We saved 37 dogs today.

Our destination is the Central California SPCA in Fresno, a three-and-a-half hour drive. I awake at three in the morning, and we drive in the dark. We arrive as they open and can hear the barking barking barking of hundreds of dogs. We only have one van, and 20 crates, but we are determined to do what we can. Several shelter workers come in on their day off to help us; Brenda, Heather, Amanda — they knew we are there to save lives.

We walk the rows of runs, with dog after dog scrambling for our attention. Yes, that one, and that one. Is that one available? No, not that one, or that one. We go to another building, another row. And then another building, and another. How about this one — she’s been here since June. They show us their favorites and tell us their stories.

We learn about the litter of puppies who had been thrown in the trash. I cry at the sight of the dog, who knows what breed, with no hair and open wounds from years of neglect, shivering in pain and fright — he, blessedly, is euthanized before we leave. Then there are the dogs who are too exhausted to even get up.

The ones we can take come out to meet us. Some wiggle with excitement; some shy away in fear. They all embark on a new adventure today.

There is Foxy, the gorgeous red Golden Retriever cross, soft of coat and demeanor. Zorro, with his squat face and undershot jaw. Peanut, who looks like he’s been put together with spare parts from other dogs. Mommy, the scared little Terrier mix who has been kenneled with four other dogs. The four puppies, Bebe, Bunny, Bailey and Buddy, who sleep in a pile in their run. There is Chadwick, who we almost forget. And then there is Johnnie Walker, the tiny five-month-old Dachshund/Spaniel mix puppy who is slated to die tomorrow; he’s now snuggled in my lap as I write this, my foster for the next two weeks.

As I walk through the runs one last time, I silently apologize to the ones I can’t take. The Kelpie/Border Collie cross who is just too crazy. The German Shepherd who is just too big. The old, blind Dachshund mix with the deep, shuddering cough. We’ll come back soon, I promise.

We load up the van, take a final head count and head for home. Thirty-seven dogs — that’s a lot of dogs to fit in one van. The ride home is quiet, everyone sleeping from the exhaustion of excitement. I too am quiet, thinking of the ones that will take the places just vacated. In Marin, where the spay/neuter rate is so high, over-population is not a problem. In Central California, hundreds of dogs die every week to make room for the new ones coming in.

As we arrive back at our shelter, a dozen volunteers are there to greet us, waiting to help us unload our precious cargo. The dogs emerge, stretch and blink at their new temporary home. Each volunteer speaks softly to his or her charge as the dogs get weighed, collared and settled in for the night, a soft bed and a bowl of food waiting for them.

The decisions on who to take and who to leave are hard ones. We cannot save them all. But we save the ones we can and promise to do right by the ones who will come tomorrow.

Kristin Herrera is the community outreach coordinator at the Marin Humane Society.

Tails of Marin appears every Saturday in the Home & Garden section of the Marin Independent Journal