She lay curled up in a ball,
And next to her were six live puppies, like dust.
Her eyes were like a bottomless lake,
In them were pain and fear, and someone’s silence.
The chain on her neck was like an insult, like a sentence,
And her paws were shaking — no longer point-blank.
She had not eaten — maybe seven days,
But she still fed — with her breast, pain, shadow.
On her — only bones, skin and scars,
And in her heart — a pulse, stubborn and obstinate.
She did not ask — just don’t take away,
My babies… I will give everything, but know:
I am a mother. Even if hungry, even on a chain,
Even in the mud, even in fear, even in the darkness.
As long as they breathe — I will not give up.
And let one day… someone smile at us.
This picture is not just a dog. It is a picture of despair mixed with boundless motherly love. She had no food. She had no bedding. She had no shelter from the heat or the cold. She had no water. She had no freedom — she was chained. But she had six puppies. And for their sake, she continued to breathe.
Every day she became weaker. Her body — withered, emaciated, without an ounce of fat, with protruding ribs — still served as the only source of warmth and milk for her babies. While they squealed and reached for her — she did not allow herself to fall. She did not dare to die. Not now.
When the volunteers approached them — she did not growl. She did not rush. She just looked. Long. Quietly. The way only those who no longer believe in help look, but still hope.
She allowed them to take the puppies in their arms. She didn’t even get up. She just watched. Until the very end, to make sure that they wouldn’t be taken away forever. That this wasn’t the end. That this might be the beginning.
Her name is Greta. And her story is a cry. It’s a request. It’s a plea for us, people, to finally start listening., for us, people, to finally start listening.
No one knew exactly where she came from. Just one day, a skinny dog with round eyes and bleeding nipples appeared in the yard of an old, dilapidated barn. She was on a chain. So old and rusty that the metal had eaten into her skin, leaving inflamed sores. She didn’t bark. She didn’t run. She didn’t wag her tail. She just sat. She sat and covered with her bony body the tiny, still blind puppies, whose fur looked more like dirt than fur.
Greta — that’s what they called her later — gave birth right under a concrete step. Without help. Without bedding. Without water. She gnawed stones from thirst, licked her puppies, pulling out everything she could. At some point, she stopped eating — because there was no food. But she continued to feed them.
The people who lived nearby did not interfere. Someone occasionally threw a bone. Someone passed by, shaking their heads: «There they go again.» And someone simply did not notice. They did not care. And only she — this indifferent chain — was needed.
She protected them even from the shadow. When it began to rain — she lay down on top of them. When the cats came — she growled, with the last of her strength. When her paws cramped from pain — she swallowed a sob and continued to lick each one, one by one, so that they knew: mom was nearby.
When volunteers found her — she could no longer stand. Her front paws were buckling. The puppies sucked her breast, but there was almost no milk. She did not resist when they lifted her up. She just cried out quietly, as if apologizing for her weakness.
She spent the first two days at the shelter without moving. Her body was struggling. The puppies were placed next to her, and she, even in a semi-conscious state, pulled them closer. She knew that they would not survive without her.
The doctors fought for her. She needed to be given IV fluids. She needed to be cleaned. Her wounds were treated carefully so as not to cause pain. But most importantly, they told her: «You are not alone anymore.»
A week later, she began to eat. At first, a little. Then more. When she first stood up and took a couple of steps, the entire shelter team applauded. No one knew how she did it. How she endured pregnancy, childbirth, feeding and survival in hell. How she did not give up.
Now the puppies are growing. Some of them already have families. They are healthy, cheerful, with kind eyes. And only in their gaze there remains an elusive shadow — as if a memory of their mother once saving them, dying.
And Greta… She has changed. Gradually. Her fur is growing. Her body is gaining weight. But most importantly, there is light in her eyes. Not very bright. Not without fear. But alive.
She still looks at the door when someone comes in. She still wakes up if one of the puppies squeaks. She hasn’t let go. But she is alive. And she is waiting.
She cannot be given to just anyone. She cannot be chained again. Her heart is burned out. But it knows how to love. It knows how to protect. It knows how to believe.
And if you are looking for more than just a dog — but a meaning. It is time for you to take her home.
➕
