In the last three months we have had to say goodbye to our two dear old "Desert Dogs" Red and Lillie. We got them as young adults, and they had been with us for almost 13 years. They were part of a horrific Riverside County (California) animal cruelty case. A woman (I won't say her name as I hope she will be utterly forgotten) living in the desert near Indio faced 10 felony animal cruelty counts, 4 misdemeanor animal cruelty counts and 20 misdemeanor counts of improper care and attention to animals. She was accused of "willfully and unlawfully subjecting at least 16 pets to various forms of needless suffering, unnecessary cruelty and abuse". Her trial was postponed 38 times over 12 years due to her legal wrangling and the lazy cowardice of politicians and the courts, and the charges were dismissed in November of 2024 due to her death. There were 20+ heeler mix dogs rescued from what was known as the "Desert Dog Death Camp". Red Dog was severely injured and was the first one to be saved. Lillie was the last one out. This is their story, which is so much greater than their traumatic beginnings.

2013: I was thinking about adding a new dog to the Rancho Zen Rodeo family. Browsing the interwebs I came across a beautiful face looking out from the Central Coast Herding Dog Rescue site. "Big Red's" soulful eyes looked out of the screen and into my heart and I knew that he was my dog. Wendy Hoffman, founder of CCHDR had taken in many of the Desert Dog refugees for rehab after their release from Riverside county due to her experience with feral rescue and herding dog breeds. I made the almost six hour trek up to meet this special soul and bring him home.

Red proved to be as deep and special as his beautiful eyes. Kind, dignified, polite and so very earnest, he always tried to be a good dog, but there was never any fawning or obsequiousness in him. He relished the comforts of being a loved pet, but never lost that hint of wildness. Almost everyone who ever met him (including his vet) said he looked like a coyote with his long legs, bushy tail, almond eyes and pointy ears and nose. While coyote/dog hybrids are rare, I believe we were graced to live with one. His favorite thing in the world, more than treats or pets, (which he loved) was when we said the magic word "sing"! He would throw back his head and sing the song of his people with great gusto while we howled along as his backup singers. He always seemed so pleased to have this pack-bonding time.

After a few months we decided to take in another Desert Dog so Red would have a friend. There were several on the CCHDR site that looked promising, so my sister and I and Red took the trip to go see who wanted to come home with us. I had my eye on one pretty girl, but we didn't really connect. One intense face kept watching from a distance, not joining in the melee of a yard full of happy dogs all vying for attention. "What about that one?" I asked Wendy. "That's Billie", Wendy answered. "She is still really feral, one of the toughest dogs I've worked with." The intensity of her gaze (when she thought we weren't looking) was both fascinating and a little off-putting. Thinking that she might warm up with more one-on-one attention and fewer canine competitors, we decided to bring her home and Red Dog could teach her all the benefits of being a loved pet. Since I have a brother called Billy, a dad named Bill, a nephew Billy and an aunt Billie, we decided to call her Lillie, which evolved into Silver Lil, Queen of the Desert. And she was.

Our Desert Dogs never lost that faint, wild edge. After a while Red would graciously greet visitors and allow a bit of stroking his silky head before retiring to a spot where he could watch over his domain. A few special friends and family were invited to sing with the pack, and a group howl always left him smiling and dancing with glee. Lillie preferred to bark the percussion section, and occasionally throw in some vocals in her amazingly deep and throaty style. Margeaux the Chihuahua was always a bit worried about hearing a pack of predators in her yard, but would join in once in a while.

Red adjusted well to being a loved part of our family, but Lillie had more difficulty letting go of her past trauma. She was always on guard for the terrible thing she imagined just around the corner. While I could handle her for basic care, she would only rarely approach on her own for a bit of petting. It took quite a while to leash train her, she would panic and bite the leash if anything startled her. We developed a routine where if I needed to do something she might object to I would call her in to the house, where she would wait for me to put a leash on her. Then I could brush her, trim her nails, etc. without much fuss. Once in a while she would panic and bite the leash, then act embarrassed and apologetic, but time went on and even that fear-based behavior faded to a memory.

Until it wasn't. And it was totally my fault. It was a hot summer day and I had a lot of things to do. I was in a hurry to get my chores done and get on the road. One of my chores was to put tea-tree salve on the tips of the dogs ears to keep the flies from biting them. I had done this many times, always putting Lillie on a leash and applying the ointment easily, but always mindful that Lillie was once a feral dog with a strong survival instinct. I was in a hurry and did not grab the leash, thinking we had done this so often it wasn't really needed. I grabbed her by the collar and started to apply the salve. I was not really paying attention. I was not mindful. I didn't register the moment Lillie drew back with apprehension. I didn't notice her eyes widen or nervous panting. I was miles away in my head. Until the moment, quick as a flash, that Lillie leapt and bit the leash. Or where the leash would have been if I had bothered to put it on. Where the base of my thumb met the inner crease of my wrist. Where I saw a deep glisten of white before the deep glisten of red began to flow. We both jumped back and stared at each other, horrified. Then the shock kicked in. I screamed BAD DOG! BAD BAD DOG! Don't you ever EVER bite anyone again! You will DIE if you ever do this again! All I could think of in that moment was having to put her down if she bit someone else. The paper towel I had brought to wipe any excess salve was a sopping red mess. I went and washed the wound and got Rod's opinion on whether it needed stitches. It did. Four of them, to close the wound where I "caught it on a nail in the fence".

That was a milestone in my relationship with Lillie. She would not approach me or make eye contact at first. But after I sat and quietly explained how sorry I was for rushing and not paying attention, and how afraid I was of losing her from being labeled a"vicious" dog, she became my shadow. She began asking for affection. She began giving affection. Her terror of thunder, gunshots, Marine base bombing, diminished greatly. She began wagging her tail more. Over the course of several months she became a new dog, still shy with strangers, but an obviously happy soul contented with her life. For a long time I thought that the best we could do and hope for with Lillie was to give her some moments of peace in her life. I never imagined the peace, happiness and contentment that she, we, (me) could have when we put down the baggage of trauma we carried for so long. Again, my greatest teachers have four legs.

Postscript: Just as we were getting ready to say goodbye to Lillie, fate intervened in the form of wonderful Wendy from CCHDR. Fourteen heelers had been relinquished by an elderly man in Landers, and taken to the County shelter in Devore. They were in imminent danger of being euthanized due to overcrowding, and being traumatized by the loud, overwhelming atmosphere of a high-kill dog pound. Wendy asked if I could pull a couple for her rescue, and I was glad to help. One of the two I pulled now has a permanent home here at Rancho Zen Rodeo. I'm sure you will meet Sasha soon. We're sure that Red Dog sent her.