Snow had fallen heavily the night before, blanketing the city in white silence. Most people stayed indoors, but one man, camera in hand, wandered outside to capture the wintry landscape. The air was sharp and biting, each breath a cloud of frost. He adjusted his lens, focusing on the beauty of snow-covered branches, when something unusual caught his eye—a small shape on the ground, half-buried in snow.
At first, he thought it was debris, maybe a discarded toy. But as he stepped closer, his chest tightened. It wasn’t a toy. It was a puppy—tiny, shivering, and nearly frozen solid. Its fur was matted with ice, its little body stiff from the cold.
“I only came down to take pictures,” he muttered to himself, startled. “But… he can’t even move.”
Instinctively, he bent down, scooping the fragile creature into his arms. The puppy was limp, its breathing faint, as though life was slipping away with each passing second. Unsure what to do, the man carried him into the hallway of his apartment building, away from the snow’s bite.
Truth be told, he was not fond of keeping pets. Animals were messy, demanding, and unpredictable—none of which fit his quiet, structured life. His first thought was to leave the puppy there in the hall, let fate decide. But as he watched the tiny creature trembling, his conscience stirred.
“He looks like he’s about to die…” the man whispered, his resolve weakening. With a sigh, he made a decision. “Fine. Come inside. At least there’s heating.”
Back in his apartment, he laid the puppy on a soft towel. The little one whimpered faintly, eyes barely opening. The man rubbed his hands together, conflicted.
“Listen,” he said aloud, as though the dog could understand. “If you have trouble, I won’t be able to help much. Life and death are fated. Wealth and honor belong to destiny. Your days may be numbered. You’ll have to handle your fate yourself.”
Still, as he spoke these detached words, he found himself fetching a blanket, tucking it around the pup.
Moments later, a soft cry rose from the little dog. The man frowned. “Why are you crying again? Are you cold… or is it pain?”
He hesitated, then pulled out a small bottle of his own shower gel. “Here,” he murmured awkwardly. “Let me clean you a little. At least you’ll smell better.”
It took effort, but he managed to measure the puppy’s temperature. He stroked its fur gently, surprised to feel warmth slowly returning. The puppy’s legs twitched. “You can stand now,” he encouraged. “Come on, just a sip of water.” He placed a small bowl down, watching with relief as the pup lapped weakly.
Still, caring for a life wasn’t easy. He muttered to himself, “So troublesome… what’s wrong with you again?” He scavenged through his kitchen, finding something soft enough for the pup to eat. He mashed it carefully. “This should be nutritious enough, right? Try to eat.”
To his surprise, the puppy ate. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to bring color back to his fragile frame. The man leaned back with a faint smile. “I thought you wouldn’t even move. But now… at least you can stand.”
That night, the puppy barked. Not once, but several times, filling the apartment with a sound that was both irritating and strangely comforting. It was 2:30 in the morning, and instead of sleeping, the man found himself whispering, “How about a name? Begonia. Yes… Begonia suits you.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?” he scolded softly, though his tone carried affection. “Go to bed. Tomorrow will be better.”
When morning came, the man greeted the puppy with a simple, “Good morning!” To his surprise, the little one wagged his tail and tilted his head, swaying slightly. The man chuckled. “What does that mean, huh? Are you happy? Or are you just hungry? Fine, fine. I’ll cook for you.”
Meals became a routine. He fed the puppy, cleaned up after him, even played in the snow outside. The little creature ran clumsily through the white powder, barking with delight. But reality lingered in the man’s mind.
He didn’t have the time or energy for a pet. His life was too busy, too structured. One day, he sighed heavily. “I’m really not suited for keeping pets. It’s too much trouble. A friend recommended a rescue center. When the weather clears, I’ll take you there.”
The words tasted bitter. But he knew they were true.
Still, even as he prepared himself, the puppy continued to surprise him. He never soiled the house—always waiting until they went outside. “You’re… clean?” the man said in disbelief. “You know where you live? Unbelievable.”
Days passed quickly. The man grew attached, despite himself. He let the pup nap beside the heater, played with him in the snow, and laughed when he stumbled clumsily into his arms. But fate had other plans.
Through a friend’s recommendation, he found an adopter—someone who already had a puppy, someone who could give Begonia a real home, with companionship and care.
On the final day, the man played with the puppy one last time. The thought of parting weighed on him, though he tried to hide it.
“I found an owner for you,” he whispered, stroking the soft fur. “He’ll be here soon. About ten more minutes. Get yourself ready.”
When the new owner arrived, Begonia wagged his tail, curious and eager. The man handed him over gently, lingering just a second longer before letting go. And then, silence. The apartment was empty again.
Everything returned to calm, as if nothing had happened. The snow outside was melting. Life resumed its ordinary rhythm. Yet for the man, the past three days lingered vividly. The image of the frozen pup in the snow, the warmth of nursing him back to life, the quiet companionship—they had carved a place in his heart.
“May you grow up healthy and happy,” he whispered into the stillness. “May your new home give you all the love you deserve.”
