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Aloha Laka: A Dog Lost and Found in Hawaii
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Dog Found

It was the two eyes peering out from the thick foliage that caught my attention. Dark, unblinking. The rain was beating down steadily, saturating the black soil and creating pools of gooey ooze, and I sank in to the tops of my boots with each step. Soaked and tired, I was slowly making my way through a kipuka — a tropical oasis surrounded by a sea of jagged lava — deep within the wilderness on the Big Island of Hawaii.

Were they really eyes? Maybe my tired mind was playing tricks on me. I took off my backpack, lay my rifle against a moss-covered stump and got down on my knees, then crawled on my belly into the dripping brush for a better look. The eyes were still there. They blinked. A pig? If so, how big? Better back off, just in case — the dark eyes were only a dozen feet away.

I retreated and sat down next to my pack. The dark eyes moved a few feet closer. I crouched down again for a better view. In fits and starts, the eyes came closer and closer, and then a trembling, soaked, bloodstained dog emerged from the dense brush. When I extended my hand, the dog turned her head away from me and lay on her side.

I sat down next to her and moved my head so that her eyes could meet mine. She turned away from me again. I stroked the back of her head, ready to withdraw if she showed signs of aggression. But though she was shaking, she remained in place, and I continued to stroke her head and speak in soft, reassuring tones. She wore no collar, no tags. Her paws were raw and covered in blood, and there were open wounds on her neck and shoulders.

This kipuka was just outside a rain forest where wild boar roamed in abundance, destroying the fragile native ecosystem that is rapidly disappearing on the Big Island. It is the wild boar that hunters seek, but the region is so remote and so difficult to access that few venture in. I was one of those hunters — my pack full of survival gear and meat, rifle in one hand and walking stick in the other, 12 hours of brutal hiking behind me.

The few other hunters who were willing to make the effort use dogs, in the Hawaiian tradition, and it seemed likely that this was a hunting dog who had wandered away and become lost. Or maybe she wasn’t performing up to par and the hunter had abandoned her. Either way, it was obvious she would not survive long on her own. The dog rolled slowly onto her back, all four ravaged paws in the air. I rubbed her belly and she looked up at me. Two dark eyes, unblinking.

Cold rain was falling, and I had an hour of hiking along a vague and sometimes nonexistent trail of slippery lava rock and mud ahead of me, and an hour until darkness set in; my pack was full, my body was worn. In this remote area, there was no cell phone coverage and so no way to let my wife, Kim, know where I was. If I spent the night with the dog, my wife, fearing the worst, would call search and rescue. If I left my pack behind and carried the dog and then ran into trouble along the trail — broken ankle, hypothermia, disorientation — I would have to activate my emergency radio beacon, which would alert a search-andrescue service that would pinpoint my location and send in a rescue helicopter. In this horrible weather — clouds, rain, poor visibility — the rescue team would be at risk, and if something tragic happened, it would be my fault.

I unrolled my poncho and fashioned a crude shelter, tying the corners to pieces of brush, adequate to keep out most of the rain. I then opened my three remaining packages of field rations and poured the contents onto some moss beneath the poncho. The dog immediately crawled under the shelter and attacked the food. Two or three minutes later, not a morsel remained. I poured water into my cupped hand and held it out to her. She lapped it up and licked my palm. I repeated this a dozen times and she drank every drop I offered.

The rain beat against the poncho and the wind began to blow down off the slopes of Mauna Loa on its way to the sea. It was noticeably darker when I shouldered my backpack, picked up my rifle and turned to leave. The dog crawled after me for a few yards and then stopped. She barked twice, two soft yelps. I turned and looked back at her. Two dark eyes, unblinking.

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