Amanda Wright
Every other day, I head out for an early jog. Last week was no different. As I stepped onto the road that leads to the beach, my mind wandered to Rex, an old dog I've been treating at the clinic. He's not doing well, and I knew it was time to gently suggest to his owner that letting him go might be the kindest choice. Yet, she's clinging to him, unable to make that painful decision.
Living in a small town south of Perth, Australia, has its quiet charms and close-knit community. At 41 years old, I've come to appreciate these moments of solitude. The cool morning air filled my lungs as I reached the beach, and the familiar sound of waves greeted me. But something was off. In the distance, I spotted dark shapes littering the shore. As I got closer, my heart sank. Whales. Dozens of them, stranded and struggling.
Shock gave way to action. I joined a small crowd from my neighborhood, all rushing to help with whatever we had—buckets, towels, our bare hands. Among them was Rex's owner.
We worked tirelessly, dousing the whales with water to keep them cool, talking softly to them, as if our words could somehow ease their distress. Gradually, with the help of animal rights activists who arrived with more equipment, we started to pull the massive creatures back into the sea. It was painstaking work, each whale requiring a small army to move.
Out of 160 whales, we managed to save 130. It was gut-wrenching to see 30 of them perish despite our efforts, but we held onto the victory of those that survived. The reason for their stranding remained a mystery, though I couldn't shake the feeling that our polluted oceans and all the noise in the sea had something to do with it.
Exhausted and emotionally drained, I made my way home. On the path, I bumped into Rex's owner again. She looked different—resolute, somehow lighter. She told me she'd decided it was time to let Rex go, that she couldn't bear to prolong his suffering any longer. I nodded, offering a comforting smile. Sometimes, letting go is the hardest part, whether it's a beloved pet or a hundred stranded whales. But in the end, it's the act of compassion that truly matters.