Quiet Strength: Lokum and Elif's Story

I have never really lived without dogs. My first was a Saint Bernard named Minik, which means "the little one" in Turkish. Then came Efe, who was with me for 16 years, and then Dost, Can, Çomar, and around 70 more. I know that's a big number.

My first job, as a young teenager in Istanbul, was at a dog shelter. I cleaned cages, walked dogs, and tried to figure out which families might give them a home. The ones nobody chose, the old ones and the sick ones, I started bringing to our family's farmhouse. First 11 dogs, then 20, then more. Every one of them had a good life.

Then I left Istanbul to chase a film career. I was the first in my family to move abroad, and I was building a life from zero. There was no room for a dog. The land of opportunity has its downfalls too, and a few years ago I went through a really hard time. I knew that when I had dogs around me, there was less darkness and more movement. So I started learning how rescue and adoption work here.

That's how I ended up in front of a litter of puppies rescued from a kill shelter in Mexico. I saw her, and she saw me. Love at first sight.

She was terrified of everything, skittish and yet endlessly curious. Honestly, I was in a similar place. We both needed patience. My husband Tyrone and I travel constantly for work, so a dog wasn't in the plan. I looked at him and said, "What if we just foster her until she gets adopted?" That was my way in.

The shelter had named her Sushi. I'm Turkish, so she became Lokum, Turkish delight: small and sweet.

She came into the edit bay with me and slept in my lap while I cut my films. Something shifted in how I create. I was calmer, and she was a little less scared every day. Two weeks later, the shelter called to say someone wanted to adopt her. I answered faster than I have ever answered anything: "Oh, Lokum is mine. I'm adopting her."

Since then, Lokum has been on many of my productions. She has eaten more kebabs than any dog should, been adored by a Turkish family, starred in commercials (including for Ruffwear!), and walked film festivals as a VIP.

But her most important job is the quiet one.

I had a couple of heart surgeries at a young age, and I've lived with some limitations. I'm lucky that I recovered from many of them. But a few years ago, some of my health was heading in a direction we didn't like, and I was having panic attacks that were getting worse. Then Lokum stepped in.

She gets me walking on the days I feel darkness. She has me hiking miles and miles, because her happiness is something I would do anything for, and so I'm always moving, always out in nature. For my heart, that matters more than she'll ever know.

Since she came home, I've finished some of the most important work of my life: photography, films, and a book. Our days together have turned into small rituals that feed my soul. She curls up against me to sleep every night. She sits on the shore and judges me while I swim in freezing water in the Cascades. And since I dress very colorfully, I love putting her in her pink Ruffwear jacket, so now we're colorful buddies wherever we go. She expanded my emotional capacity in ways I didn't know were possible.

She is not a search and rescue dog but in her own way, she rescued me.