What if?

Last night, a little after dark, after I had closed up the van and settled in to read as Scout lounged on the bed, the quiet desert air was suddenly rent by the terrified howls and yelps of a young dog, perhaps a puppy. It sounded just a few feet from the van.

What the hell was a puppy doing out here, miles from civilization? I couldn’t imagine. It sounded hurt. But I couldn’t see anything in the dark.

At the first yip, Scout had bounded forward, barking hysterically, trying to get past me to a window while I tried to fend her off so I could find a light and aim it outside. My solar light was too weak. I managed to turn on the headlights but could see nothing.

The piteous sounds came from the left, just out of range, for a few more seconds—and then stopped.

Scout was still going berserk and I was focused on calming her down, so I hadn’t yet thought about opening the door to see what was going on. Had the dog gotten loose and the owner, perhaps from a nearby rig, come to retrieve it? That’s what I thought must have happened.

By the time Scout finally stopped barking, I was relieved that the commotion was over. I just wanted quiet. I didn’t investigate.

But I woke  during the night with a horrified thought: frightened animals don’t just suddenly stop howling—unless something stops them.

Coyotes must have killed the pup.

By morning light, there was nothing to see. I took Scout for her walk, thinking there might be blood on the ground or she might smell something, but she walked right along as if everything was normal. The coyotes must have carried the poor animal away to share with the rest of the pack.

Where did the puppy come from? What was it doing out here in the dark? I had to accept that I would never know, but the question still bothered me…until the obvious became clear: more and more fellow travelers are converging on nearby Quartzsite and the surrounding desert to camp for the winter.

Someone must have brought a puppy, just as I did five years ago when Scout was tiny, and the puppy got loose. I imagined it wandering, lost in the desert until dark, when coyotes surrounded it, perhaps attacking and wounding it, but it got away and ran to the nearest sign of humans to beg for help: my van.

But I didn’t open the door. I didn’t help.

I can still hear those cries. And somewhere out here in the desert, someone is searching fruitlessly for their lost dog.

With all the craziness going on in the world, all the migrant parents searching for their stolen children, one missing dog is a small thing. But what if I could have saved it?

Which makes me wonder: what if I could save a child? How would that happen?

There is so much to feel helpless about. Phone calls and marches don’t seem to move politicians to do anything. The pandemonium in Washington, like the chaos with Scout in the van, has grabbed our attention and we have forgotten the children. But they are still crying.

Impeachment might work, but what then? How many children in detention centers and foster homes may never be reunited with their families?

How is it that one sociopath and a few crazed followers, like a pack of coyotes, have managed to tear apart so many lives while the rest of us watch and wring our hands?

The children are crying for help. We need to save them from the wolves.

Here are some links where you can volunteer or donate:

• International Rescue Committee (IRC)
• American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU)
• Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services (RAICES)
• The New Sanctuary Movement

If you know of any more efforts to help, please post them in the comments!