Rescuing Ladybugs. Jennifer Skiff

fence. Charge must be 7,000 volts. To prevent bears from going out and people from getting in.

       4. Buildings for staff.

       5. Quarantine den for newly rescued bears for adjustment period.

       6. Enclosure should be 6 hectares or 15 acres to house 30 bears.

       7. Must have: freshwater pools, trees for climbing, dens for hibernation, and areas of shade. Perfect setting is in natural forest.

      “The male bears will need to be sterilized before going into the enclosure together,” he said. “You will want to have a vet clinic on-site. How confident are you that you can secure the land?” he asked.

      “That’s the good news,” I said. “The government has agreed to give three acres.”

      “For how many bears?” he asked.

      “Five.”

      “It won’t be enough. Once it’s built, people will want to surrender bears to you. When you build it, they come.”

      “Will you help me build it?” I asked.

      “Follow me,” he said. In his office, he unrolled a blueprint of the Karacabey Sanctuary.

      “You need a drawing to work from. Use this one,” he said. “What are you thinking it will cost to build?”

      “I’ve been estimating around eight thousand US dollars for the enclosure. To be honest, I didn’t even think about other buildings.”

      “Triple that,” he said. “Can you raise that kind of money?”

      “I’ll have to,” I replied.

      An hour later, it was time to go. As Victor led me to the parking lot, I was upset but tried not to show it. He had given me drawings to build a bear sanctuary, but I hadn’t been able to secure what I wanted: a commitment from him to help. With a lump in my throat I took his extended hand, covered it with both of mine, and thanked him for the plans, his time, and his advice.

      I rolled down the car window to wave good-bye, and Victor lifted his finger into the air. He approached the window and leaned in.

      “You go raise the money. I’ll be in touch,” he said.

      Perth, Australia

      The sun was shining when I landed in Perth. Eight months had passed since meeting Victor in Turkey. I was in Australia to visit Jon and to raise the rest of the money for the bear sanctuary in Laos. So far, in my purse, I had $6,000 and fifteen pieces of donated jewelry, which I intended to auction. The money came from an American friend who donated a portion of one night’s proceeds from her restaurant. The jewelry was a gift from a couple of dear friends who, when asked for help, reached into the depths of their jewelry boxes and presented me with seldom-worn rings and necklaces.

      Jon was confident his Australian friends would be generous if we threw a good party. I loved the idea but wasn’t sure how to pull it off. I knew very few people in Australia who might help. I did, however, have faith. Past experience had proven to me that when you set forth to right an injustice, you will find yourself surrounded by good people willing to help.

      And that’s what happened. The first person I approached was Theresa Smith, a California girl married to an Australian and one of my first friends in Perth. Years before, for her fortieth birthday, Theresa had invited me and her friends to take surfing lessons, and we’d remained friends ever since. Theresa was popular, often hosting parties at her mansion in the exclusive suburb of Peppermint Grove, and I figured she’d know the best way to organize the party. Over a cup of tea under a giant peppermint tree, I showed her the pictures I’d taken of Fri and the other bears. She studied the photographs for ten seconds and then turned them facedown on a table.

      “I need to introduce you to Jayne Middlemas,” she said. “You’ll like her. We’ll need a committee.”

      The next day I met Jayne, and as she studied the photograph of Fri, she smiled and said, “I’ll be on your committee. I’ll handle the money and accounting.”

      The next morning at a beachside café, I met Bill Woolley and his fiancée, Lindi, by chance. I didn’t even have to show Lindi a photograph. She joined the party committee on the spot after hearing what I’d seen in Laos.

      At the end of that first week, Taury Wainwright, a sweet-natured, beach-blonde girlfriend of one of Jon’s business partners, had also raised her hand to help. Taury, a decade younger than the rest of us, had many friends who were famous Australian footy players, and she promised to get a young, hip crowd to the party.

      We decided to ask Ian Love, the owner of the popular restaurant CoCo’s, if he would host the party. Jon knew Ian and arranged a meeting, and Ian quickly agreed. He had two dogs and was an animal lover, and he threw in a substantial discount on food and drinks.

      Miraculously, a team of bear warriors had materialized, all eager to end the suffering of five souls they’d never met.

      Five months after the formation of the committee, the glamorous event and jewelry auction caused a frenzy of generous bidding that raised $17,500. Combined with the $6,000 I already had, the sum totaled the exact amount Victor had said we needed to build the sanctuary.

      I could barely contain my excitement when I called Victor with the news. He had good news, too. His organization, WSPA, had given the nod to oversee construction of the sanctuary. In addition, he’d reached out to the Thai Society for the Conservation of Wild Animals (TSCWA) to see if it would assist with the project. Apparently, TSCWA had received many complaints about the neglected bears at the Vientiane National Ethnic Cultural Park. Not only were they willing to help us, but they offered to sterilize the bears and relocate them to the sanctuary once it was built.

      Like an unstoppable wave, the movement to uncage Fri and the other bears was a powerful force of energy. Good was prevailing, and I was overwhelmed by the generosity of people from all parts of the world who were working to right this terrible wrong.

      Mount Desert Island, Maine, USA

      Approximately six hundred days after I met Fri, I received a large manila envelope in the mail. It was a letter from Victor, telling me the bears were finally home in their new sanctuary. The news was bittersweet. Two of the five had died while awaiting rescue.

      I stuck my hand in the envelope and pulled out two photographs. One showed a medical team standing over sedated bears on stretchers. Another was a shot of a bear in a wooden crate being transported on the flatbed of a truck. Tears welled in my eyes as I studied the pictures and thought of the bears I hadn’t been able to save. As I reached for a tissue on my desk, a third photograph dropped from the envelope and to the floor. I picked it up and my spirit lifted. It was Fri — recognizable by his unique, broken half-moon chest marking. He was standing upright, rubbing his back on a tree. He was smiling.

      When I first touched down in Laos nearly two years earlier, I’d been searching for justice and compassion for human beings. I left the country with something else: a clear understanding that all animals, human or otherwise, deserve life and are entitled to freedom. The experience was enlightening. I was shown that as difficult as it is to witness the cruelty that often comes with rescue, the reward in helping a defenseless soul is immeasurable.

      The first bear sanctuary in Laos was built by WSPA, TSCWA, and more than a hundred people, primarily from the United States and Australia, who generously funded it. Today, the Laos Wildlife Rescue Center is home to twenty-four bears. It is operated by the Wildlife Friends Foundation (WFF), a Thailand-based charity founded by Edwin Wiek.

Chapter