Fhilcar Faunillani 
The little white dog lay still on the hot sidewalk. His eyes, half-closed, held a tired hope. The summer sun pressed down, heavy and unyielding. His shallow breaths stirred the dust around him. A passerby noticed, then another, their whispers carrying to a rescue team’s phone. A Gentle Hand Reaches Out The rescuer knelt beside …
The dog lay in the corner of the yard, her golden fur matted and dull. Her eyes, once bright, held only a flicker of trust. The rescuer stood frozen, heart sinking at the sight of her leg—raw, swollen, a wound that whispered neglect. The man who owned her shrugged. “She caused trouble,” he said. His …
The old farm was silent, save for the wind rustling through dry grass. Beike shivered beneath a rusted machine, his white fur matted with dirt. His eyes, once bright with trust, now held only fear. He curled tighter, trying to vanish. A wound on his leg glistened in the dim light. The rescuers knelt nearby, …
The dog lay trembling in the ditch, her belly swollen, her eyes wide with fear. She whimpered softly, ignored by the cars speeding past. Her name was Lenteja, though we didn’t know it then. She was alone, abandoned on the day her pups were due. The road was cold, the night colder. Her cries were …
The mud was cold, clinging to his fur like a heavy memory. His chain rattled, tethering him to a post that offered no comfort. She saw him first from across the yard, a young woman visiting her grandmother’s village. His small form huddled in the neighbor’s yard, a white shadow under the gray sky. The …
The dog lay still on the faded rug. Her eyes watched the door, unblinking, for three long years. Dust settled on the furniture. The house was silent, its walls holding memories of voices now gone. She waited, her small body curled tight, believing they’d return. They always had before. A neighbor passed by each day. …
The dog lay in a shadowed corner, his white fur matted and gone. His eyes, once bright, held only fear. He was alone, forgotten, a life fading into the cracks of a world that had turned away. The man saw him, trembling, and felt his heart catch. This was no place for a soul so …
The puppy’s eyes caught Lucas first. They were wide, trembling under a parked car. His small body shook with every passing car’s rumble. Lucas slowed his jog, heart heavy. The puppy didn’t move, frozen, his fur matted with dirt and fear. Lucas knelt, his knees pressing into the cold pavement. He whispered softly, “Hey, little …
The little dog lay trembling on the highway’s edge. Blood dripped from his broken jaw. His eyes, wide with pain, stared at nothing. Cars roared past, indifferent. A woman stopped. Her hands shook as she knelt beside him, her coat brushing the cold asphalt. She whispered soft words, though he couldn’t hear them. She lifted …
The puppy lay in the dirt, scratching at her raw skin. Her eyes, big and tired, searched for something kind. She was alone. Her siblings were gone, taken by sickness and neglect. The yard around her was empty, just cracked earth and a sagging fence. A man’s voice carried from the house, grumbling about the …
The old woman sat on the porch, her hands folded, watching the dog tremble in the yard. Lara’s eyes, wide and fearful, darted toward every shadow, every rustle of leaves. She’d come from a dark place, a man who didn’t see her as living. A man who hurt her. Her small body, barely more than …
The dog stood alone on the cracked sidewalk. His eyes followed every car, hopeful, waiting. His fur was matted, heavy with dirt, clinging like a weight he couldn’t shake. Each passing vehicle stirred a flicker in his gaze—maybe this one, maybe now. He’d been wandering for three months, they said. Three months of empty streets, …
The dog dragged herself along the cracked sidewalk, her hind legs limp. Her eyes, soft and pleading, met only turned heads. A schoolgirl stopped. She knelt, her backpack heavy, her gaze steady. The dog’s fur was matted, her hips bony under thin skin. The girl’s hand reached out, trembling, and the dog didn’t flinch. She …
Her eyes held pain, but a flicker of hope. Pittucha lay trembling, her body a map of neglect. Zecken clung to her skin like cruel reminders. Her ribs pressed against her sides, sharp and unforgiving. She was thrown away, left to die in Salvador’s heat. Once, she had a home. A hand that fed her. …
The morning was gray, the air heavy with mist. A tiny puppy shivered in a trash bin, his eyes wide with quiet fear. His small body, no bigger than a hand, lay tangled in a plastic bag. Only his head poked free, gasping for air. Those round, dark eyes looked up, searching, pleading without a …