March 6th, 2012: A truck carrying more than 900 dogs destined to be killed in a slaughterhouse was stopped by animal activists in Chongqing, China. They demanded to be allowed to inspect the dogs, but the truck driver refused. The police, called to the scene, backed up the activists on a technicality: the number of dogs indicated on the quarantine permit (which was 926) was not the same as the number of dogs actually on the transport (907, plus some sheep). Many of the dogs found on board, both purebreds and mixed breeds, still had collars and tags on, meaning that they were likely stolen. Many were also very ill, and others had already died in their cages. As the news spread, people who had lost their dogs traveled to the scene in the hope of being reunited. Some were, but most of the dogs are now being cared for by Chinese welfare groups. Read more about it.
This made me cry. I imagined being one of those people who had lost their dog, searched, put up flyers, made calls, knocked on doors. I imagined hearing that a transport of dogs had been hijacked on the road, and tearing out there with my heart in my mouth, desperate to see if my lost child was among them. And OMG, I imagined walking among them, maybe finding my child unharmed, or maybe among the dead. And I wondered, confronted with nine hundred lost dogs in all that mattered no different from mine…how could I leave without one? Two, three? Ten?
I wonder also…if they saved the sheep.