I found your dog today. No, he has not been adopted by anyone.
Most of us who live out here own as many dogs as we want,
those who do not own dogs do so because they choose not to.
I know you hoped he would find a good home when you left him out here,
but he did not. When I first saw him he was miles from the nearest house
and he was alone, thirsty, thin and limping from a burr in his paw.
How I wish I could have been you as I stood before him. To see his tail
wag and his eyes brighten as he bounded into your arms, knowing you
would find him, knowing you had not forgotten him. To see the
forgiveness in his eyes for the suffering and pain he had known in his
never-ending quest to find you…but I was not you. And despite all my
persuasion, his eyes see a stranger. He did not trust. He would not
He turned and continued his journey; one he was sure would bring him to
you. He does not understand you are not looking for him. He only knows
you are not there, he only knows he must find you. This is more
important than food or water or the stranger who can give him these things.
Persuasion and pursuit seemed futile; I did not even know his name. I
drove home, filled a bucket with water and a bowl with food and returned
to where we had met. I could see no sign of him, but I left my offering
under the tree where he had sought shelter from the sun and a chance to
rest. You see, he is not of the desert. When you domesticated him, you
took away any instinct of survival out here. His purpose demands that he
travel during the day. He doesn’t know that the sun and heat will claim
his life. He only knows that he has to find you.
I waited hoping he would return to the tree; hoping my gift would build
an element of trust so I might bring him home, remove the burr from his
paw, give him a cool place to lie and help him understand that the part
of his life with you is now over. He did not return that morning and at
dusk the water and food were still there untouched. And I worried. You must
understand that many people would not attempt to help your dog.
Some would run him off, others would call the county and
the fate you thought you saved him from would be preempted
by his suffering for days without food or water.
I returned again before dark. I did not see him. I went again early the
next morning only to find the food and water still untouched. If only
you were here to call his name. Your voice is so familiar to him. I
began pursuit in the direction he had taken yesterday, doubt
overshadowing my hope of finding him. His search for you was desperate,
it could take him many miles in 24 hours.
It is hours later and a good distance from where we first met, but I
have found your dog. His thirst has stopped, it is no longer a torment
to him. His hunger has disappeared, he no longer aches. The burrs in his
paws bother him no more. Your dog has been set free from his burdens,
you see, your dog has died.
I kneel next to him and I curse you for not being here yesterday so I
could see the glow, if just for a moment, in those now vacant eyes. I
pray that his journey has taken him to that place I think you hoped he
would find. If only you knew what he went through to reach it…and I
agonize, for I know, that were he to awaken at this moment, and (if)
I were to be you, his eyes would sparkle with recognition and his tail
would wag with forgiveness