The rain was falling heavily, turning the ground beneath me into a soggy mess. I lay on a tattered piece of cardboard in the corner of an old landfill, trying to shield my babies from the cold and wet. My fur was matted with dirt, and my ribs showed through my thin coat, but my only concern was keeping them warm. They nestled against me, their tiny bodies trembling as I wrapped myself around them as best as I could.
I wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I had a home—a place where I was loved, or so I thought. But when my belly began to swell with the promise of new life, they threw me out like yesterday’s trash. That’s how I ended up here, among the broken bottles and rotting food, desperately trying to keep my puppies safe.
Each day is a battle for survival. The mornings are filled with the cries of my little ones, their hungry whimpers piercing my heart. I scavenge through the piles of waste, searching for scraps of food to fill their tiny bellies. It’s never enough. They’re growing weaker, and so am I.
Despite the misery, I love my children more than anything in this world. Their soft, warm bodies pressed against me are my only comfort. I watch them as they sleep, their small faces so innocent, so full of hope. They don’t know the harshness of the world yet, and I pray they never have to.
Every night, as darkness falls and the world grows quiet, I lift my head to the sky and whisper my dreams to the stars. “I love my children; we long for a forever home.” A place where we wouldn’t have to worry about the cold, the hunger, or the dangers that lurk in the shadows. A place where my babies could run and play without fear, where they could grow strong and happy.
Sometimes, I see humans walking by the edge of the landfill. I’ve learned to be cautious; not all humans are kind. But occasionally, one will stop and look at us with pity in their eyes. I’ll wag my tail hesitantly, hoping against hope that they might take us in. So far, none have.
Still, I hold on to hope. It’s all I have. Hope that one day, someone will see us not as trash but as a family desperate for a chance. Hope that my puppies will know what it’s like to sleep on a soft bed, to have full bellies, and to be loved unconditionally.
The rain begins to ease, and a faint ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds. My puppies stir, their tiny faces peeking out from beneath me. One of them lets out a soft yip, and I nuzzle him gently, drawing strength from their innocence. No matter how hard things get, I will keep fighting for them. They are my world, my reason to keep going.
“I love my children; we long for a forever home,” I whisper again, more to myself than to anyone else. Maybe, just maybe, someone will hear my plea. Until then, I will protect them with every ounce of strength I have left. Because that’s what mothers do.
