets in corners and under tables, waiting for surgery or recuperating. One had a huge tumor blocking its vision, but the next day, after the tumor was removed, the dog was lively again.
In the kitchen, workers cooked rice and vegetables for the 150 dogs living on the premises. Baskets of rescued dogs filled one end of the room.
Outside, each dog had its own agenda. Some huddled in sleeping compartments that a worker had moved out of the garage so he could hose down the floor. Others ran, played, dug holes, explored the hill behind the clinic or stood vigil on the ridge overlooking a narrow road. Some raced down the hill to bark at cows, which playfully butted them. Others barked at the dozen rescued monkeys, which hissed threats. Eight paraplegic dogs were carried from their sleeping room to enclosed areas in the yard.
Prayer flags on tall poles flapped in the breeze. Clouds hovered around mountaintops. Ripe plums that fell from heavily laden trees were collected for the monkeys. Unusual birds paused en route to apple trees across the road. It was monsoon season, but the sun managed to shine most days.
CHARLOTTE PHILLIPS / SPECIAL TO THE STAR-BULLETIN
Marianne Guillet sterilizes a dog in her makeshift operating room in Bhutan.
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Marianne arrived 10 years ago with her partner, Hendrik, a Dutch engineer assigned to a project in Bhutan after a stint in Egypt. Marianne has a doctorate but is not a medical doctor. She has degrees in geography and architecture, but her undying love of animals and her fascination with medicine came together in Egypt, where she worked with a veterinarian, using knowledge she had gleaned from books. With a mind like a sponge, she was immediately conducting medical procedures and soon performing surgeries.
Bhutan's homeless dog situation hit her like a Himalayan blizzard. Seeing dogs hanging onto life by a thread, suffering in the streets without food, water or medical care, she started picking up the worst of them. Then it snowballed. People would call or stop her on the street to tell her of destitute dogs. She has "before" and "after" photos that prove she is a miracle worker: dogs with parts of their heads missing, dogs slit open, dogs hit by cars.
Hendrik, currently assigned to a project in neighboring Nepal, returns often, and has built sleeping quarters for the adoptees. As their numbers grew, he and Marianne hired local helpers, whom they pay with their own money.
Although dismayed by the dog dilemma on my first visit to this isolated Buddhist kingdom, I was frantic about a skin-and-bones creature that had mange, sores and a huge hole in his neck. As hard as I tried, I could not find medical help and could only offer food and kind words as he lay in a gutter.
CHARLOTTE PHILLIPS / SPECIAL TO THE STAR-BULLETIN
Writer Charlotte Phillips holds Paro Nakou, who now seems healthy and happy.
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Upon returning home, I searched for the nameless French woman I had heard about who helps dogs. I finally got a response to one of my e-mails, which included a phone number, so I called to ask her to help the dog. I described him and his location, and she screamed, "I have him!" Perhaps it was mental telepathy, but she had heard about him the day I left and had driven from her clinic outside Thimphu to the town of Paro to fetch him. I was ecstatic.
She sent photos of the dog she called Paro Rescue, now known as Paro Nakou ("black dog from Paro"), just as I remembered him, and more as he improved, but I couldn't stop thinking about him, so I recently went back to see him. As soon as I entered the clinic grounds, many dogs greeted me, but it was a shaggy, black dog that got to me first: Paro Nakou. Although he couldn't have remembered me after a year and a half, especially when he had been nearly dead, he acted like he knew me. With tears streaming down my face, I hugged and kissed him.
Marianne believes it is the duty of humans to help animals, so she willingly gives up a normal life to devote her time to those who can't help themselves. And each day, this remarkable woman amazed me anew, whether wielding her way with aplomb through unruly traffic, speaking perfect English in a rapid-fire delivery, going through garbage at the open market to retrieve vegetables and fruit for the dogs and monkeys, or stepping in to stop someone from mistreating an animal.
A man in one village thrust a paraplegic kitten into her hands, which she put in "intensive care" (her living room) with other cats and a dog on an IV. It curled up with the dog. Monks who care for 25 dogs happily greeted the ones we returned after sterilizing them. Wherever we went, we were surrounded by dogs with green stretchy collars, which identify them as some of the thousands she has sterilized and returned to the streets.
CHARLOTTE PHILLIPS / SPECIAL TO THE STAR-BULLETIN
When Paro Nakou was taken in by Marianne Guillet, he was just skin and bones with a huge sore on his neck.
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Although success stories are numerous, many dogs are brought in too late. Their bodies are wrapped in prayer flags before being dropped off a bridge into the river.
In the evenings, the dogs are put in sleeping quarters to keep them from barking all night, as Bhutanese dogs are notorious for doing. Some clever ones, including Paro Nakou, would hide and emerge when the coast was clear to walk me down the dark road to my house. More dogs would come out of hiding to join us. After lots of snacks, a dozen dogs would sit with me on the porch to watch the night converge. And, suddenly, my last night arrived. With a heavy heart, I watched them sleeping peacefully and wished I could explain that although I had to leave, I would always love them.