Under the relentless heat of the 40-degree Celsius sun, Alice lay motionless in a discarded box on the side of the road.
Her frail body trembled, her eyes filled with silent pleas for help. She was so weak she could barely lift her head, her strength drained by hunger, exhaustion, and hopelessness.
As I approached, she didn’t try to run—she simply stared, as if she had already accepted her fate.
Kneeling beside her, I gently reached out. She flinched at first but then allowed herself to be touched. It was as if she understood that help had finally come.
Carefully, I lifted her into my arms, feeling how light and fragile she was. Her tiny body, no more than skin and bones, barely had the strength to fight.
I placed her in a warm box, shielding her from the scorching sun, and promised her that she would never be alone again.
Alice’s condition was critical. I rushed her home, but as the night passed, she grew weaker. The next morning, I drove her to a veterinary hospital in the city, hoping they could save her.
The vets were stunned by her state—malnourished, severely dehydrated, and suffering from brain damage. X-rays revealed something even more heartbreaking: a stone lodged in her stomach, a sign that she had eaten whatever she could find just to survive.
Despite the dire diagnosis, Alice’s spirit refused to give up. The veterinary team provided round-the-clock care, monitoring her every move.
Slowly, she began responding to treatment. Each day, she grew a little stronger, and after a month, she took her first steps on her own.
It was a moment filled with hope—a sign that Alice was fighting to live.
