She stood ready to pounce, eyes locked on the three ruffians waiting to leap about ten feet to my right. In the middle, I stood with a mad resolve, my instincts on high – I was a mother too. The three little beauties lay heaped on each other, huddled, eyes closed tight, oblivious to the ambush above. My little child of five stood silent, finger on his lips, eyes peeled, behind the safety of the gate, watching me and the little pups. “Don’t worry Awwa, mamma will save them”, he whispered with such conviction to my petrified mother watching us all, I was torn. As my mother’s eyes panned left to right, one arm protectively harnessed her love and life, her little grandson. The other hand gripped a heavy cane, ready to be hurled at my first attacker (markswoman in her heydays, she has an unfaltering aim even today). We were all mothers that day, each protecting our child. No one breathed. Not even the wind. The only sounds were of occasional growls from the leader of
