On a quiet roadside near Willow Creek Village, beneath an old drainage pipe, a frail dog, wandered with her only surviving puppy. The mother, later named Hazel, was little more than skin and bones. Her puppy, a tiny boy we called Biscuit, was hardly better. When we stopped the car and rushed toward them with food, only Biscuit had enough strength to nibble.
 Hazel trembled as she stood, her eyes full of fear and exhaustion. We searched nearby for more puppies, but none were found. perhaps lost or perhaps too late. Tears filled our eyes as we lifted them into the car and promised to keep them safe. That first night, Biscuit cried endlessly in the cage until we let them out to breathe and settle.
 In the morning, we warmed milk for them. They had survived one more night. No more hunger, no more roadside danger. Their bodies were painfully thin, so we fed them soft food, gentle meals that their weak stomachs could handle. Biscuit tried to eat with eagerness, though his body could barely keep up. Soon after, we went to the vet in Havenfield Town.
Hazel was diagnosed with severe malnutrition, infection, fleas, and dangerously low platelets. Biscuit’s condition was even more alarming. His blood levels were critically low, and he was fading fast. Treatment began immediately. Days passed with slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Biscuit started eating little by little.
Hazel cried whenever we left her, as if afraid her baby would disappear again. But each visit brought a bit more hope. With eggs, porridge, goat milk, and gentle meals, Biscuit slowly grew stronger. Hazel’s appetite returned, and her blood improved with every injection. Weeks went by, filled with medicine, warm meals, and close monitoring.
 Hazel gained weight. Her ribs were no longer visible. Biscuit began to smile, play, and offer his tiny paw as if saying thank you. Their bond, mother and son, was unbreakable. For the first time, it felt like they might both survive. But one evening, Biscuit suddenly refused food. His body weakened again, his energy slipping away.
 At the vet, tests showed he had contracted canine corona virus, a dangerous intestinal virus. No clinic could admit him because of the risk of contagion. So I brought him for treatment daily. Hazel searched for him, whimpering with worry. Despite fluids, medicine, and all our efforts, Biscuit’s condition worsened.
 He vomited even the smallest drops. His gums turned pale, his temperature dropped, and by nightfall, he no longer responded to treatment. After fighting so bravely for so long, Little Biscuit slipped away quietly. My heart shattered as I whispered my last goodbye. Only memories remained. his smile, his tiny paw, his brave little spirit.
 Hazel barked for the first time the next morning. She greeted the day with a fragile but hopeful smile. With time, care, and love, she healed. She grew stronger, happier, fuller. In our home, she found safety, and she clung to it with all her heart. Since the day I carried her from that roadside, Hazel’s life has changed completely.
 She has gained weight, confidence, and joy. And though she still guards her heart fiercely, her love grows deeper each day.
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