Where Sindi found a new home
Near Gibraltar, women run an extraordinary animal shelter.
Despite all the cruelty inflicted on animals in Spain, animal rights activists are taking action. A group of women are doing just that at the southern tip of Spain, under extremely difficult conditions.
This story picks up where the first part of my road trip through Andalusia left off (linked below this text). After all, it was still quite a few kilometers and a couple of exciting weeks before my red VW Polo and I arrived in Portugal.
First, on my way from Cádiz to Granada, I visited Verónica Posada Bandrés. I took a small detour because I wanted to learn more about the animal shelter she had told me about. She also told me about the “Toro Embalao” (Fire Bull) of Vejer de la Frontera, which I wrote about over Easter.
Sindi is tiny. A little bundle of terrier that easily fits in the palm of your hand. When Sindi barks, it sounds more like a chicken clucking. This is a result of the many surgeries the little dog has had to endure. It’s been a year and a half since Sindi, a terrier lady of about ten years of age, arrived at the shelter, where Verónica Posada Bandrés is on the board of directors. The SOS Canya shelter is located outside the small town of Los Barrios, a good half-hour’s drive from Gibraltar, on the southern tip of Spain. I stop by to see Verónica as I drive from the beach in Tarifa to Gibraltar on my road trip through Andalusia.
A year and a half ago, Verónica impulsively took Sindi home with her. She believes that, surrounded by all the other larger dogs, the fragile little creature would have had little chance of survival. Verónica’s five cats accepted their new housemate—who is so much smaller than they are—without complaint.
Verónica first walked into the animal shelter 18 years ago. At the time, she was a volunteer. Of the group of interested volunteers, she is the only one who has remained. What makes the facility special isn’t immediately apparent; it becomes clear only upon closer inspection. It is located on the grounds of a so-called “perrera.” This is a privately run facility funded by the city government. In exchange, the operator provides the grounds, sets up metal-mesh kennels, and—at least in Los Barrios—captures dogs from the streets. Because it’s not clear from the start whether a “stray” is actually a street dog or has just run away from its owner, there’s a ten-day period during which the perraras must determine ownership. Only if no owner is found during this period does a dog, so to speak, belong to the facility. This regulation applies nationwide.
What makes SOS Canya unique is that the organization isn’t just active on the perrera’s grounds for a few hours at a time—for example, to allow volunteers to walk caged dogs, as I’ve seen done elsewhere. In contrast, SOS Canya operates on the Perrera’s grounds every day starting at 9:30 a.m.—seven days a week, 365 days a year. That makes the foundation the only animal shelter in Spain that operates this way, says Verónica. Furtermore, the assocation is not only managed and supported by volunteers; key positions on site are filled by paid full-time staff.
As with other animal welfare organizations, at SOS Canya it is not only the founders but also most of the active members who are women. They have transferred their “SOS Perrera Los Barrios” into the Fundación SOS CANYA (SOS Canya Foundation), donations to the organization are now tax-deductible. There are also men among the volunteers and the eight full-time employees. They often take on manual tasks that require physical strength. On the Teaming website, nearly 600 people support the organization, 200 of whom are actually active, Verónica explains, and on weekends there is usually no shortage of volunteers to walk the dogs.
The problem with the shelter, however, is this: Every spring, when the water level in the nearby Rio de las Cañas O Palomes rises after the prolonged rain storms, the river overflows its banks, flooding not only the meadow next to the shelter—but the shelter itself. The dogs stand—depending on their size—with water up to their shoulders. The women have to evacuate them every time. Volunteers take them in for care until their kennels are habitable again after a few days. This has been happening every spring—for 18 years.
Give up? That’s out of the question for the women. A few years ago, they decided they could no longer put up with this situation. They began looking for a new, dry piece of land. When they found it, however, it turned out to cost more than they could afford. They decided to buy the property anyway and struck a deal with the seller: they made a down payment and promised to pay the remaining balance within two years. At that point, they didn’t know how they would manage it. They knew only one thing: things couldn’t go on like this. They had to make a change.
The solution to their problem walks through the door one day when a man enters the shelter. “Around 80, with gray hair,” is how Verónica describes him. He’s riding a bike and has a plastic bag strapped to the rack. “Ah, someone who wants to donate food,” she thinks at the time. She was dead wrong. Because the man—who, according to Verónica, doesn’t want his name or photo to appear in the media—had something entirely different in mind: He donates the majority of the amount of money the women still needed to pay to make the property for the new shelter their own '- and that’s no small sum—it’s a six-figure amount. The rest is contributed by several other loyal and generous supporters. A small miracle has happened.
Since then, the women have already built the kennels on the new site. The women are now setting aside money from the donations to finish the new facility—and eventually leave the old, dilapidated site and move into their new home permanently. However, the obstacle isn’t just financial, as Verónica explained to me the night before. “The real problem is the city administration’s slow processing and the bureaucracy.”
I would have loved to see the new facility. But when I arrive at Verónica’s place in the early evening, it’s too late to drive there. The next morning, she has to go to her day job, and the women at the shelter are busy with the dogs. So I can only take Verónica’s word for it (and I do) about the new facility, and what I see of it in a video.
I drive straight to the current location, covering the last mile and a half on a badly rutted gravel road. The shelter currently houses nearly 200 dogs. Among them are only a few Galgos. Although greyhounds are also used for hunting in this region, the smaller Podencos are typically used for this purpose. The majority of the dogs at the shelter, are Pit Bulls, German Shepherds, and their Belgian counterpart, the Malinois. All of them are considered good guard dogs, but they need to be well trained - which many owners consider too much work, so sooner or later the dogs end up at the shelter. I can already hear them barking as I get out of my car a short distance away. Veterinarian Emma and her assistant Nadia greet me in the treatment room by the entrance gate. Next to it, on a board on the wall, are the names of the dogs that volunteers picked up on Sunday to take for a walk.
Emma shows me around the facility. The kennels are relatively large and grouped around a large open area where the dogs can run around. The brick bases are discolored a greenish-moldy shade—a testament to the annual flooding.
On this early morning, not all the dog droppings in and between the kennels have yet been hosed into the collection troughs… I promptly step in a pile. “That happens to us every day,” Emma says matter-of-factly. That’s why everyone who works here wears rubber boots. They’ve all long since stopped hearing the constant barking, or as Emma puts it: “We’d miss it if the dogs were suddenly quiet.” The veterinarian is carrying a plastic box in her hands; in small compartments lie meatballs into which Emma kneads the pills for the dogs.
The women work under extreme conditions. They all hope they’ll soon overcome the bureaucratic hurdles for the new animal shelter—and finally be able to move in. Perhaps even before the next flood hits this year, so they can spare the animals another evacuation.
Since so many association members want to see the new site, the women are organizing an open house on Sunday, May 10. From 10 am. to 6 pm. Visitors will have the opportunity to speak with Verónica, Emma and Nadia, and many other dedicated members of the team and learn about the foundation's work.
Will Verónica Posado bring little Sindi to the shelter that day? She has posted a video in which the women are asking for donations to cover the 2,800 euros in medical costs they have spent on Sindi so far. I picture in my mind’s eye the delicate, vulnerable little dog from last night, who has nevertheless bravely weathered the hardships of her life, and I am convinced that every penny spent on Sindi is money well spent.
This text was originally published on my German website and translated by me.