It was late at night when the call reached us.
By the side of a lonely road lay a tiny puppy, no more than three months old, her fur matted with blood. She was motionless, broken, and bleeding into the dirt.
The driver who had hit her? He didn’t stop to help. He pulled over only to drag her shattered body to the side of the road like discarded trash, and then he drove away.
There she lay. All night. Cars passed. People walked by. No one stopped. No one cared.
She cried silently into the darkness, her strength fading with every heartbeat.
By the time we heard about her, she was on the brink. We couldn’t wait until daylight. We rushed to her side. What we found was unbearable. Her back legs were mangled, bones exposed to the cold night air. She had lost so much blood that her tiny frame trembled with weakness.
This was Hummus—only a baby, just three months old, and already her world was nothing but suffering.
The emergency veterinary clinic opened its doors just for her. As soon as she arrived, the tests began—blood work, parasite checks, X-rays, every scan they could perform. The results cut deep: a severe fracture in her left hind leg, shredded wounds, and tissue damage that threatened infection.
The team worked quickly. Her wounds were cleaned and stitched. Pain relief was given. She was stabilized, but survival was still not guaranteed. The surgeon warned us that her tiny toes were so badly damaged she might lose two of them. But Hummus clung to life with astonishing resolve. She was ready to fight.
Her journey would require more than just one surgery.
The first operation—tibial osteosynthesis—was done to repair her left hind leg. A delicate metal plate and tiny screws were fixed into place to hold her fragile bone together. For a body so young, so small, it was a battle between science and hope.
But the damage to her other leg was too severe. Her right hind paw needed a partial digital amputation. Two tiny toes were gone forever.
And yet, after surgery, Hummus amazed everyone. She ate her meals eagerly. Her temperature stayed stable. She even wagged her tail. But her steps were still filled with pain. Every bandage change—every two days—was a reminder of how much she had endured. And still, she greeted her caregivers with sweetness, with quiet trust, as if she knew they were fighting for her.
Just as hope was taking root, tragedy struck again. A complication revealed itself—Salter-Harris Type V, a rare bone deformity caused by crushed growth plates. For such a young puppy, it was devastating. Without correction, her leg would twist and bend as she grew, leaving her crippled for life.
A surgical staple was placed to hold her growth plate steady. It wasn’t a cure, only a temporary safeguard. She was barely four months old, yet she had already undergone two surgeries, with more looming ahead.
After her second operation, she was transferred back to APC. There she shared a recovery room with other rescue dogs, Dexter and Tuna. She had company in her fight, but her battle was far from over.
Despite the surgeon’s efforts, the deformity returned. The growth plate damage had worsened. Her leg bent painfully with every step, twisting her body into a struggle against itself.
A third surgery became inevitable. It would be rare, difficult, and complex. The surgeon warned it was her last chance to save the leg. For most animals, this much pain, this many operations, would crush the spirit. But not Hummus. Even in agony, she wagged her tail.
She had already endured more than any creature should. And yet, she looked at us with eyes full of trust, as if to say, “I’ll keep fighting if you will.”
The third surgery was long, precise, and critical. Plates adjusted, bones aligned, growth controlled. For a week afterward, she remained in hospital under close watch. Every moment mattered.
And slowly—miraculously—she began to heal.
The worst was behind her. Her spirit never dimmed, her sweetness never faltered. She remained the gentle, loving puppy we had first carried into the clinic, only now she was stronger, braver, and closer to the life she deserved.
We dream of the day Hummus will run across the grass without pain. Of the day her legs carry her not into surgery, but into play.
Her fight is not yet over. She faces more therapy, more checks, more time before she is fully free of pain. But Hummus has already proven herself. She is not just a survivor—she is a warrior.
At just three months old, she lost her innocence to cruelty. But with every surgery, every bandage change, every gentle hand that lifted her, she gained something greater—hope.
And one day, when she runs freely again, Hummus will remind us all why we fight: because no creature should ever bleed alone on the side of the road.
Because every life, no matter how small, deserves the chance to heal.
