Feral Dog Series #1: From Moxie to Prudence

Moab locals may remember Moxie, my little white dog riding on the tank of my dirt bike, as I buzzed around town almost two decades ago when Moab’s traffic was slower and friendlier.

Originally published by the Moab Times-Independent in a 15-article series.,

Our favorite ride was a Fins ‘n Things loop, which always ended with a trip to City Market where she’d sit on the seat guarding my bike until I returned, riding home with her on the tank and multiple grocery bags around each wrist. She was my adventure dog, hiking buddy, camping partner, companion, and family.

She was literally my best friend.

When the time came, my heart ached in ways I didn’t even know I could feel. My world had become an endless string of worries for her health, diet, bathroom, physical and mental wellbeing during the last year of her life.

This is the way we all should meet death, with a loving witness by our side for the entirety of the journey. The first morning without her was the hardest, waking to a suffocating emptiness. Thinking that giving back would help my heart, I went to Underdog Animal Rescue & Rehab in hopes of volunteering, but I couldn’t relate to the steady stream of excitable puppies so happy to see me. In fact, their excited demands for attention felt like an anchor pulling my soul further down into the depths of despair.

And that’s when I saw her …

Behind a cautionary “Bite Risk” sign, tucked back in a doghouse 30 feet away, there were two black ears and a long, intimidating snout sticking out to cast an air of intensity that I immediately understood. No happy dog here. No greetings begging to be petted.

The staff member said her name was Prudence, explaining she was a feral who had been at the rescue for five months — yet no one had been able to touch her. Five months with staff members working around her, but forced to give her a wide berth. Somehow, I convinced them to let me into the enclosure, and I made it about 12 feet in before I heard a low, soul-disturbing growl that literally stopped me in my tracks, my body freezing in response to a distinctly primal warning.

I could not move forward, yet I found I was so drawn to her that I couldn’t seem to force myself to retreat, either. She was mesmerizing. Something about her was truly different. Although my entire body felt electric with danger, my heart felt comfortable for the first time in longer than I could remember. I needed this, but there was no way I could have it.

As I tried to make my mind accept reality, there she was, offering a space I couldn’t let go of, a place where I could breathe, without having to stuff my sorrow; just mutual intensity that didn’t ask from each other. My solution was to volunteer time to work with her in an effort to increase her adoption odds while giving me a place to process my grief. I had no idea how radically my life was about to change.

I showed up a few days later to begin working with her, utterly unaware of what I was stepping into as the staff member closed the gate behind me while the black beast focused on me, rumbling a growl that traveled the air like a lightning bolt, setting my hair on end.

Every movement I made would elicit the same warning: Stay there! Something in my soul felt with her, already hooked, and already understanding, even though my brain wasn’t and couldn’t. I deeply questioned my ability to self-assess and came to conflicting conclusions.

What did I get myself into, and how bad was it going to hurt?