A Mother's Hope

The people took the baby away. She watched them with large dark eyes, her other baby fumbling for milk.

She was a decent judge of character, and knew they were trying to help. She'd never have never let them take him if she thought they intended harm.

Concern flooded her bones though. That was still her baby, and it felt weird and wrong to be apart from him.

Not only that, but her other baby was struggling, too. They seemed not to see it. Kind, yes, but also not very clever, to miss something that, to her, seemed so obvious.

She did her best to encourage the remaining baby to drink. Plenty of milk, that's what he needed. But the hours ticked by and he grew weaker, and colder. She tried to warm him, of course, never stopped in that effort in fact, but he was slipping away. Moving less, and less. Barely crying anymore.

She knew he was weakening beyond her ability to help, and she felt a special kind of desperation, the sort with an edge so keen, maybe only a mother can feel it. Perhaps those people would return for him. Perhaps (Please.)

Shivering herself, January's icy teeth were deep in every muscle and every joint.

Her sweet babe was a deadweight, almost, when she picked him up. The little life was fading and flickering palpably.

How far would she need to carry him? It didn't matter. Resolute, she set off in the direction those people had gone, with her other baby.

Perhaps she would have been able to follow them if every sense had been muffled. As if there were some mystical guiding link between mother and infant. The umbilicus might as well still have throbbed and stretched, blue and taut and tingling between them.

Hours she walked, until her feet bled and her body ached. She longed to rest, to eat and drink, but the situation really was dire now. If she stopped, he would die. He might die anyway. She limped on.

It was a squat and ugly building on the side of the road.

Hold on, little one, she thought. She thought it hard, trying to inject Hope into him through his skin by telepathy and sheer force of will. She ignored her burning, bleeding feet and picked up the pace, hurrying this last stretch on shaking legs.

They saw her coming down the road towards them, and spotted the bundle she was carrying. Somebody came out to meet her, warm towels and blankets at the ready. They took her second baby from her at the moment her legs gave way. She lay on the unforgiving street, panting hard, flanks shivering with effort and cold.

Please, her eyes carried the message from every cell in her body, Please don't let him die.

Before long, someone came out and lifted her off the side of the road, too, carrying her into the building.

"You are very brave," this person said.

The mother, footsore and weary, gave a weak tail-wag. Wouldn't you do the same for yours?

It smelt bad indoors. The stink of fear and disease wraithed every surface and every corner. The people were gentle, though. They brought her water, and helped her to drink. Her paws were soothed and bandaged. There were warm blankets, and food, and kind words.

Best of all, at last, both of her babies, fat and warm, twined together for comfort in a large box.

She stepped in, careful not to tread on them and curled around the precious heap. She sighed into sleep, lulled by the reassuring sensation of suckling babies with their kneading paws.

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Thank you for reading!

Based on a probably-true story, with unashamed embellishment.