FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

A few days ago, as I plodded drowsily out of the lift, on my way to work, I almost fell over two fat little brown fur balls wrestling away at the gate. Young pups having a good time in the mild winter sun, without a care in the world.. they were tubby, round little barrels that could barely waddle.

As they realised that a dark shadow blocked the sun, two sets of melting brown eyes turned to look sheepishly at me. A paw darted out suddenly onto my foot, and then a cold nose started sniffing the straps on my sandals. As I tugged at the floppy ear to get him away, he lost interest in me and decided to gambol away with his tail in the air. Cheeky, I tell you.

Yesterday, as everyday, I looked around for them as I entered. I didn't see them. As I climbed the stairs, I spotted them sitting meekly under the bench, heads on their paws. I patted them on the head, to no response. I tugged an ear, and an eye opened and then shut, sadly, again. They were pining. I asked why, only to discover that there had been no sign of their mother for an entire day.

On my way to work this morning, I saw only my fat, once irrepressibly cheeky brat lying exactly where he'd been the day before. This time, even a tug on the ear didn't get an eye to open. His meek, shy sibling had disappeared.

He had all the sympathy in the world, he was showered with love by people all around. But he lacked the companionship of his kind, the security of his mother. Those melting eyes had lost their impish spark. He sat mourning, all alone.

Come evening, I found him still under the bench. I patted his tiny head for a bit, expecting no reaction. Turning to leave, I felt a small, wet lick on my finger. Surprised, I looked down into a soulful gaze. It was one that said, "I'm okay, thank you."

He wasn't fine, but he had hope. He didn't have family around, but he was loved. He couldn't yet fight, but he'd be a survivor.

One tiny little fur ball, but with guts to be admired.