I welcomed the heat.

The burning swell of red-hot desert air that singed my eyelashes as it poured over me with excruciating thoroughness every time I brought another animal into our exam room.

I was dripping with sweat, at the absolute limit of what I could stand physically… …and somehow that was exactly what I needed.

I invited the harshness of the external environment as it blended seamlessly with the internal discomfort that boiled inside of me after seeing a seemingly endless parade of suffering animals ..…harsh on the outside, harsh on the inside. Struggle.

The intolerable, relentless desert felt like a welcome penalty somehow.

That particular morning, our last of the clinic, had been hard….to say the least. A young woman had run in the door with a skeletal, nearly comatose young pup, who took his last few agonal breaths on my exam table, dying before I could even euthanize him. Parvo.

One of her two daughters immediately burst into tears, hiding her face in her mother’s legs as the woman stared at me, bewildered. Her youngest daughter, a beautiful, barefooted, two-year old girl with down syndrome, stared up at me, pulling on my pant legs with an expression of utter confusion –as if to ask me what I had done.

I tried to speak, but thought better of it when my voice began cracking and hot tears threatened to spill forward as some sort of salt-laced penance before the blistering Sonoran sun…instead I just picked the girl up, wiped a bit of sand from just beneath her nose, and rubbed her back before wrapping up the pup and moving on.

There had been a steady flow of animals that morning that would have broken the heart of even the most callous veterinarian – which I, admittedly, am not.

That’s why, I welcomed that sun, that hot desert sun, as I struggled both inside and out. The physical discomfort provided the distraction, the equilibrium, necessary to carry on.

There would also be bright white moments of hope on this trip. Moments that would make it all better. Like when I met Pirata, the most gentle, goofy, promising young soul that I have met in years.

One look into those bashful, unassuming brown eyes coupled with that wide muzzle, mangey face, and just a few of his whole body tail wags and I was a goner. Once I met him and heard his harrowing story, I snatched him up, held him close and let his potential and spirit wash over me each night.

Parched, emotionally and physically, I soaked every piece of him up, carefully and deliberately. He would greet me every time I arrived at the door at night, with my broken heart in tow. He’d gradually, patiently, effortlessly piece it together each evening and let me know it was worth it.

It was.

Pirata’s story is one that is hard to believe could have ended in him ever being saved – you wouldn’t believe what this pup had been through at his young age….

***Part two of this travel diary will be posted next week, stay tuned to find out more about Pirata’s incredible story and to hear about why even after all this hardship I left Puerto more hopeful than ever***

*A big thank you to Jim and Mary Schwebel, whose generosity enabled us to carry out this clinic and help 555 animals who otherwise would not have received this care.