Every morning, I walked into the garden expecting a peaceful start to the day. Instead, I found chewed leaves, nibbled carrots, and vines torn through as if something small and determined had snuck in overnight. Determined to protect my hard work, I installed motion-activated lights and a trail camera, certain I’d catch a raccoon, a fox, or maybe even a deer. What I didn’t expect was for the real culprit to change the way I saw everything.
It started on the morning Runa didn’t come for breakfast.
Runa, my quiet and independent dog, has always been more comfortable under the porch than on the couch. Part shepherd, maybe part husky, she’s a free spirit through and through. After losing her last litter, something in her changed. She became more withdrawn, sleeping long hours, and sometimes staying the night in the barn. I assumed this was just another one of those mornings—but something felt different.
I followed a hunch and headed to the barn with a treat in hand. The morning light filtered through the old wooden slats, casting a golden haze over the hay and dust. Then I heard a soft whimper.
Behind a pile of crates, I found her—curled protectively around two tiny creatures. At first, I thought they were puppies. But then I saw their ears, their pink noses, and realized they were baby rabbits. Eyes still closed, completely dependent—and Runa was caring for them as if they were her own.
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