Tiki was only eight months old.
He had soft yellow-and-black fur, bright eyes, and a tiny heart that still believed every human hand was meant to comfort him. That morning, Tiki wagged his tail as he was carried down a quiet dirt road. He did not understand why the arms holding him felt so cold. He did not understand why no one spoke his name gently anymore.
Then, without warning, he was thrown.
His small body fell into a muddy ditch beside the road. Cold water splashed over his face. Tiki struggled to stand, but the bank was too steep, the mud too slippery. Each time he tried to climb up, his little paws slid back down. He whimpered softly, looking toward the road, waiting for someone to turn around.
But no one came back.
Hours passed. The sun began to fade. Tiki’s yellow-and-black fur became soaked with dirty water. He trembled from the cold, his eyes full of fear and confusion. He did not bark loudly. He was too tired. He only made tiny, broken cries whenever a motorbike passed, hoping someone would hear him.
By evening, an old woman walking home heard a faint sound from the ditch.
At first, she thought it was the wind. Then she stopped. The sound came again—weak, desperate, almost disappearing beneath the noise of the road. She looked down and saw Tiki curled in the mud, his eyes barely open, his body shaking.
“Oh, poor baby…” she whispered.
Tiki lifted his head just a little. Even after being abandoned so cruelly, he still wagged his tail once, as if he was sorry for needing help.
The woman climbed down carefully, ruining her sandals in the mud. She wrapped Tiki in her thin scarf and held him close to her chest. His body was cold, but his heart was still beating. Weakly, slowly, but still fighting.
On the way to the clinic, Tiki did not cry anymore. He only rested his head against the woman’s arm, as if he had finally found the one place in the world where he was safe.
When the vet placed him on the examination table, Tiki opened his tired eyes. He looked at the people around him, not with anger, but with a quiet question:
Why did they throw me away, when all I wanted was to be loved?
That night, Tiki fought for every breath. And beside him, the old woman stayed, gently touching his wet fur and whispering his name again and again—so he would know he was no longer forgotten.
