to the fullest because you never know what’s going to happen.”
“I’m just very fortunate,” concludes Lisa. “There’s always been an angel on my shoulder—or a leprechaun, probably, knowing me. One day I would like to be noted as a good painter, a good artist. That’s what I’m striving for.”
In 1996, Barbara Listenik was living in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, with her constant companion Boris, a beautiful mixed-breed boxer.
“I got Boris when he was two years old. He’s the most lovable dog in the whole wide world. He knows when I’m happy. He knows when I’m sad. He’s a very big part of my life. I don’t have children and I’m not married, so he’s like my child. He’s my best friend,” Barbara says.
Just before Christmas, Barbara made arrangements to move to Brooklyn, New York. She was renting a moving van, but decided to send Boris via airfreight to spare him the long drive.
“Boris had never flown before, so I was very worried for him. I did everything that I thought was necessary to get him there safely. I did everything the airline recommended as well.”
That included removing Boris’s identification collar so it wouldn’t get snagged during the flight. Barbara gave Boris one last hug and lured him into the crate with his favorite toy bunny. She was worried for her best friend’s comfort but excited to start her new life with him in Brooklyn.
“My thoughts when Boris was in the air were, Please, please, let him get there safely.”
But when she arrived at LaGuardia Airport to pick him up, her fears became reality.
“The airport staff took me in back and they said, ‘Miss, there’s a little bit of a problem. There was an accident.’ Then the supervisor walks up to a bloody, crunched-up, empty carrier. I knew that they must have dropped him or driven something into him. And my immediate thought was, Oh, my God, is he alive or dead?”
The supervisor told her that Boris had been seen running around on the tarmac and that they had their cargo crew personnel chasing him right then.
“Well,” said Barbara, “he’s going to keep running. You’re never going to get him. He’s scared to death. Just let me go out there—one whistle and he’ll come running to me.”
The supervisor insisted that they had the situation under control. And for the next two hours, Barbara waited anxiously for some word of her injured dog. When the supervisor finally came back out, he had bad news—Boris had evaded the cargo crew and crossed the fence from the tarmac onto the highway. He had last been seen running over the overpass into Corona, Queens.
“You idiots!” screamed Barbara. She ran from the airport in tears and jumped in the car. Alone and heartbroken in a strange city, she drove in circles, searching for Boris. He was lost somewhere off the eastern edge of Manhattan and if Barbara didn’t locate him quickly, he could end up anywhere in New York City.
“Boris had never been in the noisy streets. He’d never been in New York City. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. At first I was looking for his body, and then some kid said he saw this dog that was tan-and-white, running like a bullet. That gave me hope. I said to myself, He’s alive. He’s alive.”
Alive but lost in one of the largest cities in the world.
“I searched all night in the rain and the cold, just walking up and down the streets, calling his name. And on Christmas Eve, I really realized how impossible the situation was. Here I was, this tiny little speck of dust in this big city looking for a lost dog. I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life. I didn’t know what to do. I just kept calling for him, ‘Boris, I know you’re out there. Please come home.’”
On Christmas morning, Barbara returned to the airport.
“I went to the supervisor and said, ‘Okay, we have a situation. What are we gonna do about this? You lost my dog.’ And the supervisor says, ‘Yes, miss, I’m filling out the form now.’ And he just reached under the desk and pulled out a baggage-claim form and said, ‘This is all we can do.’ ‘This is a baggage-claim form,’ I said. ‘Are you telling me my dog is baggage?’ I almost collapsed. My dog is considered baggage! I never knew in a million years that animals were considered luggage, and that the law hasn’t been changed since 1929. I said, ‘This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life! My dog is not a piece of luggage. He’s my baby. He’s like my child.’”
The supervisor just shrugged and apologized again. Immediately, Barbara ran home and went through her boxes, still unpacked, to find pictures of Boris. She pulled out her fax machine and started running off flyers. She spent the rest of Christmas Day putting up missing-dog posters throughout Corona, Queens.
That night, Barbara returned home even more exhausted and depressed. How could she possibly celebrate under the circumstances? Wiping away tears, she started decorating her tree. She swore to herself, I am not going to light this tree until he’s found. And I’m going to keep this tree until he sits next to it with me.
Barbara realized that the job was too big for just one person, so she tried a different approach.
“I asked myself what the best way was to get the word out that Boris was lost, and I said, Okay, let me call the newspaper.”
She found a sympathetic ear in New York Post reporter Laura Italiano, who found herself unexpectedly touched by Barbara’s story.
“Barbara called the New York Post absolutely frantic. Typically, we’re busy chasing murderers, political corruption. It took a special kind of story to get us to care about a little lost dog. And Barbara was the one who made that happen for us. The Post absolutely loved the story. It is a classic tabloid story. You have a clear-cut villain, this bungling airline, and a very sympathetic victim—a poor dog who had been lost. I think everyone’s heart went out to Barbara. This is a woman who doesn’t know New York City, knew no one in town, and she had this tremendous responsibility to find an animal in completely unfamiliar surroundings. You had to feel for her; you had to worry about her,” Laura says.
“I couldn’t believe how many people responded,” Barbara marveled. “It touched so many people’s hearts.”
One of those hearts belonged to Paula Forester, a professional psychic who saw Boris’s picture on a television news program. Paula was amazed at her reaction to the picture. “They did a close-up on his eyes, and pow. There was a psychic connection. I have worked psychically with animals before, but I have never felt such a strong and urgent connection to anything before that point.”
Paula immediately contacted Barbara.
“She told me that she was a psychic and that she was getting strong feelings from Boris. They were communicating. My first reaction was, Hey, lady, if you’re communicating with my dog, tell him to come home! She told me that she didn’t want a reward, she didn’t want pay, she just wanted to get Boris back to me. I didn’t believe in that hocus-pocus-type stuff, but I just wanted my baby home. I wasn’t going to turn away anyone volunteering to help find him.”
Paula turned out to be more than just a volunteer. She was a force to be reckoned
