How One Dog Stole My Heart In Morocco
The beginning of an unexpected friendship.
This was Drago the first time I saw him in the mountains of Morocco.
His name was Drago.
Well, that was the name I gave him.
He lived in the mountains near a family member's home together with another dog that I named Rocco.
Neither of them were really pets.
They were guard dogs.
Their job was to protect the property and keep strangers away.
And they took that job very seriously.
The first time I met Drago, he barked at me.
He growled.
He wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.
Most people would probably have been scared of him.
But somehow, I thought he was adorable.
For me, it was love at first sight.
For Drago, not so much.
At that time, he was not used to affection.
He was used to guarding.
He was used to protecting his territory.
He was not a dog that people cuddled or spoiled.
People fed him, and that was about it.
The following year, I returned to Morocco.
This time, I started bringing him little treats.
At first, I was still careful.
I would give him food from a distance.
Slowly, he started trusting me.
He stopped growling.
He started wagging his tail.
For the first time, I felt like I was making progress.
There was another dog called Rocco.
Unfortunately, Rocco developed health problems with one of his eyes.
A local animal rescue organisation took him in, treated him and cared for him.
After that, Drago was left on his own.
That was when I noticed something changing.
He became softer.
More open.
Less defensive.
The third year was completely different.
By then, I was finally able to pet him.
He would come up to me for attention.
He wagged his tail whenever he saw me.
He wanted to play.
He followed me everywhere.
If I walked through the village, he followed.
If I visited family, he followed.
If I left in the car, he would often run behind it for as long as he could.
For a dog who once wanted nothing to do with me, that felt incredibly special.
What touched me most was that Drago had never really known what it felt like to be loved.
He had spent most of his life as a guard dog.
People were often afraid of him.
Sometimes stones were thrown at him because he chased people away.
Yet underneath all of that was a dog who simply wanted kindness.
A dog who wanted attention.
A dog who wanted to belong.
The more time I spent with him, the more I loved him.
When it was time for me to leave Morocco, I knew saying goodbye would be difficult.
I had spent two months with him.
Every day I visited him.
Every day he waited for me.
Every day he made me smile.
The day I had to leave, I cried.
I cried a lot.
Drago sat next to me.
He looked at me.
And somehow, I felt like he knew exactly what was happening.
He stayed close to me as if he was trying to comfort me.
What broke my heart the most was this:
Normally, whenever I left, he would run after the car.
Every single time.
But on that day, he didn't.
He simply watched.
He stayed where he was.
And for some reason, that hurt even more.
It felt as if he knew this goodbye was different.
After I returned to the Netherlands, family members told me that Drago became quieter.
He wasn't quite himself for a while.
Hearing that broke my heart.
Many people have asked me why I didn't bring him home with me.
The truth is simple.
I love him too much.
Bringing him to the Netherlands would mean taking him away from the mountains he knows, the environment he grew up in and the freedom he has always had.
I live in an apartment.
I work.
He would spend much more time indoors.
And that did not feel fair to him.
If I truly love him, then I have to think about what is best for him, not what is easiest for me.
That doesn't mean I don't miss him.
Because I do.
Every single day.
In October, I will return to Morocco again.
And if there is one thing I am looking forward to, it is seeing Drago.
Sometimes I wonder whether he will recognise me.
Part of me thinks he will.
Maybe he will need a moment.
Maybe he will have to look twice.
Maybe he will have to smell my hand first.
But deep down, I hope I will see that familiar wagging tail again.
And if I do, I know I will probably cry all over again.
Because sometimes, the animals that enter our lives leave paw prints on our hearts forever.
Love,
Shavida
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