Their gaze had met two small, frightened eyes during a trip on the Tempio-Palau highway on the evening of July 8th. An initial moment of uncertainty, then the bitter discovery: those two bright dots belonged to a fox cub, injured and helpless in the middle of the road.
The scene shocked a group of friends, who decided to intervene to prevent the animal from being left at the mercy of the night, cars, and loneliness. But, according to the people involved in the story, little Lulù—as she had been nicknamed—died a few hours later, due, in their opinion, to the shortcomings of the 24-hour wildlife rescue system.
Hence the group's letter of complaint, which recounts their ordeal and raises the issue of assistance for injured wild animals. The full text is reproduced below.
« #DearUnion,
Wednesday, July 8, 2026. A day at the beach, like so many others, in this scorching summer, inflamed by red flags and weather warnings due to the constant waves of abnormal heat. It's the Mediterranean climate zone rising north due to pollution, experts say. My beautiful Sardinia, fortunately, offers alternatives to the increasingly severe heatwaves of recent years. High hillside paths shaded by centuries-old holm oaks and strawberry trees, the wind caressing, more or less intensely, the outline of our marvelous landscapes of pastures, woods, and paths dotted with towering and majestic rocks, streams, springs of fresh, pure water, and the turquoise sea, the most beautiful in the world. A pleasant sunset on the beautiful beach of Rena Maiore near Santa Teresa di Gallura, just over half an hour from Tempio, where I live. Drums, ancestral rhythms, the sound of a long wind instrument, the didgeridoo, which promotes relaxation and meditation. A few curious onlookers smile and approach this impromptu trio: me, Silvia, and Mario, our friend and coach, a yoga and wellness expert. It's late, the beautiful day is drawing to a close, and we head back towards Tempio and Calangianus, where my friends live. The sun, now swallowed by the sea, gives way to the shadows of night.
A few kilometers before the crossroads that runs perpendicular to the Tempio-Palau provincial road, halfway down a long straight stretch, we notice two bright spots, two small silver fires, right in my direction. Motionless, like a hologram cast by the asphalt . "They hit a small fox." Silvia immediately recognizes the animal. To me, it looked like a kitten. The little fox reaches out its paw toward us. "It's alive." My friend is tough, someone who will stop at nothing when there's an animal in need of help. I turn on my hazard lights. Its little nose is pointed, as are its small ears: it weighs just over a kilo, perhaps a month and a half old. Silvia wraps the little fox in a blanket, and at first it lets out two weak barks in defense. After the first few caresses, the little animal relaxes, as if it has understood that we are human friends and that we are taking care of it. We arrive in Tempio. First stop: the Forestry and Environmental Inspectorate . A very kind security guard tells us in a resigned tone that he can't activate the protocol without the necessary authorization from the Forestry Corps. We go to the barracks on Via San Lorenzo. We ring dozens of times, but unfortunately no one answers. We go to the Carabinieri. A kind and helpful non-commissioned officer immediately makes himself available, making several calls and dialing 1515, the Forestry Corps emergency number. A force that is present, caring, and close to the citizens, they embrace our cause and do everything possible. A very kind operator answers 1515 and sends me the cell phone number of the veterinarian who is available 24/7 for the Tempio and Olbia areas. I call him, but get no answer ; I send a voice message, a text message, and a video of our unfortunate little friend, whom, in the meantime, we had placed at Silvia's house, wrapped in a blanket inside a cardboard box. She seemed to be asleep, breathing regularly. The next morning, at nine o'clock, I was contacted again by the doctor, who dismissed the situation over the phone and told me there was nothing that could be done. I take the liberty of expressing my strong disagreement: a diagnosis is a medical process that requires a real examination, not a post-hoc telephone consultation, followed by a prognosis and any treatment. Unfortunately, by 4:30 in the morning, Lulù—as we had named her—had already left us. She didn't leave alone: Silvia kept her company, spending the night at her makeshift bedside. We were willing to go to Olbia at any time, wherever they directed us, if only we had received a sign saying she was welcome.
I thought that in an enchanted land like Sardinia, still home to a rich wildlife thanks to a largely pristine environment, ensuring a genuine and efficient 24-hour service for interventions like this is the very least necessary, as well as respectful of the animal world. To some, this might seem trivial; for me and my friends, it was a moment of profound sadness, compounded by an intense sense of helplessness and despondency. The sign of sensitivity and civility that we, indomitable idealists, hoped for, to support us in our goal of restoring the most precious gift to a small and innocent being: its very life, has not arrived.
Luigi Pirinu
**
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