Earlier this summer my friend, Kris, was walking her dog on Sherwood Road when she discovered a lab-type dog in the ditch where she had given birth to six puppies. The mother dog was thin, frightened and completely disoriented. She had been abandoned.

The director of our SPCA drove out as soon as she was called. She then called Carl Collier who came out and took the mother and puppies. The mother was euthanized and all the puppies died.

This sad and cruel situation reminded me of a poem by an unknown author that has made the rounds of the Web sites of animal welfare and rescue organizations. Here it is in part.

To read the entire poem just Google the title.

“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 choose not to. I know you hoped he would find a 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 cactus burr in his paw.

“How I wish I could have been you as I stood before him. To have seen 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 beheld a stranger. He did not trust, he would not come.

“He turned and continued his journey, one he was sure would soon 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.”

“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 from days without food and water

“It is hours later and a good distance from where we first met, but I have found your dog. His thirst has been 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 have seen 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 I were to be you, his eyes would sparkle with recognition and his tail wag with forgiveness.”

Judy Vorreuter is the founder and director of Animal Advocates of the Finger Lakes. Contact her at judy@cayugaanimaladvocates.org