I always label myself an absolute animal lover. If you ask me about my first plan after graduation, I would say “To become a volunteer in an animal reservation camp in South Africa”. If you then ask me what my ideal job would be in the future, I would answer “To be an animal activist”. My passion for animals wasn’t always as intense as it is now. When I was a little girl, I considered pets as almost the same as toys to play with. I can still remember my sister and I grabbed little chickens in our hands, let them fall onto the bed just to see whether they could fly. I never thought of their feelings. But then, I met Little Ball.
Little Ball was small in size with white fluffy fur and short legs. At that time, he was one of the watchdogs at my uncle’s fishing resort near the suburb. You could see in him all praised virtues of a watchdog, faithfulness, enthusiasm and bravery. Yet his most distinctive feature was the long, cropped fur on the forehead that almost completely covered his eyes. This appearance made him unique but also caused him into the biggest trouble that he was viewed as sloppy and ugly by people who saw him, including his owners, and hence received little attention.
I had no way of knowing he was to be my faithful companion when I first came to the resort after finishing primary school. I visited my uncle’s family that summer and went to the resort every day. After a few days of excitement, my daily life soon fell into the routine of getting up at six, arriving at the resort, wandering around, helping with the kitchen when needed and going home. With no friends and everyone busy with their work, I had no choice but to find Little Ball for entertainment. He was more than happy to have someone for accompany. Days were no longer lonely with a fluffy friend trailing around me, running vigorously and lying quietly underneath during meals.
What I expected most every morning was the warm greeting by Little Ball as soon as I got out of my uncle’s car. He would bound joyously up to me, place his paws high up on my lap and wag his tail from side to side. And that marked the beginning of a new day.
One evening a group of guests stayed until ten in the evening and it was too late for us to go home since it would be a two hours’ drive. My uncle, aunt, sister and I had to squeeze into a small room with bunk beds for accommodation. But the most terrible moment came when I had to fight my way out into the darkness, walk through the tiny path through tufts of grass, till a pit enclosed by wooden blocks, which we call the ‘toilet’ at the very end. Although it was summertime, the temperature in midnight suburb was much lower and I couldn’t help shivering. When darkness fell, everything seemed so quiet with only the rustling of leaves and the raucous cawing of birds. I was so scared that I quickened my pace.
Suddenly I heard footsteps trotting behind, nearer and nearer. A fluffy white creature gradually came into sight. It was Little Ball! Noticing that I stopped, he came sidling, sat down on his haunches and looked at me in the eye, softly yet powerfully as if he were saying “Don't be afraid. I am with you”. Having him with me on the way back, nothing seemed threatening anymore. Instead, every sound added together created such a harmony. The most terrible time turned into one of my best memories.
Despite me, Little Ball also brought joy to other people. One kind of joy was the car chasing every evening
when our white seven-seat minivan drove off. Little Ball was eager to be taken home so that chasing after us
became the last attempt. As he was running with all the strength, his cropped white fur kept swaying
randomly in the air, making a hideous and funny look.
“Hey! Look at him! How hilarious!” shouted my aunt with laughter.
Looking at those begging eyes through the back window, I found no amusement in it at all but I did not dare to accuse the adults of being so ruthless.
“Oh, please let him in. He must be very tired”. These were the only words that came out of my mouth.
The door was eventually opened for Little Ball. He jumped in with a happy panting face and couldn’t help gasping for breath. It seemed to my heart that the little dog sighed as it sat there, as if relieved that at last he achieved victory. This everyday routine became such a part of life that no one could ever think of the tragedy it might lead to.
I left the fishing resort when holiday ended and on my next visit to the resort one year later, I waited anxiously in the car for my longed-for moment. It didn’t come.
“Little Ball was lost some time ago” explained my sister in a calm voice. “He was last spotted chasing after a guest’s minivan that looked exactly the same as ours”.
“But why didn’t you try to find the guest and take the dog back?” I couldn’t understand.
“Well, we thought they might possibly send him back. Who knows…”
That was all I knew about Little Ball’s disappearance. My feelings were intertwined with astonishment, grief and a sense of guilt. For the following days when I got off the car every morning as usual, I would stand there unthinkingly, waiting for him. And then I realized that he wouldn’t come. His vacancy was soon replaced by a newcomer. But in my heart, the place always remained empty. I started to devote myself to animal rescue, from adopting stray cats, saving injured birds to promoting pet adoption. Although it took me a lot of extra time and effort, I felt worthy, not only for my own belief, but also, in memory of my faithful companion.