Teased and stuck in the ditch, the puppy cried out for his mother until his voice turned to soft whimpers.
It had started as a game. Children from the village had gathered around, laughing at his clumsy steps, poking him with sticks, tugging at his floppy ears. He tried to run, but his legs were too small, his balance uncertain. One careless shove sent him tumbling into the muddy ditch at the side of the road.
The laughter faded as the children grew bored and left. Alone now, the puppy struggled to climb out, paws slipping against the damp earth. His tiny frame trembled with fear and cold. Rain from earlier had turned the ditch into a slick, soupy trap. Each attempt to escape only smeared more mud into his golden fur and widened the panic in his chest.
“Momma…” he yelped, voice cracking, “Momma…”
No one answered. The wind rustled the tall grass above, and the sky darkened slowly into dusk. He cried again, softer this time, his throat raw and his body weary. He didn’t understand why they had laughed. He didn’t know what he had done wrong.
A rustle in the brush made him lift his head. His ears perked weakly. Hope. Just a sound. Just wind. Still, he waited.
The tears in his eyes blurred the dimming world. His cries turned to hiccupping breaths, then silence. He curled into himself, a shivering ball of fur and fear, too tired to call again.
But in the distance, pawsteps padded softly toward him, steady and strong.
And though he couldn’t see her yet, his heart fluttered with the last bit of strength he had.
Because somewhere, his mother was still looking.
