The little black Chihuahua puppy curled up into a ball in my arms. She was shivering from fear and the cold. There was no one around, absolutely no one but me. There were no cars, no houses, buildings or structures of any kind in sight. It was quiet except for the wind and the whimpering of the little dog. I had no choice nor did I need to make a choice, I was keeping that pup. I don’t know how she came to be here but if she stayed, she’d certainly die from exposure or predators or traffic. I would rescue that dog, she’d ride with me for the rest of the trip and I’d take her home…
…The alarm on my wristwatch quietly beeped at four-thirty A.M. This would be my last day of chasing the light on this photo-shoot and it was a good thing because I was tired. I’d slept well enough in my room at The Recapture Lodge in Bluff, Utah but three weeks of early mornings and late evenings had taken their toll and the fatigue had set in. I went to bed tired and woke up tired. And I had weird dreams…
I packed up my equipment one last time, loaded the car, dropped off the room-key and refilled my coffee mug. I’d done this drive a zillion times. Leave Bluff; pass the Goosenecks of the San Juan River and Mexican Hat. Onward through Monument Valley and then the Rez; turn left at Tuba City, pass Sunset Crater and hang another left onto I-17 in Flagstaff. Run with the 90mph traffic to highways 169 and 69 and then I’d be home. It had been a long shoot and the homing instinct had kicked in, but as always, I’d stop for some photography along the way, especially Monument Valley.
Passing Monument Valley there was one rock formation near Kayenta I wanted to photograph. The locals call it ‘El Capitan’ which isn’t an official name; I’ve noticed a lot of large geological protuberances get called ‘El Capitan,’ and it seems to be a common moniker for officially-unnamed, um, mountains. As I passed ‘El Capitan’ I drove through its shadow. Thinking a backlit, shot from the shadow side photo would be interesting I found a wide spot on the road and prepared to make a U-turn. But the wide spot was a good vantage point too, so I pulled further off the road, crossed a cattle-guard, parked and opened the back hatch to get a camera.
I heard the whimpering of the dog before I saw her.
Looking behind me I saw a little black dog. She was friendly, but scared and crying and laying low on her belly. She was just a puppy. A furry mutt; all black with white legs. As soon as I saw she was not a Chihuahua I was relieved I didn’t have to ‘rescue’ her like the dog in that dream the night before. I’ve already got a Chihuahua puppy at home and he’s enough work all by himself. So I petted the little dog and she whimpered and cried and rubbed her little body on my legs. As I retrieved my camera from the car and mounted it on a tripod she scooted under the car and laid there in the shade, just like I’ve seen so many reservation dogs do.
I photographed ‘El Capitan’ and prepared to go back and get the shot I’d originally seen. The little puppy was still under my car so I got a peanut butter cracker I had and tried to coax her out. She wouldn’t take the cracker and she wouldn’t move. Finally I had to just drag her out from beneath the car but as soon as I opened the door to get in the car, she was back under it. Finally, I pulled her out from underneath the car again and set her on the ground about fifteen feet away. I started the car and drove back to the highway, leaving the little dog alone in the desert.
I felt bad, but what could I do? There was a Hogan about one-hundred yards from where I’d parked and I hoped she lived with the people who lived there. Or maybe she lived in one of those trailers further down the road? There’s a lot of feral dogs running around the Navajo Nation and she was just another. I didn’t want to steal someone’s dog, assuming she was someone’s. Certainly she belonged to somebody? I checked my mirror as I got back on the pavement; I hoped she’d at least stay away from the highway.
I drove back to ‘El Capitan’ but the sun had risen higher and the shadow was no longer in the same place or as long, so I’d missed the shot. Oh well, the other vantage point would have to do. I did another U-turn and headed back toward Kayenta and home. I drove slowly as I passed the place I’d left the little black puppy and searched the ground for her. She wasn’t far from where I’d left her, wandering along next to the highway. My window was down and I could hear her crying. I had a really shitty feeling but I can’t rescue every dog I see. There was hardly any traffic at such an early hour so I drove slowly for a while with the window down. Less than a mile down the road I saw another little black dog with white legs, another puppy with the same markings as the Navajo dog. This dog was dead. Obviously hit by a car, with blood smeared on the highway. It was the other dog’s sister, a less-fortunate litter-mate. This is why the other dog was crying and whimpering so.
Damn, what an ugly sight on a beautiful morning. I hoped that other dog would find her home. Heck, I’d be happy if that dog simply made it through the day.
I felt really sad for that dog as cued up behind all the slow Indian drivers on the way to Tuba City.
Based on a lifetime of knowing a lot of different dogs I’ve come to the conclusion that most dogs are better than most people. Dogs have pure souls. Dogs don’t have egos. Dogs don’t have ulterior motives. Dogs exist to give and receive love. All dogs, especially feral dogs that live on the Rez, need to be treated better. They ought to be treated like family members.
If you wouldn’t let a four-month old human infant crawl along next to a highway, you shouldn’t let a dog either. This is simple common sense. But, now that I think about it, we don’t treat each other all that well and that’s why so many people just don’t give a damn about their pets.
Perhaps we should try it backwards? Maybe if everyone treated their dogs and other pets better that would make them more inclined to treat people better? I wish I had the answer…
I’ll bet I thought more about that dog that day than its owner did. My dog Bruno got an extra hug when I got home.
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