After the rain, I found a tiny dog hiding behind the flower pot and then… everything else seemed to fade away. The ground was still wet, the air heavy with the smell of earth, and there it was — a life so small it almost blended into the shadows. The puppy was cold, hairless, and trembling, as if the storm had taken more than just the sunshine from the day.
I lifted it carefully, afraid my hands might be too big, too clumsy for something so fragile. It fit perfectly in my palm, its tiny chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. I wrapped it in a towel, holding it close, trying to replace the warmth it had lost. In that moment, I realized how quiet desperation can be — no cries, no strength left to ask for help, only survival.
Inside, I warmed some formula and fed it slowly, one drop at a time. Each swallow felt like a small victory. I stayed still, patient, listening to the soft rhythm of its breathing, hoping it would keep going. The night stretched on, filled with worry, whispers, and silent prayers meant only for that tiny dog.
I don’t know how long it had been alone. I don’t know how close it came to being forgotten by the world. But I do know this: it was found. It was held. It was given a chance.
Tomorrow may bring uncertainty, challenges, or heartbreak — but tonight, the storm has passed. Tonight, the little puppy sleeps wrapped in warmth, no longer hidden behind a flower pot, no longer alone. And sometimes, that is how hope begins.