[A special treat for you all! A new voice to share, from my daughter M.E. Francis. This post details an event that happened while she and her partner Dan were traveling in Taiwan this past February. Its a bit longer than my standard post, but it’s a great read. Enjoy!]

Okay, so it was definitely blood, not berry juice, or paint, or anything else that was so bright red.

My partner and I were traveling in Taiwan, and this was our first full day out of its capital, Taipei. We had landed for the day in a town called Beipu, and planned to spend our day hiking a well-known trail that had twenty-some odd temples along it, all peppered throughout the mountainside. When the dog started following us, we said to each other, wow, what whimsy! A stray-ish dog, choosing us as his temporary traveling companions! He did have an old ratty red collar on, so clearly he was someone’s dog. He seemed friendly enough. He was clearly a lab mix, somewhat smaller than a standard retriever, maybe a rendezvous between a Formosan Mountain Dog and a black lab. Whatever the mix, he had those real sweet puppy eyes, all watery and dark.

As he walked alongside us, however, we kept seeing these red marks on the ground. That’s when it dawned on us – this dog was bleeding: steadily, and not just a little. His paw pads were marking the ground step after step, with fresh blood dotting them like he had just stepped on an inkpad. Yet, he kept following. Sometimes we’d all stop at a temple, although to our disappointment they were all shuttered. After we made it to a third temple, and paused to take a photo, blood began literally spurting from the dog’s paw. Like, at the level of a special effect in a movie – as if someone squeezed the bulb and the picture-quality blood came right out!

As we walked, we also realized that some marks on the ground we were seeing were old bloody paw prints on the path. So, this dog had been walking around, bleeding, for much longer than when we first saw him. The mental arithmetic began. When did the blood loss timer start for this dog? How much blood can a dog lose and still remain upright? Are we going to watch this dog die in front of our eyes?

Okay. Breathe. We’d gone maybe three miles at this point, a steady climb. We’d made it to the top of the mountain, and some semblance of civilization. There was a car park and we saw other visitors (who have driven to the top – cheaters). But no, it was just a stopover, there was no actual infrastructure or anyone of authority. What’s the nearest actual place? Topping the ridge, we peered over to see that it was another temple down 1000 stairs carved into a rock face. Easy. At this point, we were almost sure that this dog was going to keel over. He was still going reasonably strong, but he was limping a bit now, and we couldn’t help wondering if we were helping him or hurrying along his demise.

The thoughts turned over in my mind. Why did he pick us? Did we really look like the hapless tourists that we felt like? What happens when you ignore something that seems bad or wrong and assume someone else will deal with it? It’s usually hard to say, because you leave and hope someone does deal with it, telling yourself that everything worked out great, or at least probably did a better job than you would have. Was there a point in this journey where we could admit defeat and pass it onto another, more capable couple?

1000 steps and anxious ruminations later, we finally made it to the piece de resistance temple. It was gorgeous – sticking out of the side of the mountain, full of that casual elegance that temples in Taiwan have. They were intricate, open to the elements and always had a public bathroom. When we arrived, my partner found the first human with some authority. “Emergency, someone is injured!” he proclaimed. It took time and some Google Translate to get the message across. We were provided with some gauze and medical tape, and suddenly we were playing veterinarian.

The dog was pretty happy that we, his designated humans, had stopped going up or down a mountain, so he finally lay down. I was frantically looking up the information for a local animal rescue service and managed to get a hold of someone named Sean, whose accent was British. Hearing our American accents, he asked and we confirmed that yes, we were located in Taiwan. We may be hapless but at least we’re calling from the right country.

British/Taiwanese Sean told me he was located in Taipei and offered to come get the dog himself. It was going to be about a two-hour drive and my partner and I couldn’t stay with the dog this whole time; we needed to return soon to catch the last bus back to our homestay or risk being stranded. Using an advanced translation technology in the form of Sean’s Chinese-speaking wife, coordination occurred that would allow for the dog to be detained with a makeshift twine leash until Sean could arrive. One of the attendants began performing afternoon services, so the whole scene took on a mystical weight as chanting and bell-ringing went on in the background. The moment of quiet reflection was cut short by our realization that it was now or never to do the reverse hike to catch our bus back to the homestay. During our return journey, we were undisturbed by the dog’s drying trail of blood because we knew, in our hearts, that he was probably right now being saved.

Meanwhile, we learned that…

Sean arrived almost five hours later due to traffic, and the dog was gone. In what we could only assume was a desperate attempt to find us, his people, or the fact he’s not used to being on a leash, he’d chewed through the twine, and there was no sign of him. Apparently, however, according to the temple attendants, as Sean learned, the dog was a regular at the temple (news to us: we assumed this was a random dog with a desperate cry for help, so I felt a little betrayed that no one had told us that he was not only an old friend, but a daily visitor). So, the plan/hope was Sean would come back tomorrow and pick him up when he inevitably returned. Sean even walked the now-dark trail to try to see if he could find the dog himself, finding instead the blood trail. Everyone became CSI: Taiwan: K9 Edition, analyzing blood spatter patterns to track the dog to his origin point. No luck tonight.

The next day, we all hoped for the best – that the dog returned to the temple, ready to be rescued. Sean stayed in contact with us, our lifeline to the drama. We were texted with the message that the dog had returned and was corralled by the attendants with a real leash this time. We were biking to our next idyllic mountain destination and it happened that our route took us close to the temple again. Sean arrived soon after we did, and we got a few last moments with the dog.

As we sat and hung out with the dog, we got a lot of interested visitors. Unsolicited photos were taken. Stories were recounted. Yes, it was just like that part in The Nutcracker where the Nutcracker prince tells everyone how brave Clara was to kill the mouse king, and everyone claps and dances (although we didn’t get any dances). A smartly-dressed elderly man ambled up to us. Taking him for another adoring fan, I asked if he lived nearby. It turned out, this was the guy who runs the whole place. “Thank you for your love” said the head of the temple. We’d been blessed.

Sean asked us what we wanted to name the dog. We named him Arthur, as my partner had just become an uncle to a new human nephew named Arthur. Naming things is funny: we already felt like we were responsible for this dog’s life and giving him a family member’s name seemed to crystalize the feeling. Throughout our trip, we got updates that the dog was doing well and was going into surgery to help his paw. He’s still not adopted, but if you know someone in Taiwan that wants a really sweet lab mix, you can apply to adopt him here and see the shelter’s other animals here, on their Facebook page.

From our first sighting of Arthur we immediately rationalized why doing nothing might be better. Why it wasn’t our job to figure this out, or see it through. Throughout those 24 hours, we weren’t sure we were the ‘right’ people. But Arthur chose us. And in the end, that was enough.