A stray dog ​​showed up at our farm a few weeks ago. At first he only came at night, hiding in the shadows as we sat around the fireplace after supper. He was three-colored and as tall and lanky as a colt. I searched the internet and found out he was a Walker Coonhound. He was young and puppy-like, probably around a year old, and judging by his aversion to being touched, he had probably lived alone for a long time. Was he lost? Or was he thrown into a field by a heartless person who couldn’t care about him?

I called several local vets and posted a review on social media. People up to five miles away had seen it, but no one claimed it. When we found out he was doing the trick, we started calling him Rounder.

He kept coming to our house, so I left some food for him. Soon it was enough, instead of hiding under the cover of darkness, he stuck around for breakfast. He joined us on our walks with our other dogs, napped on our porch and stayed for supper. It lasted about five days.

Having previously raised animals, I knew what was going on: dogs adopt you and not the reverse. This is how we got our two other dogs, an Arizona Chihuahua and a Spaniel mix, who arrived in Doug’s barn on a January morning 17 years ago. They introduce themselves, you show them kindness, they stay. But just as we had become used to the idea of ​​the Coonhound dog joining our family, he got scared when our neighbor’s dog entered our yard and ran away.

I couldn’t call him because he didn’t know his name. And I couldn’t drive around looking for him, because he had walked through a cornfield. When night fell, there was no point looking for him anyway. Distraught, my friends assured me he would be back in the morning, but he wasn’t.

The world is already such a dark place these days, filled with unprecedented trauma and loss – the loss of nearly five million lives to the global pandemic, the decimation of everything from entire cities to entire species. because of the climate crisis and the dismantling of our American democracy due to a selfish, uncompromising and win at all costs mentality. And that’s just the big thing. This does not include all the personal grief, like the loss of parents, the loss of income, and ultimately the loss of hope for the future. All of this combined is so overwhelming, so irreparable, and so depressing, that we rely on little flickers of light to keep us alive. I can’t save the world, but if I could just save this dog, it would give me that welcome glow of light, that useful spark to restore some faith in life.

Rounder had seemed so happy with us, so eager to be part of our pack. And although we didn’t need another pet, I was also happy with it. After less than a week, I had already formed a strong attachment. But he was gone, on the run again.

My mind was spinning with all the bad things that could happen to her in rural Iowa. We live one mile from the four-lane highway; he could be hit by a car or a semi-trailer. The hunting season begins; he could be mistaken for a deer and get shot by a hunter. Or, as happens too often in rural areas, he could get shot or poisoned by a farmer who doesn’t want him on his land. Equally worrying, he was already so thin and malnourished, with the onset of winter he could starve or freeze to death.

The second night he was gone, I lit another fire in the fireplace. That’s what attracted him to us in the first place, so maybe the smoke signal would draw him in again. I stayed up for six hours, adding more logs and constantly looking in the direction he first appeared, but he never showed up.

When I finally stopped crying long enough, I remembered to take comfort in the fact that we had had a few good meals in him, as well as dewormer and flea and tick treatment. There was nothing I could do but pray for the one thing I wish for every stray animal: that they find another compassionate person to give them the safe home they deserve.

The next morning, while it was still dark, I heard a loud howl under my window. I’m used to being woken up by the sounds of animals on the farm: cows howling, coyotes barking, owls hooting, raccoons swearing. I would normally put a pillow over my ears and fall asleep again. But I knew that sound, this voice. I smiled, jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. I passed through the kitchen, where the Sunday newspaper was spread out on the table, each headline indicating that the world was still a mess – another mass shootout, another GOP member downplaying the January 6 insurgency, another unvaccinated person infecting others with COVID-19. But right now, none of that could bring me down, as right outside the door was a long-legged coon dog waiting for breakfast. A glow brighter than the sun, Rounder was back.

Commentator Beth Howard is an author and blogger. Her website is TheWorldNeedsMorePie.com.

The views expressed are not necessarily those of Western Illinois University or the Tri States Public Radio.

Various points of view are welcome and encouraged.