Proverbs 19:21
"Many are the plans in a person's heart, but the purpose of the Lord prevails."
Copyright — Caleb Y.Y
All living beings are born at the cost of someone else's suffering. Some desire that pain because they hope for the happiness that will come afterward; others are forced, and the reward for that obligation is the punishment of their life. And us, the animals? What can we say about ourselves?
Suddenly, I felt cold. A cold that burned my tiny body. Everything was bright and dry, and a strange heat ran through me from head to toe. An impulse pushed me to move, to push myself into life.
I let out a barely audible squeak, a thin thread of sound that said: "I am here… I exist."
New smells surrounded me. My mother, warm and wet, was close. Other bodies like mine were breathing heavily beside her. I tried to get closer, but my legs barely held me. "Mom… mom…" I thought, even though I did not yet know what that word meant.
Days passed that seemed endless. Every moment was cold, dark, and damp, and I barely understood that I had to move and breathe.
Then, one afternoon, after feeding from my mother, I heard human voices nearby, tense and harsh.
—"Diana! Get rid of those dogs!" —shouted the woman, her voice sharp and tense— "I wanted purebred pit bulls, and this dog…
—She escaped and crossed with another dog —r
And this is your responsibility, Diana —on the verge of fury—. It's your fault! I told you to take care of her in her fertile days."
Said that woman.
My little heart raced. I did not understand the words, but I felt the danger.
Something inside me told me I had to hide behind my mother's body. I did not know if it was instinct or fear; I only knew I had to protect myself.
—"Diana! Did you hear? Get rid of those dogs!" —she insisted, her voice cutting through the air.
—"I'll be back in fifteen minutes," said
sighing, and walked away.
A heavy silence filled the place. The dirt, the darkness, and the smell of mud and fear surrounded me. I dragged myself clumsily, blind and trembling, feeling every shadow as a threat.
—"I'll make a hole in the yard," —whispered Diana, her voice trembling— "I'll put them there and that's it."
I could not understand. I could not scream. I just moved, dragging my body, searching for any warmth that remained. I wanted to be loved, I wanted to be allowed to live… but no one gave me that chance.
The hole was ready. And then, the blows began. The shovel hit hard, the earth moved. Every human movement made me tremble.
—"So noisy! Why won't they be quiet? Where is that damn shovel? Be quiet!" —Diana shouted, frustrated.
—"Ah, I'm tired… my arms hurt," —she whispered— "All because of that dog…"
Another blow, another body falling nearby. Then I felt the deepest fear. Unable to see, only with instinct, I crawled closer to my mother's body.
And there, when Diana tried to bury me alive, something came from me: a horrid, weak, desperate squeak.
—"Auh… uhh… uh…" —a thread of life, a small sound that said: "I cannot give up yet."
The shadow of the woman appeared at the door, quick and firm. Her eyes widened as she saw what was happening.
—"Diana! What are you doing? Are you going to bury that dog alive?" —her scream cut through the air— "What is wrong with you?"
Diana stepped back, her eyes full of fury and fear.
—"But mom, you said: 'Get rid of them!'" —she whispered, trembling.
—"What? No!" —the woman shouted— "Kill them? No! Grab a box and take them somewhere for adoption. Not like this!"
The atmosphere filled with reproach and tension. I, still behind my mother, trembled and whimpered. Horror filled me completely, but instinctively I moved, seeking the warmth of someone who would not hurt me.
The woman leaned over me carefully, and I felt her warm hands for the first time.
—"I'm sorry…" —she whispered— "Forgive my crazy daughter."
The cold began to ease a little. I did not understand anything, I just felt the warmth of the human hand, the fear mixed with confusion, and the life that still remained.
---
The Woman Goes to the Market
The woman carefully picked up the box and headed to the door. Her steps were firm, almost mechanical, while her gaze avoided the box.
—"I'm going to the market," —she said, more to herself than to Diana— "Clean this up before I come back."
She placed the box at the edge of the street, leaving the small puppy inside, trembling and blind, as if it were an object. Then she walked away, swallowed by the market bustle, leaving behind a heavy silence.
A little girl walked with her father on the sidewalk when she saw the box. She stopped abruptly.
Because of the noise
—"Dad…" —she whispered— "I think… someone forgot their puppy."
The man frowned, silently watching the woman walk away. He said nothing, his expression neutral, distant, leaving the girl to decide.
—"Wait for me, dad," —she said— "I'll go see."
She ran toward the box, and as she approached, she saw the small trembling bundle: barely a thread of sound emerged from its body:
—"Auh… uhh… uh…"
Blind and fragile, it tried to move its legs, to touch something that would give it security, but could not lift its muzzle or see anything.
The girl carefully opened the box lid, and the puppy tried to clumsily reach the offered warm hand.
—"Nun… will be your name," —she whispered softly.
The little one squeaked again, a trembling thread of sound, trying to touch that warm hand. Its first contact with human care filled it with something strange: fear mixed with relief.
The father remained silent, serious, not smiling, letting the girl hold the puppy.
—"It's okay, you can keep it," —he finally said, in a neutral, distant voice.
The puppy extended its trembling paws toward the girl, seeking contact, seeking the warmth that promised a different future.
—"Shhh… calm down, little one," —she whispered— "I will make you happy."
And so, in that fragile and silent moment, began the story of Nun, a puppy who would learn to trust again, even blind and weak, in human hands.