Polly is an Aspin who got separated from his mother and brothers when he was very young. He struggled to keep himself alive. He wanted to belong but what he got was rejection after rejection, heartache after heartache - yet he marched on with his leg that could not be bent. This is a story of survival - a story of hope - that even with his leg that could not be bent, love is possible.
View MoreHeartworm was a cruel disease. Terry had read about it before, but she never knew what cruelty really meant until she saw it stealing Popo’s strength day by day. He had always been the calm one, the steady soul among her dogs — the one who never fought for attention, who simply waited patiently for love to come his way.But as the days went by, Popo’s ribs began to show, and his once shiny coat lost its glow. Still, when Terry called his name, his tail would wag, faint but full of loyalty. Even as his body weakened, his love stayed strong.Feeding him became an act of devotion. When he could no longer eat on his own, Terry used a syringe to feed him soft food and water. Each drop felt like a prayer — a tiny act of hope that maybe tomorrow would be kinder. Money was tight, yet she never missed a single medicine schedule. Even when she skipped meals herself, she made sure Popo got his care. Love has a way of making sacrifice feel like second nature.For a month, they fought side by side
The mornings had grown quieter.Popo, once the first to bark for breakfast, now took longer to rise. His once-bright eyes seemed dimmer, his steps slower. Polly noticed how Terry would linger by his side, her hand resting on Popo’s back a little longer than usual.“Good morning, my good boy,” Terry would whisper. Her voice carried a softness Polly couldn’t quite understand, but he felt it — like a tremble beneath the calm.Popo still wagged his tail, but it was slower now, gentler, as if every motion had to be borrowed from the past. Polly watched from the corner of his crate, his heart unsure of what he was seeing. Popo had always been strong — the wise one, the patient one. He was the one who let Polly share his crate, the one who never snapped when food was scarce, the one who stood between him and Bantay when they used to argue over bones.But now, Popo slept more than he barked. Sometimes, he coughed. Other times, he stared at nothing, as though remembering something far away.Te
Polly lay in his crate, pretending to sleep as Terry’s footsteps echoed faintly from the kitchen. He could smell her scent—soap and bread and the faint trace of something floral that clung to her clothes. It was the kind of smell that felt like home, and that terrified him.He didn’t want to get used to it.He had been used to things before—warmth, love, safety—and each time they were taken away. The last time it happened, the ache almost killed him. He had promised himself: never again. Never let the heart lead. Never love too much.But love had a way of sneaking in through the cracks of caution.“Polly!” Terry’s voice called from the back door, bright and lilting. “Come here, boy!”He tucked his head under his paw. Maybe if he stayed still, she would think he was asleep.“Polly?” She stepped closer, kneeling by his crate. Her face appeared between the bars—soft eyes, lips curved into a smile. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s stretch those legs.”He turned his face away.Tagpi, lounging a
The morning air was crisp, and sunlight poured into the yard, painting the kennels gold. Terry’s footsteps echoed on the concrete as she carried bowls of food. The dogs stirred to life. Bantay barked once, Tagpi’s tail thumped, and Popo pushed his nose eagerly through the bars. Patsy leapt gracefully from the porch railing and landed near her feet, meowing as if he owned the place.Polly stayed in the back of his crate, quiet, his eyes fixed on her. He had learned to wait—always last, always careful. He didn’t want to seem like he was pushing his way forward. Still, when Terry’s eyes met his, his chest tightened.She knelt, slipping bowls inside the kennels. “Good boys,” she murmured, stroking each head in turn. When she reached Popo, she bent lower, pressing her cheek against his fur. Popo wagged his tail proudly. Bantay barked, Tagpi licked her hand, Patsy rubbed against her leg.Then her gaze drifted to Polly.“Polly,” she said softly, as if testing the name again.He lowered his h
The yard was quiet that evening when Polly heard it.“Polly… Polly…”The voice was faint, drifting through the gate. He lifted his head, ears pricking, heart pounding.“Polly! Polly!”Two heads appeared in the fading light. Martin. Bruno. His old packmates.“Martin? Bruno? Am I dreaming?” he whispered.But they didn’t answer. Their eyes were unreadable, their tails stiff. Without a sound, they turned and vanished into the night.Polly pressed his nose to the bars, desperate to hold on to their scent, but the wind carried it away.“Who were they?” Popo asked, rising to sit beside him.“My friends. Before I came here, I ran with them in a pack,” Polly said quietly. “Maybe they came for me.”Popo’s brow furrowed. “If they do, it won’t be simple. This place already has its order. New dogs bring fights. I’ve seen it.”“Power struggle?” Polly tilted his head.“Exactly. Bantay and I once nearly killed each other over it. It wasn’t worth the blood. Terry’s the only reason we’re still here. Sh
It was tiring hopping from one situation to another. Polly missed the certainty that his mother and brothers brought to his life. It was truly a roller coaster ride for him since he was left alone.“Polly! Polly!” Polly heard voices calling his name in nothing short of a whisper. He looked around but saw no one.“Polly! Polly!” the voices called again. He stood up on all fours inside the closed crate. Polly looked at Tagpi and Bantay. It seemed like they were hearing the voices, too but preferred to just ignore it. Popo seemed to be doing the same.“Over here,Polly!” slowly he two heads started to appear from the left side of the front gate.“Martin? Bruno?…Am I dreaming?”The two dogs did not respond. They walked away.“Who’s Martin? Who’s Bruno? Popo asked.Polly sat before answering. “They are my friends.
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