Fhilcar Faunillani 
The park was silent, save for the rustle of leaves. Nedda, a small dog, limped through the grass, her eyes clouded, her body trembling. She didn’t know where to go, only that she hurt and was afraid. A woman walking her own dog stopped. She knelt beside Nedda, her hands gentle, her voice soft. Nedda …
The old dog lay curled in a corner, hidden behind crates in a dim shop. His eyes, dull with surrender, watched the world pass by without hope. He was found by a kind man, a stranger who saw what others missed. The dog’s neck bore a deep wound, a cruel mark from a rope that …
The cars sped by, one after another, their tires humming on the cracked road. She sat there, alone, her tail wagging like it still believed in kindness. Her fur was matted, tangled with dirt and time. Her eyes, cloudy with age, watched each car pass. No one stopped. No one looked long enough to see …
The dog lay near the train tracks, barely breathing. Her eyes, dim with pain, still searched for kindness. She was alone, left behind in the dirt. The world moved past—trains roared, people hurried. No one stopped. Her body was broken, her face torn, her spirit fading. Yet something in her held on, a faint pulse …
The snow crunched under Frida’s paws. Her eyes, heavy with years, searched the alley for scraps. She was a shadow against the frost, a forgotten dog curled up in the chill. Once, she had a family, a warm bed, a name spoken with love. Eight years of it. Then the house sold, and her world …
Her eyes held no light. They stared, dull and heavy, into the dust. She lay still on the cracked earth, her swollen belly rising and falling with shallow breaths. Each one seemed to beg for something—life, relief, or maybe just a reason to keep going. The villagers found her like that, abandoned, too weak to …
The sun dipped low that afternoon. A couple paused at a quiet corner, where a dog sat without a sound. She looked up at them with eyes that held no bark, no plea. Just a quiet hope, like an old friend waiting to be noticed. They couldn’t walk away. Something in her stillness tugged at …
The market was loud, crowded, and dusty. A tiny puppy, alone, cried out in panic. Her small body trembled, lost among the feet of strangers. She was Willow. Her whimpers grew louder, piercing the chaos. No one stopped. Her eyes, wide and frightened, searched for something kind. She was so small, so fragile, her fur …
The old dog’s eyes held a story. They were deep, brown, and heavy with a sorrow that didn’t speak. She sat by the tree, tethered, watching the car’s dust fade down the road. Her family was gone. Ten years of loyalty, and they left her behind. The rope was tight, but her heart was tighter, …
The dog lay in the dust, hind legs splayed, eyes soft but distant. He didn’t whimper, didn’t stir, just watched the world pass. His name was Bahadur, though no one knew it then. A stray, heavy at twenty kilograms, he was a shadow in the dusk, unnoticed by the neighborhood. His fur was matted, his …
The night was heavy, too heavy to sleep. A dog lay alone in the woods, his eyes dim but pleading. His name was unknown then, just a shadow in a grainy photo shared online. Nobody came for him. A girl snapped his picture, then walked away. The image lingered in my mind—his body still, his …
The dog lay curled against the cold rocks. His ribs pressed sharp against his skin. Waves crashed below, loud and endless. Mar, they called him later, but he had no name then. He was just a shadow, trembling where the sea met the shore. The villagers, the subtitles said, had chased him away. Maybe they …
Her eyes, clouded and dim, stared at nothing. Powder waited, trembling, in the mangroves’ shadow. The air was thick with damp earth and salt. She lay still, her body frail, her spirit frayed. For two days, she hadn’t moved, as if hope itself had abandoned her. The staples in her cropped ears glinted cruelly in …
The old dog lay still, his blind eyes staring into nothing. Chabelita pressed close, her warmth his only guide. Farruko’s world was dark, a quarry of cold stone and hunger. Chabelita, younger, stronger, stayed near. She led him through dust and danger, her steps sure where his faltered. The subtitles said she was his eyes. …
The cold bit at the pavement where Jonik lay, trembling. His eyes, wide and wary, caught the flicker of headlights. Volunteers found him on that bitter night, a small shape curled against the street’s edge. He dragged himself away, fear tightening his body. They spoke softly, their voices low, but Jonik’s heart raced. He didn’t …