People think dumping a dog in a deserted place is a quiet act. You open the car door, you push them out, you drive away quickly before they can follow.

It’s not quiet. Not for them.

For a few seconds, your dog doesn’t understand. He thinks it’s a game. He wags. He waits for you to say “come” or “let’s go.” He watches your car reverse. He barks once, that happy, sharp bark that means “wait for me.”

Then you don’t wait.

And he runs.

He runs after the car until his paws burn on the hot road, until his lungs are tearing, until your car is just dust on the horizon. He runs because in his entire world, you are the only direction home.

When he finally stops, he is alone. Truly alone for the first time in his life.

There is no water.

This is not the city where he could find a puddle, a tap, a kind shopkeeper who throws leftover water. This is barren land. The sun is directly overhead. His tongue is already out, panting hard. Within hours, his mouth goes dry. His nose, which used to be wet and cold, cracks. He starts to lick stones hoping for moisture.

Thirst makes a dog go mad. It’s a slow, painful panic that never stops.

There is no food.

A pet dog does not know how to hunt. He was raised on kibble in a bowl, on scraps from your hand. He sniffs the dry bushes, eats dirt, chews on plastic if he finds it. His stomach growls so loud it hurts. In 2-3 days, his body starts eating itself. He becomes too weak to stand, but he still lifts his head every time he hears an engine, thinking it’s you.

And there is the waiting.

This is the cruelest part.

A dumped dog doesn’t leave. He waits at the exact spot you left him. For hours. For days. For as long as his body allows.

He doesn’t understand abandonment. Dogs don’t have that concept. He understands “my human told me to stay, so I will stay.” He believes you are coming back. Every car that passes, every sound in the wind, he thinks it’s you.

At night, the desert is freezing and pitch black. There are no streetlights. He hears jackals, cars on a faraway highway, strange insects. He curls into a ball where your car scent still lingers on the sand and shivers. Not just from cold, but from terror. He was a dog who slept at the foot of your bed. Now he has no wall behind his back.

He doesn’t die quickly. He dies over days – from dehydration, from starvation, from heatstroke, from being hit by a vehicle while desperately searching, from being attacked by other animals he has no idea how to fight.

And he dies confused. He dies still loving you.

People dump dogs because they think, “Someone will find him” or “At least he’s free.” No. Freedom without water is not freedom. It is a death sentence written in slow motion.

If you cannot keep a dog anymore – if you are moving, if you cannot afford him, if he is sick, if he is old – dumping him is not an option. It was never an option.

Reach out to a shelter. Reach out to an adoption group. Reach out to your community. Post on your own page. Ask for help. It takes more courage to ask for help than it does to open a car door in the middle of nowhere and drive away.

But that one act of courage is the difference between a betrayal and a second chance.

A dog will forgive you for almost anything. Don’t make his last memory of you be your car disappearing.

If you have ever loved a dog, please don’t look away. Share this. Report abandonment. Foster. Adopt. And if you know someone who is thinking of dumping their dog, send them this.

They need to know how it really feels.

Hena’s Blog For Paws © 2019 by Hena Osman is licensed under CC BY 4.0