Diba the She-Wolf (Petra - Day 1)

I don’t know how long she had been on the Jordan trail, but I know we weren’t her first band of humans.

I first spotted the little pup outside of the eco-lodge in Dana. A bunch of strangers, united in their desire to walk miles across blistering heat, or perhaps just a hate of tourism buses, piled into a truck to begin the 4 day trek known as the Back Door Trail to Petra.

As we were crawling along the bumpy dusty road, a coyote-ish dog crossed our path and disappeared into the bush. 

The decent into the Dana biosphere was slow and not kind on the knees. 

We passed by Bedouin farmers and shared the trail with herders, donkeys, and goats.

At the bottom we caught up with a group of college kids - hiking our same path, but doing it on their own (I don’t recommend this). They had befriended this puppy with some water and food, and she was following them along.

Our groups walked together for a bit, but when they detoured we inadvertently picked up the stray.

Or more accurately, she picked us.

Habu, our Palestinian guide, immediately called dibs and declared he would adopt her after the hike. His old dog had died, and you could tell he’d enjoy a buddy.

He named her Diba - Arabic for female wolf.

Breed unknown, age unknown, origin and destination unknown. Estimated to be about 5 months old.

Yet she was strong and smart beyond her years. That first day, she was thin with hunger, tired, but she kept up.

Through the ancient riverbed surrounded by sandstone, she'd follow different people in the group, always staying somewhere in the middle of the pack. 

We almost lost her when we came upon a bedouin family where the children all ran out to greet us. Diba's inclination towards seeing children was to run away.

I don't blame her, I feel the same way. But I scooped her up and carried her past the little terrors. 

Every break we took, she’d collapse into a power nap.

She wouldn't move a muscle even as we started walking. However as soon as the last person made three steps, she’d bounce up and trot off to take her spot in the middle of the pack. 

Close to another village we encountered another pup - perhaps a month or two older, a bit bigger, and white.

I imagine their dialogue must have gone like this:

“Hey where ya going”

“I don’t know, but these crazy humans are migrating somewhere, and I don't have anyplace better to be”.

“Can I join?”

“Sure, welcome to the sisterhood of the trekking pups”

They continued along with us - across copper mines, ottoman ruins, a fort, villages, and martian landscapes.

At least a liter of my water went towards the pups, and probably half of everyone’s tuna cans.

The white one wasn’t given a name - Habu was reluctant to adopt two - he barely had a plan for how he was going to get the wife to agree to one. It was improbable for any of the rest of us to figure out how to bring a stray pup back to our host countries.

At last we encountered a local Bedouin on a donkey. He took a liking to the white one, asked to keep her. At least that’s what we were told - the conversation was in Arabic, and Habu was trying to offload the white one. Out came a rope, fashioned into a leash, and the white pup now had a new home and a new master.

It wasn’t a happy handover, but I can only hope it’ll be a happy life with lots of goats to herd.

But Diba, she kept on with us - all 28 kilometers that day. 

When we got to camp she immediately curled up into a deep slumber. She only woke at the smell and sight of our dinner leftovers - lamb kofta and vegetables.

Consuming two plates, belly full, she guarded our camp that night.