I never planned to stop at that dusty auction. Grief had me on autopilot — until I saw three tiny goats labeled “unsold leftovers,” destined for feed. In that moment, I remembered my mom’s words: “Don’t leave the soft things behind.”
I brought them home. Built a pen from scraps. Held them close. Fed them. And somewhere in the quiet of their tiny hearts against mine, the wall of sorrow began to crack.
They didn’t just survive. They saved me too. 🐐💛
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