The morning was quieter than usual.
No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Just the soft sound of breathing — slow, shallow, and heavy with something the world didn’t yet understand.

She had dug into the earth with her own paws, gently, carefully, as if creating a cradle instead of a grave. And now, she laid her head on the tiny mound of dirt where her puppy rested.

His little body, still soft, still warm just hours ago, was now covered in the same earth he used to tumble and play in. But she didn’t know that he was gone.

Not truly.

All she knew was that he wasn’t moving. That the world had suddenly gone colder.

So she stayed. She pressed her nose to him, letting her breath wash over his face as it had done when she nuzzled him to sleep. Maybe, if she stayed long enough… maybe he would move again. Maybe he just needed warmth. Or love.

Because love — especially a mother’s — doesn’t understand endings.

She didn’t howl. She didn’t run. She simply waited. Waited like the world had stopped turning. Waited because she believed, with every silent beat of her heart, that love was enough to bring him back.

And in some way… maybe it is.

Because even though his tiny heart no longer beats, hers beats for them both.