They huddle in the back of a cargo van, away from windows or prying eyes. Traveling north up the eastern seaboard to escape what would have been certain death. Unfamiliar with our English, they have all been given names to use:  Irene, Molly and a fellow passenger nicknamed Hopper, who is visually impaired. Theirs is a 14-hour journey to a new place and a fresh start. Eating and drinking in the back of the van as it moves along the highway, the only stops are for bathroom breaks and when one of them leaves with hosts who will help them settle in their new town.

The hosts are a mix of ages, ethnicities and backgrounds but all have made the commitment to help these travelers, offering them a safe place.

I met the caravan at the northern end of its journey. The email instructions said to be in the parking  lot of a big box store at 7:30 on a cold Saturday night. Getting there a little early, I watched other hosts arrive in cars from various northern states. Some were there with small children. Some were singles or couples. All waited in the dark for the white van to arrive.

When it finally did, we lined up, watched and waited as each traveler was helped out of the van to be greeted by their host.  Everyone was quiet and smiling. Though they didn’t speak our language, I imagine the travelers were glad to be done with their long journey.

I helped Irene into my car and returned to say “goodbye” to one of the drivers. Her name is Sheila. “When do you head back,” I asked her, thinking that she would need a day or so to rest after 14 hours on the road.

“Right now,” she answered. “We borrow the van from a friend and he needs it for his business on Monday so we will turn right around from here and drive back.”

I was amazed. “How often do you do this,” I asked.

“Every week,” she said.    

I drove away, unable to stop thinking about her commitment and passion. A 28-hour round trip every week to help these unfortunate migrants escape a grim future. Irene and I didn’t speak much on the trip home. I expect she was tired from her long journey.

She is sleeping as I write this, curled up in a ball on my lap, whiskers twitching. She has a new name and a new home and she seems to like it here, even though she got a little “mouthy” when she saw snow for the first time.

Thankfully, Maine is a “no kill” state. But many southern states are not. Hopper, the young, blind basset hound, would certainly not be alive today had he not been rescued and then adopted by a young couple who love him dearly.

Whether from a local or distant shelter, please consider adopting because it saves two animals: not only the adoptee, but the animal that will take its place in the shelter. And, if you can, please contribute to the animal shelter of your choice. 

As other, better writers have said:

“They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other Nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth." - Henry Beston

“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” -Mahatma Gandhi