I heard little Panda before I ever saw her. I heard her cry for two days. Then, when I couldn't stand it any more, I went looking for her. There she was; I could see her through the tall fence. She looked about 12 weeks old, pressed up against the house door, crying.



I called her softly. She came over, quiet now. I opened the door and she was free. I took her to the temporary home I've got in Lubbock while I go to school. She gulped down 5 cups of water she was so thirsty. Then she leapt into my lap--ecstatic that someone would love her.  Then I started calling my friends and the animal shelter, wondering what to do. I have 3 other doggies at home--two of them rescues--the last one from right here in Lubbock. 



The SPCA told me I had to return her to the apartment. I didn't want to, but they told me under Texas law I was a thief and could be prosecuted. So I put her back. And so I killed her.



At first I tried to go over and see her, but the boys who owned her set another dog out that barked and bit at my fingers when I'd try to pat Panda.



The two boys who owned her couldn't be bothered taking her to the vet. Not even when she began to pass blood. They finally called me a few minutes before she died. But I knew it was too late. 



So now she's dead. Before she even had a chance for a decent life. And I cannot stop crying and crying and crying. 



I hate this awful place. I hate living in this poverty stricken dung heap they call an apartment complex. I hate the poverty here. I hate the desperation. I hate the people who torture their animals and I cannot do one thing. 



I cannot wait to return to my own country and get out of this horrible barbaric place.