One day in December, train conductor Ken VanMoorhem was on his usual route, rolling through the desolate desert of western Utah, when he spotted a small figure limping along the sand. He would have stopped the train in its tracks to rescue the injured animal if he could, but it was impossible. So VanMoorhem kept a close lookout each time he took that same route, always hoping he might catch a glimpse of her – but he didn't spot the dog again until nearly two months later.
One day in December, train conductor Ken VanMoorhem was on his usual route, rolling through the desolate desert of western Utah, when he spotted a small figure limping along the sand.
"It was a real fleeting glimpse of a dog out in the middle of nowhere," he told The Associated Press.
He would have stopped the train in its tracks to rescue the injured animal if he could, but it was impossible. So VanMoorhem kept a close lookout each time he took that same route, always hoping he might catch a glimpse of her – but he didn't spot the dog again until nearly two months later.
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This time, she was hiding in a tunnel in Nevada. Once again, VanMoorhem couldn't stop the train, but he decided to send for help as quickly as he could. "I basically gambled that she would stay there where she had shelter," he said. He called upon a fellow conductor, Theo Bassett, to drive to the location where he'd spotted her.
"She let Theo pick her up," VanMoorhem said. "As soon as she got back to the truck, she devoured his ham sandwich and slept under his feet on the drive back."
The dog, a Blue Heeler mix, had been through a lot during her time in the desert: After getting caught in a trap, she'd been forced to chew off her front paw to get free. She'd also been hit by a vehicle, and had suffered several broken bones and a collapsed lung. She was extremely emaciated, too: A vet estimated that she'd been stranded in the desert for months, staying alive by eating animal carcasses she came across.
"Her will to live and survive for at least four months are amazing," VanMoorhem said. "There's no water out there. Snow melt is basically the only water that was out there."
But despite her injuries and the hardships she had endured, the dog, whom VanMoorhem named Hogan after the tunnel where he found her, was full of energy. As soon as he let her out into the backyard, she was bouncing around with VanMoorhem's other dog, eager to play.
And, within just a few hours, said VanMoorhem, "she had staked her claim on the couch and nuzzled her head against us."
