At only six weeks old, I should have been discovering the warmth of my mother’s fur, the joy of tumbling around with my siblings, and the comfort of feeling safe in this big new world. But my start in life was not what it should have been.
I was born into fear.
The place I called home was not a home at all. It was cold, dark, and filled with loud noises that made my tiny body tremble. There was no soft bed, no gentle touch, and no mother to curl up against. I don’t remember when I was taken from her, only that one moment I could still smell her milk and the next, I was alone.
Hunger became a familiar ache in my belly. My paws, still clumsy and unsure, struggled to stand on the rough concrete beneath me. I cried out, hoping someone would hear. I didn’t know who I was calling for—I just knew I needed help.
Then came the day everything changed.
I was huddled in the corner of a dirty alley, too tired to move, when I saw her. A woman with gentle eyes and a voice that sounded like sunlight. She knelt down slowly, reaching her hand toward me. I wanted to run, but I was too weak. So, I stayed still, barely breathing, expecting the worst.
But the worst didn’t come.
Instead, she scooped me up into her arms. For the first time in my little life, I felt warmth—not just physical, but something deeper. I didn’t understand what it was then. I would come to know it as love.
She took me to a place that smelled clean and calm. The people there were kind. They whispered soothing words and examined my thin, shaking body. They said I was lucky to have survived this long. I was covered in fleas, my ribs showed through my skin, and I was terrified of every sudden movement.
But they didn’t give up on me.
Day by day, I began to heal. I got food—real food! I was given a tiny blanket that became my favorite spot in the world. My body slowly grew stronger, and so did my heart. I learned that not all humans are scary. I learned that hands can comfort, not harm.
And then, the best day of my life came.
The woman who had found me returned. She had come back for me—not just to save me, but to give me a forever home. She smiled as she picked me up again, and this time, I didn’t flinch. I wagged my tiny tail instead.
Now, I live with her. My name is Rico. I have toys, treats, and more kisses than I could have ever imagined. I chase butterflies in the garden, curl up beside her on the couch, and fall asleep each night knowing I am safe.
I am still small, and I still carry memories of pain and fear. But those memories no longer define me. What defines me now is love, joy, and the boundless happiness of being a puppy who is free to play, to grow, and to be loved.
To the kind stranger who rescued me—you saved more than my life. You gave me the chance to truly live it.
Thank you,
— Rico 🐾
