Rosie's tiny body lay helpless, yet her brilliant blue eyes held a spark of life that refused to be extinguished. She was limp, only able to move her head. Her mother had rejected her, and the farmer didn't think she would survive the night. I couldn't turn my back on her.
I brought her home, and in the middle of the night, I was abruptly awakened from a sound sleep by her desperate bleats. Terrified that this might be the end, I cried my way down the hall to the kitchen with my dog at my side, hoping I could still save her.
Rosie's cries were not surrender, but the opening battle in her fight for survival.