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“We tried,” he said. “We did what we could, but we can’t save them all.” My fiancé was trying to console me after my heart had been shattered. I had been crying, ugly crying, for the last 45 minutes of the drive. “I hate people! How could they do that to them?” I kept repeating this while inadvertently moving through the five stages of grief. First, I was shocked, in complete denial. “No one could be so heartless as to just leave them out there… Something must have happened, maybe there was a car accident?” Anger came next as I screamed, “Who does that? Just leaves them? With nothing! They’re going to die! How could someone do that to them?” Bargaining followed Anger: “Maybe we can rent a truck, get a crate and come back for them tomorrow? Or maybe there’s a shelter that can pick them up? Or maybe a vet that could take care of them? There has to be a way to way to rescue them…. “ There wasn’t a solution that seemed realistic. And so, Bargaining opened the door for Depression: “It’s going to be so cold tonight! They’re all alone and scared. What if they get hit by a car? If we don’t do anything, they’re as good as dead. We’ve just left them there to die!” We tried to take the smallest pup but they were not interested in being separated. We gave them the rest of our dogs’ food and all the water we had. We left our towels and a small blanket. At least our efforts might help them survive a day or two. Hopefully, someone would pick them up before it was too late. Depression stayed with us for the next few hours of the drive and while we checked into our hotel. It lingered as we walked around the town of Copiapo that evening. I felt numb. I was shaken, exhausted and emotionally drained. I could not come to terms with what we had witnessed on our drive. Four dogs. Four beautiful, innocent, friendly dogs had been dumped in the middle of the desert. They had been left on the side of a long, deserted, desert highway with barely enough food and water to get them through the night. Three wore collars and two of those had name tags. Physically, they appeared to be in reasonably good health. They looked like they had known love. We were traveling through the Atacama Desert in northern Chile and it was three hours in either direction to the nearest town. Not far from our hotel, there was a park which was “home” to about two dozen street dogs. Even with my support dog by my side, none had shown aggression towards us. They just wanted some love or food if you’d be willing to share. Still feeling the rawness of having left those four dogs in the middle of the desert, we decided to stay for a few days and do what we could. This helped me work through the final stage of grief: Acceptance. Every morning and evening for the next few days we went to visit the dogs. Every one we encountered was given food, water, a head scratch and belly rub as requested. By the time we left, I had finally accepted that we wouldn’t be able to save them all but that we could make a difference for a moment with a meal or a cuddle. A small difference is still a difference. On our last walk through the park before continuing south, one of the homeless dogs came bounding over. Covering us in kisses, he looked up at us with his big puppy dog eyes. In that moment, everything changed. We might not be able to help or save them all, but we could rescue one and change a life forever. We had no idea what we were getting into. Yet everything about it felt right. Our adventure in Chile would continue, with an accidental plus one.