Here is where it all began

As I lie here lazing around, arms and legs stretched out on a bright, sunny winter day, I can’t help but let my thoughts wander back to how I got here.

Thinking about the past or the future usually isn't my thing. My kind prefers staying in the present and making the best of "now." Perhaps that’s why we are a happier species—and why we are admired so much.

This morning, I woke up when my mother decided she’d finally had enough of me and my siblings. As she stood up, gave herself a good shake, and ran out the door, my brother and I decided to give chase. We tried our best, but we grew tired and gave up quickly. We knew it wasn't safe to be on our own, so we crawled back to our home: an organized stack of firewood with a roof and a few discarded sacks. That has been our home for as long as I can remember.

When I was younger, it was bitterly cold. The chilly wind sent shivers down our bones, and we spent most of our days curled tightly against our mother. It was brutal, but as time went on, it grew better. The wind didn't feel quite so sharp anymore.

Gradually, we started seeing other animals. It was terrifyi
ng when they tried to come near us; we would immediately bolt and hide behind the wooden logs. Feeling the sun on our furry coats was a dangerous expedition, filled with risk. I just wanted to be alone with my family, curled into a pile of fur.

But then, a few days ago, a new animal approached. It had two legs instead of four and managed to balance itself perfectly. I was curious—I am always curious. I decided to observe it carefully rather than running away. Unlike the four-legged animals, this one just stood still. It didn't chase me; it just looked me in the eye and waited.

I wondered why it didn't give chase. What was its intention? Should I run home, or should I bark and drive it away? Too many thoughts crowded my little head. Just then, it stretched out one of the limbs it wasn't using for standing. I flinched, wondering if it meant to hit me, and ran back toward the woodpile.

But when I turned around, I saw it was still sitting there. It wasn't chasing; its limb was still outstretched. Curiosity overtook my fear. I stopped and looked up, meeting its eyes.

I have superpowers inherited from my mother. I can look into an animal's eyes and guess its intentions; my nose can detect almost anything; and my tongue... well, my tongue is excellent for cleaning. What I saw in those eyes made me trust. I stepped forward cautiously and brought my nose to that outstretched hand.

I could smell its thoughts. It smelled of flowers, the butter from breakfast, and sweat from the sunlight—but beneath it all was the distinct, sweet scent of kindness. I loved that smell. I sniffed the hand and then the whole person.

The animal was overjoyed. It let me explore and then placed a hand on the top of my forehead. It scratched me—a sensation unlike anything I had ever felt. I soaked in the head rubs, dropped my guard, and realized I had found a "Big Friend." I was finally safe.

But as I leaned into the warmth of that hand, I didn't realize that my life in the woodpile was about to end forever—and a much bigger adventure was about to begin.