Lollipop: A Beating Heart

Lollipop’s pale eyelids, nearly drained of colour, told a silent, urgent tale—anaemia. A fecal egg count confirmed the culprit: internal parasites. A multitude of hidden, wriggling enemies feeding off her innocence from within. Perhaps, on some quiet, instinctive level, Lollipop knew her needs weren’t being met. That the care, nourishment and kindness she craved were never coming. Not then. Not ever.

And so she ran. Again. And again. Until finally her humans decided enough was enough.

That’s how she found sanctuary.

But what we found, though, was heartbreak wrapped in fur.

Her chestnut coat—dulled and patchy—held none of the vibrance her youth promised. Her elegant face was distorted by the heavy, pendulous swell of her jaw. Distended like a waterlogged sponge—bottle jaw, they call it. A sign of low protein and of neglect. A quiet signal that she was slipping away.

And yet, she was beautiful—in that haunting way only a desperate creature can be. And still, her heart raced.

“Don’t be afraid of your beating heart, sweet girl,” we whispered into her trembling ear. “Kindness lives here. And now, so do you.”

Just one month on, her transformation feels nothing short of miraculous.

Her coat glows—its golden hues catching the evening sun. Her are limbs steadier. Her gaze brighter. Where once she fled—now she steps forward.

Curiously. Softly. Bravely.

Joy has moved in where fear once lived.

And in following her once-racing heart, Lollipop reminds us to follow our own. She’s not teaching us something new—she’s guiding us back. Back to a truth we once lived so instinctively it didn’t need to be taught.

Back to our youth.

Before the rush. Before the noise. Before our hearts grew armour.

Because a beating heart is not weakness—it’s a compass.

And it always knows the way to kindness.