The girl set her puppy on the concrete. Steadying it with her hand, she made it stand on all fours; it swayed, whimpered, and fell to the ground. She scooped up her friend in defeat. I knelt to the ground, once more holding up my water bottle. The girl declined. I pointed to her puppy; understanding immediately, she held it out to me. With shaking fingers, I poured a puddle of water into my palm. The puppy lapped it fiercely. I steadied its jaw with my hand while the girl peered over her pet and into the liquid. The dying animal sputtered and squeaked. She wiped its mouth carefully. Slinging it over her shoulder, she met my gaze. If she had verbally thanked me, I wouldn’t have understood. But those few seconds of grateful silence were more than enough.
She wandered away from our station, and soon became a part of the chaos that was out of our reach.
I’m going to see her again someday. Maybe not soon; maybe not in this life. But when I do, I hope to see her standing tall, with hope and courage. Though the puppy she held so dearly won’t walk her through her every step in the tragic country of India, I pray she’ll find the One who will.
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