It was a quiet afternoon, and the sun cast golden light over the backyard. In the middle of the dry grass and scattered sticks, little Baby Ricky sat alone — his soft fur blending into the brown of the dried branch trees around him.
He had followed his mom earlier when she went to the edge of the yard. But somehow, he got distracted, playing with a crunchy twig that cracked and snapped in his tiny hands. By the time he looked up…
Mom was gone.
His round eyes searched everywhere. The wind rustled the dry branches above him, and a leaf fell gently onto his head. Ricky looked up, startled.
Then came the tears.
“Waaahhh!” he cried, his voice trembling through the silence of the backyard.
No one answered.
His little body shook with sobs. He sat on the pile of dry twigs, wrapping his tail around himself as if to feel safer. But the branches were cold and scratchy. There was no warmth, no cuddle, no milk. Just emptiness.
He reached out toward the tree line, hoping Mom would appear.
Nothing.
So, he cried louder — so loud, it reached the window where Mom had gone inside just for a moment.
Hearing her baby’s sorrow, she rushed back outside.
“Ricky!” she called, running toward the tiny figure in the branches.
Ricky saw her and immediately stood, his legs wobbly and his face soaked in tears.
She scooped him up, brushing leaves off his fur. He buried his face in her neck, still hiccuping from crying.
“Mommy’s here. I’m so sorry, baby.”
