I first met Sooni on the street, her belly hanging low and a swelling at her side so large it looked like a tumor. At first glance I thought she was a stray, but strangely, everyone in the neighborhood seemed to know her. She was the dog who wandered quietly, begging for scraps of food, never barking, never demanding, just waiting for kindness. When she turned to leave that day, I decided to follow her, not knowing where she might lead me. We walked nearly fifteen minutes through narrow paths until she stopped at a damp, makeshift hut. That was her home. Inside, I found five tiny newborn puppies, their eyes still closed, their fragile bodies pressed against her weak frame. The smell of spoiled food filled the air, and bowls with rotting leftovers lay scattered across the floor. The puppies weren’t lively; they moved slowly, clinging to their mother’s body, while Sooni herself lifted her head and looked at me with eyes that pleaded silently for help.
Moments later the owner appeared. Casually, he told me she had given birth just last week—five puppies, three brown and two white. When he added that she was seventeen years old, I could hardly believe my ears. Seventeen, and still giving birth? It felt impossible, cruel even. I begged to take her and the puppies to a hospital, but he refused firmly. The puppies, he said, were already reserved, and Sooni didn’t want to leave the home she had known all her life. For three long days, I tried to negotiate, returning each time to find her weaker, her body wasting away as she tried to feed her babies. The swelling on her belly looked worse with every visit. At last, after endless persuasion, the owner relented. He allowed me to take her and the pups.
When we carried Sooni and her newborns to the vet, she was too weak to resist. At the hospital her condition was declared critical. Bloodwork revealed her anemia level was at eleven—dangerously low. Without immediate blood transfusions she wouldn’t survive the night. At three a.m. she received her first transfusion, and another followed at eight in the morning. The doctors were amazed she was still holding on, but I knew why—she was fighting for her puppies. Tests soon revealed she also carried heartworm, and surgery was unavoidable. Yet her body was so weak that anesthesia alone carried enormous risks. She might not wake up.
To ease her burden, we began feeding her puppies ourselves. They were so small, so fragile, yet they seemed to understand, drinking formula obediently as if they knew their mother needed time to heal. With round-the-clock care the puppies grew stronger. They ate and slept well, and soon their tiny movements became quicker, more playful, full of life. Meanwhile, Sooni was prepared for surgery. The vets tested her again and again, knowing how slim the chances were. Could a seventeen-year-old mother endure such an operation? Could she survive the anesthesia? We had no choice but to hope.
The day of surgery my heart pounded as I signed the papers. Hours later, I returned trembling, desperate to know. Against all odds, she had survived. The operation had gone smoothly. The necrotic tissue was removed, and she was spayed, ensuring no more pregnancies. When I saw her after surgery, I expected her to be lying motionless, too weak to move. Instead, she stood. She wagged her tail. Her eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them. I was stunned by her strength.
Her puppies thrived under continued care. Worm treatments were given, and tests confirmed they were heartworm-free. Their personalities began to blossom—the two white girls were gentle and curious, while the three brown boys were lively and bold. Even the medical staff fell in love, and adoption offers began pouring in. Each meal, each nap, each playful tumble on the blankets felt like proof they were leaving suffering behind.
In just three days, Sooni recovered rapidly. Her anemia improved, her inflammation dropped, and her energy returned. Watching her eat homemade meals with eagerness, I realized she had probably never eaten so well in her life. She still thought of her puppies constantly, so we placed them close to her room. Seeing them reassured her, gave her strength to keep fighting. Soon, the puppies transitioned to solid food, growing more confident every day. Adoption inquiries came quickly, and one by one the three brown boys found homes. No longer would they be tied to ropes or left hungry—their futures were safe and filled with love. The two white girls stayed with their mama a little longer, thriving in her care, never knowing how close they had come to losing her.
Meanwhile, Sooni continued to heal. She gained weight, moved with new energy, and greeted us joyfully each time we entered. The look on her face had changed completely—where once there had been fatigue and resignation, now there was peace, even joy. Then the time came for her remaining puppies to say goodbye. They too were adopted into safe, loving homes. Watching them leave, I felt bittersweet pride. They were ready for new lives, and Sooni, at last, could live hers free from suffering.
She will live with me now, safe, loved, and never alone again. After seventeen long years of hardship, she finally has the ending she deserves.
