Their mother was gone. He didn’t know where. Maybe she fled. Maybe she was taken. The puppies didn’t know either. They only knew hunger, the kind that gnaws and leaves you too weak to stand.
I saw them first through a fence, their small bodies pressed tight, as if holding each other could fill their empty bellies. My chest ached. I’d never seen pups so thin, so broken.
The owner’s voice carried no shame. He said they were trouble, always bothering his birds. But their eyes told a different story. Fear lived there, not defiance. They didn’t run or play. They just clung to each other, waiting.
Subscribe for New Story Updates!
Sign up to get updates on the latest chapters, sequels, and exclusive content.
I agree to my personal data being used for interest-based advertising as outlined in the Privacy Notice and the Ad Partner page.
Website
Your Email…
Subscribe
We learned later his words were lies. The puppies didn’t chase anything. They could barely move. Their legs wobbled, their bodies scarred. Some scars were old, others fresh, cut into fragile skin.
We couldn’t leave them. Five puppies, pulled from that place, each one frail, each one fighting to breathe. They were starving, dehydrated, full of parasites. One had a belly swollen, not from food, but from worms.
The vet’s hands moved gently, but her face was grim. She worked fast, cleaning wounds, giving fluids. One puppy, the smallest, didn’t make it. Her body gave out, too weak to hold on. I stood there, eyes wet, watching her fade.
The others fought. They were weak, but they had each other. Four puppies, still alive, still trying. Their skin, rough with scars, began to heal under soft hands. Their eyes, once clouded with fear, started to clear.
