Most boys coming to our ranch (大牧场) were living around animals for the first time. Sent by educational systems, they were boys in trouble; they had no family, lacked love, often broke the rules, and were lonely. Our ranch created a “boy-horse communication program” for them, hoping to heal their broken spirits and help them behave well through their communication with horses. I was the program’s head.

15-year-old Martin was a new arrival. He appeared cold and easily angry and had no experience with horses. He seemed to consider a horse only a vehicle for speed and thrills. He always pushed his way to the front of the line every day, knocking down smaller children to get on the horse. And then he started moving fast. We tried to communicate with him, but he only cared about his excitement.

One morning, when I was upset about Martin’s behavior in my office, one worker told me that a female horse was ill. Then, I ran to its stable (马厩), and within an hour she was dead. We felt sad about her and also concerned about the young baby she had recently delivered (分娩). The baby horse’s first need was to be fed.

We prepared some milk in a bottle and offered it to her. But she wouldn’t accept the bottle. We had to put our hands in the milk and let her suck (吮吸) the milk off our fingers. It was a painfully slow method of feeding, but we had no choice if we wanted the baby horse to survive.

At that moment, Martin finished his daily riding and found us. Pushing his way through the crowd of kids who were watching us feed the baby horse, he got to the front, shouting, “I want to feed it!”

After I showed Martin how to do it, he put his hand in the milk and then put his fingers towards the horse’s mouth. When the baby horse closed her mouth around his fingers, Martin was surprised and drew back, shouting, “Hey, it bit me!” But knowing the little horse wanted more food, he immediately re-wet his hand.

And he gently put his fingers near her mouth.

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, and we had ordered many gifts online. So, when the doorbell rang, I was sure some of the packages had arrived. I ran to the door and swung it open, but no one was there. I sensed something and looked down, only to find a beautiful calico kitten (杂色猫) sitting there, looking up at me with big, intelligent eyes. There was no way that she could have rung the doorbell by herself, was there?

We figured that someone had found the kitten somewhere and left her there, and then rang the doorbell and ran away. They accurately guessed we would welcome an additional family member and take care of her.

My husband called her our little angel, so we named her accordingly. She had a calm aura (气质) about her as she walked straight into our home and hearts, fitting in perfectly. It seemed as if she was always meant to be in this big house with us. She was an old soul and turned out to be the perfect companion. Always by my side, she was more like a puppy than a kitten. Wise beyond her years, she enjoyed wandering through the tunnels and mysterious rooms as much as I did, but with much less fear. Angelica the calico was courageous.

So, I took a page from her book and decided to be brave, too. There was an underground stone cellar (地窖) I had been eager to explore. The only way in was down a rickety (摇晃的) ladder to its murky depths. I guessed it was an old root cellar, probably twelve feet deep.

I had promised my husband that I wouldn’t explore dangerous areas unless he or someone else was around. Though I knew I was stretching it, I figured that Angelica would count as my companion. I was ready to explore this cellar, and so was she.

I equipped myself with a good flashlight and warm clothes, and carefully started down the rickety ladder while Angelica was looking down at me from above. Faint crack and sudden crash were what I could remember.

When my daughter Lily reached the fourth grade, I occasionally allowed her to walk to and from school alone. One warm spring day, a small friend followed her home after school. This friend had short stumpy legs and long floppy ears. She was the cutest puppy I had ever seen. And Lily begged me to keep her.

I didn’t know what to do. I thought about running an ad in the lost-and-found (失物招领处) but I really didn’t want to. It would break Lily’s heart if someone showed up. Besides, her owners should have watched her more closely, I told myself.

By the end of the week she was part of our family. She was very intelligent and good with Lily. This was a good idea, I thought. We had named the puppy Molly. She followed us everywhere we went. When we went outside, she was one step behind us. When we were back from school or work, she greeted us by wagging her tail and barking cheerfully. When we did chores, she was there to lend a hand, or rather, a paw. It seemed as if she had belonged to us long before.

The following week something told me to check the lost-and-found section in the local paper. One particular ad jumped out at me and my heart pounded with fear at what I read. Someone was begging for the return of a lost puppy near the school. They sounded desperate. My hand shook. I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone. But my conscience (良心) was bothering me. I knew in my heart I had to call that number and see if our Molly was the puppy they were desperately seeking. But it was the most difficult thing I’d ever done.

Finally, with sweaty palms, I lifted the phone and dialed. A woman answered. As I described the dog to her in detail, her voice shook with excitement and she wanted to come right over. Within minutes I heard a vehicle pull up at the driveway and some footsteps stop at the door. Head cradled in my hands and heart hammering, a thousand thoughts crossed my mind: I could pretend I wasn’t home or tell her, “I’m sorry, you have the wrong address.” But it was too late: the bell rang and Molly was barking.

Opening the door, I saw a woman with a little girl sitting in a small wheelchair. ________