Go Hug Your Dog

Driving from Palm Desert to Morongo Valley tonight, I witnessed one of the saddest things I think a person can see. I was cruising slowly in Stan down the 10 freeway, after dark, almost exactly between Bob Hope Drive and Date Palm. If you were a native to the area, you would know that this part of the desert is fairly vacant, especially on the side between the freeway and Desert Hot Springs, which is where I saw him.

He was a little guy, not more than ten pounds. His color was as plain as it gets: a sandy brown that comes from various mixed breeds although his dominant breed appeared to be Chihuahua. I caught the glint of his eye in my headlights, and instantly his petrified features burned into my memory.

I was not going more than 60mph (Stan is recently back from the dead so I want to go easy on him) so it was easy to pull quickly off onto the shoulder. I dug in the basket we keep in the Jeep that has all the important things like oil, emergency water and flashers, various engine fluids, and a flashlight. Of course the flashlight did not turn on. I went without it, shielding my eyes from the bright headlights.

Even as an adult, fully conscious of what I was doing and knowing I was relatively safe walking about 15 feet from the side of the freeway, I felt a rush of fear as the vehicles flew past. The sheer force of them was immense. I called out for him, “Come here puppy, puppy, puppy. It’s okay little guy.” I tried to not seem intimidating in my puffy jacket. I walked and searched in the bad lighting for a while, then turned around to walk back in case I had missed him.

I had missed him. On the way back, with the oncoming headlights shining for me instead of against me, I saw a little lump in the slow lane. As I approached, I knew instantly it was him. His body was ruined; the tires of many cars had made short work of him. To add salt to the wound, I had to watch as car after car flew over his little remains, until there was a lull in traffic and I could drag him to the side of the road. I took him a little ways off to the side, in the hopes of keeping a coyote or even a raven from meeting a similar end. I would have taken him to Morongo to bury him but I had nothing in the car to do this with plus it probably would have upset Cub and Gunther to see and smell the little guy.  

It is almost like watching someone else’s non-child die, then going home to hug your children, knowing that both the dead and the living were the same creatures. It is hard to explain. I know they are just dogs, but to me, they truly are my family. I know each of my pets’ voices, their emotions, what frightens them and what they love most. I know how they like to be scratched or rubbed, and I can tell when one needs a little extra snuggle time. We traded my lifelong dream of having straight teeth to save the life of a little kitten we had found only a couple weeks earlier outside a grocery store, suffering from pneumonia (Loki). Not one of them would ever be found, terrified and alone in the middle of a desert on the side of a freeway, waiting to be split in two by semi-truck tires.

I am not trying to be judgmental, but where is the line drawn between judging someone for how they care for their animals and sheer cruelty? The look of terror on the poor baby’s face. . . I do not know if he was dumped or his owners just neglected to keep him safely secure; either way, I wish they had been the ones to see his final terror and not me.

I went to my friends Don and Cathi’s house after this happened. I had called to explain why I was late so they were prepared. The dogs, though, could tell something was up. Lexi, their younger dog (a gorgeous jet black German Shepherd/Border Collie mix who was one of the original Yimeyam Ranch Rescue pups) who is always boisterous and happy was instead calm, solemn. She stood before me, looking up with soulful eyes. I knelt down and wrapped my arms around her, and she tucked her head in the crook of my neck. Dogs can tell when you are sad. Do not ask me how, but I am grateful as they are always so wonderful at making me feel better.

As I type this, sitting in Sean’s parents’ house, Bonnie is putting the dogs to bed. She arranges their beds in the way that they like, puts Gunther in his bed and Cub in hers. Then she spreads a comforter over them (they love being under blankets) and tucks them in. I go after her and give them their kisses goodnight.

 I cannot do anything to help that poor little Chihuahua; all I can do is love the ones I have. 

This is a photo from the internet that looked similar to the pup from the freeway.

In memory of the little guy who had no one, go hug your dog.