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In the old days, in the village of Elms, a wandering family of unknown origin settled down. They built a house on the edge of the fields, near the ghost forest. This family consisted of only an elderly couple. Wherever they went, they went together. The wife was always silent and solemn, never uttering a word. The husband was tall and gaunt, with a face like iron and a nose resembling a bird's beak. His eyes were cloudy and sunken, exuding a cold phosphorescent glow. The husband was a master hunter. His flintlock rifle seemed to have eyes. Whenever he raised it, birds and wild animals rarely escaped death. Behind their house, there were heaps of bird feathers and animal bones piled up like mounds. The bird feathers were disheveled and black as ink, while the animal bones were limestone-white, dotted with yellowish, foul-smelling marrow stains. These piles resembled graves. The hunter seemed like the embodiment of Death in the forest. Birds and animals feared him. The other hunters in Elms were both envious and resentful of him. He spared no creature within the range of his rifle. It was said that someone once saw him shoot a peacock in mid-dance. A peacock in mid-dance, with its head curved like a blade of grass, its tail fanned out in a semicircle displaying vibrant colors, sunlight reflecting off it like golden flames, its legs gracefully swirling. Only love could swirl so elegantly. And then – “Boom” – his rifle fired, releasing a red flame. The peacock fell, its iridescent wings stained with blood. The old wife came, dry and dark, silently picking up the peacock and placing it in her basket. However, the old man spent his life hunting only common birds and animals. He never captured any large animals weighing several hundred pounds. His rifle could only shoot small, foolish creatures. This was his torment. The entire village of Elms shunned the couple, not speaking or socializing with them. Seeing them, people would turn away. Thus, the old hunter lived a lonely life with his silent wife. By the end of that year, the forest of Elms was in upheaval, trees withered, birds disappeared, and no trace of animals was found. The villagers suffered greatly, claiming that Then (the deity) had begun to punish them. The wandering hunter also found it difficult to make a living. The couple wandered the forest. For the first time in his life, the old man faced this situation. For three lunar weeks, his rifle remained silent. He would wake before the third rooster crow and return late at night. His emaciated wife no longer had the strength to follow him and stayed home, tending a fire that burned with a ghostly blue flame, not red but green like wolf eyes. One time, the old man was away for a whole week. He was exhausted, his knees buckled, and his muscles felt like they could be pinched off like leeches soaked in blood. He had trudged everywhere without finding anything. Not even a sparrow or a butterfly. He was anxious and frightened. Was Then punishing the world as rumored? Finally, exhausted, the old man staggered home. At the stream near the village, he paused and looked at his house. There was a light, a ghostly blue light. Surely his wife was still waiting. He closed his deep, cloudy eyes. After a moment's thought, he turned back to the forest. His nose had caught the scent of animals... He was in luck. He saw it. The peacock was dancing. Its feet moved gracefully to the right, its tail spread out in a circle, shifting to the left, the intense blue on its head feathers glistening. The old man raised his rifle: “Boom!” The shot echoed. He heard a piercing scream. He ran to the fallen creature. It was his wife. She had gone to the forest to wait for him, holding a peacock feather. The hunter lay face down in the pool of blood on the decaying leaves, thick and musty like the smell of rats. His mouth gurgled like a wild boar's. He lay there for a long time. Black clouds hung low, the forest darkened, hot and stifling like a fevered body. Near dawn, the old man suddenly sprang up like a squirrel. He had the idea to use his wife's corpse as bait to hunt the biggest animal of his life. He lay in the bushes near her decaying body, rifle loaded, anxiously waiting. But Then punished him. No animals came, only death approached. Days later, they pulled his crooked body from the bushes. A bullet wound pierced his forehead. He had finally hunted the biggest animal of his life.

A sudden crash jolted me awake. Yells of surprise followed, the sound seemed to have come from the kitchen, perhaps someone broke a plate. I could smell something tempting—fish frying. My belly rumbled in response, I couldn't ignore the lure of that delicious aroma. I slipped out of my makeshift house—the old, dusty store near the family's home. My stealthy steps were silent as I navigated past the garden, careful not to alert the dogs. The clattering of plates being set for dinner can be heard from outside. I settled in front of the kitchen door, a sliver of light slipping through the gap beneath it. The sun had set, and darkness covered everything, except for the comforting glow from the kitchen. As the family enjoyed their meal, I waited, hoping for a crumb or two. Though I wasn't adopted by them, I reside in this family's abandoned store. I'm just a stray—one of the many cats wandering the neighborhood in search of food. My days were spent hunting rats and scavenging garbage bins. When hunting failed, I'd sneak into houses and swipe whatever scraps I could find. Humans almost never greeted me warmly. They can be cruel. All I wanted was to fill my belly but they'd chased me away with brooms and slippers. I learned that leftovers from the kitchen sink would get me in less trouble than the more tempting food on the dining table. Yet, occasionally, the allure of the table's offerings was too strong, and I would risk a snatch. Once, a human caught me stealing a chicken leg. It was smaller than most adults but bigger than the little ones who screamed and chased me. Expecting a slipper to fly my way, I darted out of the house. But when I returned later that evening, I was met with an unexpected kindness. Instead of scolding, it offered me food from a bowl. It was the same food they gave to the dogs. It had a meaty aroma with faint traces of chicken. The dogs in this household lived in luxury, with humans going through the trouble of drying mashed chicken and shaping it into small circles for them. The family had finished eating, and I heard them preparing food for the dogs. The clinking of metal bowls and the sound of kibble being poured made me drool a bit. The kitchen door creaked open, a normal-sized human appeared—it was the mother. It wore its outdoor slippers and its gaze fell on me. Our eyes met briefly before it said sharply, “Why are you here, filthy parasite? Go away!” Its words stung. It's true my actions are considered parasitic as I, a stranger, welcomed myself in this household and live off a family who isn't mine. Yet, being likened to the ticks biting my fur made me pity and disgust myself. I scurried away, hiding behind the old outdoor restroom close enough to the kitchen for its light to reach. After the mother fed the dogs, it glared at me and warned me not to eat the dogs' food. I'm not foolish to try—those dogs were eight times my size. They'd rip me apart if I attempted to steal their food. Rain began to fall, the gentle drizzle prompted the mother to return inside. As the doors closed, I was left in the darkness. I slipped inside the restroom for shelter. The rain quickly picked up, and in the silence, I could only hear the dogs' loud munching and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on the stones. If the rain continued, it would be a cold night. I needed to get back to the shack or risk staying in the restroom till it stops. As I was about to leave, the kitchen door swung open again. A bright light spilled out, and I saw a silhouette, smaller than that of the mother—it was the little human. It had a bowl in its hand. “Oh good, you're still here!” it said with a hint of concern. It crouched down and dumped a small pile of fish bones near me. “Luckily, Mother didn't give these to the dogs,” it said, “I left a bit of meat on mine for you.” Some of the bones had bits of meat, not much, but enough. "Better eat that before the rain pours down," it said, then closed the door. The fish bones lacked the aroma of the cooked fish I had smelled earlier, not even close to the faint scent of the dogs' food. They barely had any meat and weren't very appetizing. But food is food; one must eat whatever they can to avoid starving. With the rain pouring down harder, I quickly gathered the fish bones and dashed back to the shack, each step hurried by the increasing intensity of the storm. Once I had transferred all the fish bones to the shack, I called to wake my young ones. They responded with their tiny voices. I checked on them, licking their fur as they nibbled on their meal. Afterward, I cleaned myself, my fur wet from the rain. The storm grew louder, a heavy downpour that seemed endless. After my little ones had finished their meal, I curled up with them, seeking warmth amidst the pile of old fabrics. The rain continued to rage outside, but we were safe for now. We survived another night, with bellies barely full, huddled together in our small refuge.

Plan: Introduction: The Origin of Life Main section: Plant kingdom Animal world Microorganisms Summary: I am a part of nature There are different opinions about the origin of life. In the divine books, it is stated that living creatures were created by the Supreme Creator in a certain time and place based on a certain plan. It is written in the Qur'an that the world was created in 6 days. Irish archbishop Asher calculated that the world was created in October 4004 BC. According to creationism, life arose once as a result of a supernatural event and has remained unchanged ever since. Qad. According to the theories that appeared in China, Rome, and Babylon, life "came into existence spontaneously (spontaneously) from the things that exist in nature. The Greek philosopher Empedocles (490-430 BC) believed that life is from air, earth, fire and water; Democritus ( 460-370 BC) argued that life came from clay; Thales (625-547 BC) suggested that plants and animals arose from clay. The origin of the plant corresponds to the first development periods of life on earth. During the Archaean era (3 billion years ago), organisms similar to blue-green algae (cyanobacteria) appeared. True algae are thought to have appeared in the Proterozoic era, and green and red algae in the early Paleozoic. It is possible that the first higher plants - rhyniophytes - originated at the border between the Proterozoic and Paleozoic periods. The plant is of great importance in the life of all living organisms on earth. Life of animals and people cannot be imagined without plants. A plant with only green chlorophyll collects sunlight energy by synthesizing organic compounds from inorganic substances. At the same time, a plant takes S02 gas from the atmosphere and releases oxygen into the atmosphere, which is necessary for the respiration of almost all living organisms. In this way, the green plant maintains the constant composition of the atmosphere. Plants are the basis of the food chain as producers of organic matter. Оne of the major divisions in the organic world system. It is estimated that animals appeared in the ocean water 1-1.5 billion years ago in the form of microscopic, chlorophyll-free amoeba-like protozoa. The oldest fossils of animals are no more than 0.8 billion years old. The first fossils of multicellular animals - gastropods, worms, benthic arthropods can be found from the last Cambrian layers (690-570 million years ago). Animals are heterotrophic organisms, that is, they feed on ready-made organic matter. Due to active metabolism in animals, their growth is limited. In the process of evolution, the formation of the functional system of various organs: muscles, subtraction, respiration, blood circulation, reproductive and nervous systems is considered one of the most important characteristics characteristic of animals. Animal cells differ from plants in having a hard cellulose shell. However, the difference between animals and plants is relative. A microscopic organism that can appear as a single cell or a colony of cells. Microorganisms include bacteria, actinomycetes, yeasts, viruses, molds, microscopic algae, and others. Bacteria are a large group of single-celled microorganisms. Viruses (Latin: virus - poison) are microorganisms that multiply only in living cells and cause infectious diseases in plants, animals and humans. In the past, the term "viruses" was used to refer to various disease-causing agents, especially unknown agents. After the French scientist L. Pasteur proved the role of bacteria in the origin of several diseases, the concept of viruses began to be used as a synonym of the word "microbe". An important difference between these two groups of disease-causing agents, i.e., bacteria and viruses, was established by the Russian scientist D.I. Ivanovsky (1892) and later others when they proved that tobacco mosaic and ungulate proteins pass through a bacterial filter. Nature is an existence that exists both before the appearance of man and with the participation of man. In general, this is the world, man, universe; micromacromegaworlds; inanimate and animate. In the narrow sense, it is an object studied by natural sciences. Nature is subject to laws independent of people and society. Man is a part of nature. Man cannot change the laws of nature, he can only master the elements and parts of nature using the laws. The concept of nature is also considered as a set of natural conditions for the existence of human society. Humans work to live, and work (eg, farming, construction, industry), brain activity, and others change some aspects of nature. Material wealth created by a person, that is, in the process of social labor, is conditionally called "second nature". For example, 92 chemical elements from hydrogen to uranium are naturally occurring, and those discovered later are artificial. All man-made synthetic chemical compounds, man-made atomic and nuclear energies are "second nature".

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Being voiceless in the grand narrative of our world's events is a profound challenge, as the relentless march of human dominance continues to overshadow the plight of those without the power to speak up. Throughout the annals of history, humanity's footprint on the Earth has been marked more by acts of destruction than preservation. It commenced with the cataclysmic horrors of nuclear warfare and the devastating impact of atomic bombs, tragedies that elicited vocal outcry from our species, but left the voices of countless other creatures unheard. While we, as human beings, have always found our voices to advocate for our kind, the same cannot be said for the myriad of wildlife species that inhabit our planet. The cries of the monkeys, the roars of the lions, the stealthy prowls of the tigers—these voices have been drowned out by our own, relegated to the sidelines of discourse and action. We may consider ourselves the custodians of the ecosystem, but what of the other tenants who share this planet with us? From the microscopic organisms dwelling in our oceans to the majestic creatures roaming the savannas, we have systematically dismantled and disregarded their habitats, pushing them closer to the brink of extinction with each passing day. As the global dialogue surrounding climate change gains momentum, much of the focus remains fixated on reducing carbon emissions and mitigating environmental degradation. Yet, conspicuously absent from this discourse is a concerted effort to safeguard and enhance the natural habitats of wildlife. How can we claim to be making progress towards achieving the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) when we overlook the fundamental importance of preserving biodiversity and restoring balance to fragile ecosystems? Surveying the current state of our planet's ecosystem, it becomes alarmingly clear that many terrestrial species are teetering on the precipice of oblivion. Without a voice to advocate on their behalf, they rely solely upon our collective stewardship to shield them from the perils posed by human activity. It falls upon us, as guardians of this planet, to rise to the challenge and enact meaningful change to ensure their survival for generations to come. In addressing the systemic threats facing wildlife populations, we must first confront the root causes of their decline. Habitat destruction, driven by urbanization, deforestation, and industrial expansion, stands as one of the foremost threats to biodiversity. By prioritizing the conservation and restoration of natural habitats, we can provide sanctuary for imperiled species and mitigate the irreversible loss of biodiversity. Furthermore, we must reckon with the pervasive impacts of pollution and environmental degradation on wildlife populations. From plastic pollution suffocating marine life to toxic chemicals contaminating terrestrial habitats, human-induced pollution poses a grave threat to the health and well-being of countless species. Through concerted efforts to reduce our ecological footprint and implement sustainable practices, we can safeguard the integrity of ecosystems and mitigate the detrimental effects of pollution on wildlife. Equally imperative is the need to address the interconnectedness of ecosystems and the cascading effects of species loss. The extinction of one species can trigger a domino effect, disrupting delicate ecological balance and imperiling entire ecosystems. By recognizing and preserving the intricate web of life that sustains our planet, we can foster resilience in the face of environmental challenges and safeguard biodiversity for future generations. Moreover, we must acknowledge the inherent value of wildlife beyond their instrumental utility to human society. Each species, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, plays a unique and irreplaceable role in the tapestry of life. From pollinating crops to regulating ecosystems, wildlife provides invaluable ecological services that are essential to the health and functioning of our planet. By embracing a holistic ethic of conservation that respects the intrinsic worth of all living beings, we can forge a more sustainable and harmonious relationship with the natural world. In conclusion, the imperative to protect and preserve wildlife extends far beyond mere moral obligation—it is an essential prerequisite for the survival of our planet and future generations. As stewards of this Earth, we possess both the power and the responsibility to safeguard biodiversity and ensure the continued existence of all living creatures. By amplifying the voices of the voiceless and championing the cause of wildlife conservation, we can forge a path toward a more equitable and sustainable future for all.

Living a somewhat predictable family life, while leading a nomadic life of unpredictability at the same time, forces one to live life in the moment. Moments often escape the mind as you move from one to the next, leaving others behind with the expectation of our brain to store them as memories, and the anticipation of our brain's ability to recall these moments when referenced. The ultimate trust we must all radically accept. Being recently disabled, it has been a struggle adjusting to life slowing down. Taking care of myself was always a last priority. Being diagnosed with PTSD, major depression, and an anxiety disorder became too much for me to be able to endure after the addition of a pandemic, mysterious illnesses, toxic relationships, and irresponsible decision making landed me in a week-long mental health hospitalization. Depression won't allow one to receive love and embrace it. It doesn't care how fortunate of a life the person has that it infects, nor does it care about the impact of one's life on others. My family is full of love, I have been able to rely on a handful of amazing friends throughout my life, I had an important job helping others, yet I still couldn't escape my depression. I remember the uber ride home to my one bedroom apartment in my clothes I arrived in a week prior, someone broken and incomplete, someone I am not anymore. I recall walking into my apartment, stale despair lingering in week-long stagnant air, dancing with the smoky notes of whiskey left dripping on the bathroom floor. All my things in disarray. 'What a shithole' I remember thinking to myself, looking through the eyes of this person I used to be, numb enough to gather everything in sweeping motions into trash bags. I was scared. I was disappointed in myself for how I left my home for anyone to have to see if I had been gone. I was sad, I was lonely. This was the hardest day of that whole experience. I'm a human being, I wanted a companionship. I needed that presence of another life in mine. With such trauma tied to so many relationships in my past, how in hell was I going to move forward in my life having companionship? I had been burned so many times with exes in such a variety of ways I'd sooner offer lucifer fellatio at their place than entertain a date of any kind. I was in outpatient therapy, quarantined at home, alone. Naturally, I was a codependent person historically. Shaken by anxiety every day, having crying spells, speaking to my therapist and mother led me to decide I was going to get a dog. For the first time in years, I felt the warmth of overwhelming love lift the weight off my heart for this new companion that I didn't even know! I was able to feel real excitement for something I wanted more than anything in that moment in time. My parents, siblings, friends all supported me; aiding in the search of my dog. I found the most handsomest little schmoop I've ever loved with my whole heart, Arthur. The second I picked him up, he melted into me for safety, and I never felt more safe and joyful. I have had dogs I have loved in the past, but with animals it's as if there are no rules, you can love them all the most and that's okay. I had met and held others, but he was the one that I needed to take home with me. From that day forward it was he and I against the world. He gave me a reason to wake up every day, because he would slobber all over me and tell me all about how excited he was for a day with me until I got up to take him outside. I was unable to sink into my deep, dark days of depression because this fluffy, happy little floof depends on me. He loves me and he wants to spend time with me. If he's awake, he expects me to be awake too. Not my favorite dynamic at first when it came to kennel training. Which is why I failed and let him sleep with me on the third night where we both slept the most peaceful sleep either of us had ever had. Arthur has shown me what it is like to be loved unconditionally. There is nothing he would rather do besides be with me. I had the opportunity to give him a great deal of exposure to others by getting my ESA letter from my psychiatrist. He was in the car with me everywhere I went from that day forward. He came to the office with me every day and sat faithfully by my side, comforting me. He lays with me when I am sick, sad, or anxious. He plays with me, even if I am not in the mood, he gets me up and moving my body around playing fetch and chasing each other around the house until my asthmatic ass turns into a kazoo. I'd like to say he doesn't judge me, but he does get awfully mouthy sometimes when I am hesitant to comply with his demands to push myself. He is everything that I need to be a better person. He is my best friend, my angel who saved me. He's my Boo Boo, he's a good boy. He's my dog, Arthur Lew, and he'll always be my favorite floof.

Revenge Is Savory The fields are baren, the Earth is hot, there is nothing left here. As far as the eye can see there is ashy black soil, smoggy sky, and the burned remnants of a few houses. His lungs burn from all of the dusty and polluted air. His sister is sitting next to him on the dark ashy soil. She's only nine but she is already destined for slaughter. Human existence isn't the same as it used to be. His mother steps towards him. “Come on o'er here Henry, I've got something to tell ya,” she says with hesitancy in her voice. Henry runs over to his mother who is in the small shack that they live in. It has been destroyed and rebuilt several times due to all of the hurricanes they have had these past few years and now looks like a patchwork quilt of different building materials. The woven thatch roof above his mother's head is beginning to cave in again along with the clay walls supporting it. “Henry, I've got some bad news,” his mother says quietly. “They've chosen a date for you honey… it's today.” His mother's eyes well with tears; she never thought that it would come this soon. “When are they coming to get me?” Henry asks with a quiver in his voice. “In a few minutes,” she says, crying hysterically as she looks down at her son's face. His hair, the colour of a dark oak, partially covers his fear filled emerald eyes. Henry bolts outside away from the comforting eye of his old and frail mother. This is it for him. He rushes to the shallow dirt pit that he and his sister had been sitting in. “Goodbye forever Delilah,” he croaks, barely able to speak. “I thought you had more time,” Delilah says, her rounded face turning as red as a firetruck as she embraces him for the last time.“I thought so too. But I guess the time comes for everyone to go to slaughter,” Henry replies, barely able to keep his eyes open with the waterfall of the tears rushing down. “I just wish we hadn't done all this y'know. Treating the animals bad and wrecking the planet and all." “Well, I guess it's their time now. It's only fair y'know. I'll miss ya greatly,” Delilah replies as she dries her puffy eyes with the paw of her teddy bear. Henry quickly says his goodbyes to his family and his one friend, Jack. “The truck is here,” his mom yells over to him as he finishes saying goodbye to Jack. The hairy man in the driver's seat of the truck shouts in Henry's direction, “Get on in kid, I don't wanna have to chase ya ‘round but if I gotsta I will. I got those killer instincts and all.” The man in the driver's seat is an animatoid wolf, the modern-day version of wolves. After the planet was destroyed during The Great Nuclear War the surviving animals had to adapt to be like humans to survive in the baren, plant free landscape. Unluckily for us, humans are not at the top of the food chain anymore, they are at the bottom. Henry begins to slowly walk over to the rotting wooden truck. The grainy ashy soil crunches under his bare feet. He looks back at his mother, his sister, and Jack. This is all he's ever known and all he will know. The back of the truck drops open with a loud thud to reveal hundreds of other weeping children, all covered in dirt and flies like farm animals. The kids sit in piles of their own waste from the long journey there. He hesitantly sits down on the soiled wooden floor squished next to all the other kids. This is the most people he's ever seen in one place in his entire life. The door slams shut and the only light in the truck is from the gaps in its wooden siding. The sparse light casts ominous shadows over the other children.“What are they going to do to us?!” screeches Jasmine, who is about half Henry's height. They'd clearly never heard of the human trade back where she lived. She must be from one of those old human settlements that are still around. “We're going to be fed to the animatoids,” Henry says, unable to make eye contact with her as he speaks. “But why would they want to eat us?” she replies, dumfounded by his response. Henry lets out a long sigh and sits in silence. How ignorant could she be to not know about anything that has happened in the past sixty years. The truck comes to a screeching stop, throwing all of the children to the front end of the truck. Henry is thrown aggressively into the floor as they stop and finds himself with a mouthful of the droppings. He shivers in disgust and spits out as much as he can but he is still left with the taste of a barnyard in his mouth. The sound of poorly oiled machinery is all around them and faint, distant screams. Henry's eyes widen as the back of the truck falls open to reveal rows and rows of fat children in animal stalls. They're all filthy, covered in feces and the shredded remnants of their clothes. Barely any of the pieces of their clothes are recognizable because they have all turned sickly brown from the months the kids have spent here. The kids in the stalls stare blankly ahead of them, not recognizing the arrival of the new kids.

In the middle of a verdant meadow lies a lake, Tranquil, serene; as crystal clear as a mirror. A breeze upon the pristine waters tiny ripples make, Sending praises aloft as the wavelets quietly quiver. A majestic oak proudly spreads its branches wide, Stands tall, strong, a welcome home for squirrels swift. Grateful they are for the leaves in which to hide. Prayers of love playful zephyrs joyously to heaven lift. Fluffy, small sparrows on the ground busily dart, Searching with keen gazes for strewn seeds. Each holds infallible faith in a tiny beating heart: Devoted to the Creator are all their humble deeds. Many-hued flowers sway and dance in utter delight, Their scent given freely, their colours a rainbow boon. I raise my hands in supplication, tears blind my sight. God's majesty and incomparable mercy cause me to swoon.

We have all been languishing in the COVID-19 pandemic. However, the impact of the pandemic and its consequences are felt differently depending on our status as individuals and as members of society. While some try to adapt to working online and homeschooling their children, others have no choice but to be exposed to the virus while keeping society functioning. I recognize that the pandemic has devastating effects on other minorities as well as on animals. On one of a summer day, I heard a cat's sound behind our door. Opening the door, I found a cute little kitten that was trying to find a place and something to eat. First, we gave him some food to eat, thinking that it was someone's kitten, who later would take him back. But all the day it was in the pass, and in the afternoon I took him to our apartment to feed. He felt himself comfortable in our apartment. We fell in love with this kitten so quickly that we decided to adopt him. Because my father also loves cats,he take him and stroke the kitten after coming home from work. After explaining all that had happened during the day, he allowed him to stay with us. That night we named him Leo, and the next day we took him to the vet clinic to get all the necessary vaccinations for him. After a few weeks, we found out that Leo was adopted by our neighbor, and because of their young children, they changed their minds and left him outside to find a new home. Leo was always active; he played games, strolled around the garden, and had a good appetite. One day we went to our hometown, Bukhara, with my family, and because no one was found to look after the cat, we took him with ourselves. After nine hours of riding, we arrived at our destination. We visited my grandmother's house, and as my cousins loved cats, they also adopted a cat from the street, but they haven't given him vaccinations. We stayed there for three days. Leo was happy to find a new friend, and they played together every day. When we come back to Tashkent, Leo has lost his appetite and has slept very much. We thought that he was having depression after losing his friend or that he was stressed after a long journey and didn't pay much attention. However, after two days, he started to walk with a limp. So we took him to the vet. They gave an injection and advised me to buy more vitamins like vitamin C, B, and K. We bought them and gave them to him every day after meals. But we didn't see any changes in his health, so we went to another veterinarian. They took an X-ray of his feet and an analysis of his blood and said that it would be ready in two days. After two days, we went to his doctor, and he said that Leo was down with FIP, which is known as the animal coronavirus. We were very worried about him since the doctor said that many dogs and cats died from this illness. So we asked what to do to keep him alive. He advised us to purchase three types of drugs. One of them was exactly for FIP, and the other two were for his liver, because, as a doctor said, in animals, the virus stops the liver from working. Later that day, we went to a few animal pharmacies to find the drugs that were written on a prescription. Because of the high demand for this kind of drug, many pharmacies didn't have it. We had a hard time finding the first medicine, which is called GS. This medicine was imported with a special order, and only one pill was 3,5 dollars.It was prescribed 1 pill per day for 84 days. Otherwise, the pills wouldn't have any effect, and the cat could die. We looked for it the whole day and finally found it at the biggest animal pharmacy in the city. First, we bought only five because of the price and limitations of the pharmacy's sale of five pills per order. Later, the pharmacy increased the amount to 10 pills per order, and we can buy them without showing the recipe every time. After a few days, my cousin called me and said that his cat was also walking with a limp and had a high temperature since we had left Bukhara. I told them to go to the vet. They went, and their doctor also recommended GS pills. We realized that when their cat interacted with other street cats, he was infected with this zymotic virus, and after coming home, he infected Leo, too. They didn't buy pills because they were too expensive for them. A week later, their cat died from this virus. We were very afraid that the same thing would happen with Leo. After 84 days of treatment, Leo started to walk straight and eat normally. All in all, I want to say that everything in this universe, even plants and animals, has the right to live. Everybody has to take care of their pets as well as their own health. Because each animal also wants to live and enjoy life, Whether he is an animal or a human being, he is a living soul with a beating heart in his body. Hence, we all must take care of not only our pets but also homeless animals, which are disappearing day by day.

"Going to the village showed me how naive a victim I am. The sheep attacked me. Fortunately, I escaped", said my classmate. My village-raised mindset didn't believe what he said, remembering childhood memories. Sheep were my bosom friends till I attended school. And I still appreciate their 3 qualities: 1. They're good listeners. Maybe they don't listen to you passionately, but they don't make any contrary point as well, raising your self-esteem. 2. They're good recommenders. They don't speak in a human language, or even their "ba-bas" don't match Morse's language. But sometimes silence speaks louder than words, allowing you to reflect on your actions, evaluate and conclude. 3. They're reliable. They don't gossip at all. Literally, I shared all my childhood secrets with them, yet I didn't hear anyone saying, "Oho, you little devil, your sheep said everything to me." The true friendship power encouraged me. I explained to my classmate that sheep never attack humans unless it is revenge. Thanks to my experience of about 5 years with sheep, I was sure about what I was saying. I carried on asking, "What did you do before the attack? Anything annoying?" He said he played with its lamb, separating mother and child. I felt proud when I heard those words. Not because I've proven that I'm right in front of the class but because I could advocate animals' rights the first time. Realization hit me: for me, animal values matter the same as human values.

On the way home from school one day, Mom took us to a pet store just for fun. In a box beneath a heat lamp were the cutest little yellow ducklings, quacking away in their little duckling voices. We fell in love with them immediately. “Oh please can we get one?” we begged Mom. “Please please please?” “Okay,” she said, “BUT JUST ONE.” So we brought it home and put it in the bathtub. It was very happy there, swimming around and making its little baby quackles. But then I started to worry, “What will Dad say when he gets home from work?” (Sometimes Dad wasn't always happy with the decisions Mom made.) As it got closer to 5 pm when Dad's bus was going to arrive, I got nervouser and nervouser. No, that isn't really a word! I should write “more and more nervous.” Anyway, you get my point. By the time Dad got home, you can imagine how my stomach was feeling: like it was full of butterflies! Okay, so Dad got home, put down his lunch pail, took off his coat, and said to us, “What is going on -- you all look funny.” As in funny-strange. The four of us kids were happy and scared at the same time, and I guess it showed on our faces. “Ummm...Dad….ummmm...we have something to show you.” “Okay, what is it?” “Go look in the bathtub.” So he did, and he started laughing! “That little guy looks lonely,” he said, “he needs a friend!” We all jumped into the van and went back to Rodney's Pets & Feed and Dad bought us another little duckling! I named one Martha and the other one Petunia, after two of my favorite books at the time (George & Martha, by James Marshall, and Petunia by Roger Duvoisin). We four loved Martha and Petunia, and they loved us. They followed us everywhere around the backyard. In the late afternoons, we crawled around on the ground, hunting for stalks of their favorite grass -- appropriately named “duck grass weed” -- to bring them. They always quacked “happy, thank you” as they ate it. That's the thing about ducks: their emotions and their words are the same. Their word for “happy” is the same as the happy sound they make and so they pretty much tell you how they feel and what's going on with them. One day, Dad brought home a large fiberglass airline shipping container and he used it to build a little rectangular pond in the backyard. Now they had a real place to swim, and we had our bathtub back. Martha and Petunia would slide into the water, wiggle their tails and quack “happy, swimming” that told us that they liked the water. Sometimes we filled up the Radio Flyer with water and gave them rides around the backyard. I honestly don't know if they liked that so much, because I can't remember the sound that they made while we were tugging them slowly around the yard. But being good sports, they tolerated it. Those days back then felt endless, but in reality they were all too brief. It's a good thing to grow up with animals, which I was lucky to do. Martha and Petunia still live in my heart, and to this day in my mind's ear, I can still hear the sounds they made and what they were saying to me. About the photo: my twin sisters with Martha and Petunia and the Radio Flyer, in our backyard circa 1970.

Having a keen eye for real estate and working on a timeline of no more than two months, Mama was scrupulous and swift when choosing the right house. After a hard and footsore morning of self-guided showings, it was on Oakridge Drive where she found just the thing: a midcentury split level, set back from the road and nestled into a hillside, trimmed with wrought iron details and a bedroom balcony that overlooked the pool. The pool was really what caught Mama's attention, specifically the thicket of verdant elephant-ear plants that wrapped around the outdoor patio, intertwining with fat terra cotta pots of bright fuchsia bougainvillea, creating the feeling of a miniature jungle. It was there, fifty-six days later, with the faintest breath of spring in the air, she gave birth to five kittens. My parents instantly regretted telling me they were there, for when we made our pilgrimage to my grandparents' tidy house I skipped polite chat and bolted down the stairs, pressing my face against the sliding door in hopes of seeing the kittens, so desperate I caused a clatter and an obvious round white fog of my breath against the glass. Startled by the commotion, Mama deftly ushered her round and mewling children back under the elephant ears, her lustrous tabby fur slipping through the giant leaves and closing them behind her like a beaded curtain. As March gave way to April, I learned to control my volume, and as I calmed, I caught more glimpses of black and white fluff, tabby tails, and tufted orange ears. With every passing day, they grew bolder. Mama sat just at the edge of the little jungle one Sunday, watching as the five tussled in the late morning light, chasing pillbugs across the patio. Mama was starting to get that restless, primeval itch that made her turn to house hunting again, and the kittens had started to find meals on their own. As I watched the little clowder tumble in the sun, I overheard the adults in the room ruminating that it wouldn't be long before all of the cats had wandered off and we should probably consider sprinkling a box of mothballs in the bushes before the next set of pests moved in. My pleading eight-year-old eyes turned to each grown up in turn, looking for weakness of will that might somehow result in my acquisition of a pet before they aged out of my grandparents' garden. A firm no, an exasperated head shake, a “don't even ask..” But bless him, my father, well into his sixties at the time and perhaps not at the peak of his physical prime, stood up and slid the sliding glass door open, startling Mama cat who dove into the thicket, teenaged kittens in hot pursuit. Dad stood as a Midwesterner does, hands-on-hips, scrutinizing the situation and evaluating all possible escape routes. Without further prompting, he plunged into the elephant-ear thicket and a great cacophony of rustling and squalling carried into the house. Just as my mother began her protests in urgent, as I clenched my fists under my chin in trepidation, he emerged— mottled old hands bloody, Dockers khakis covered with mulch, and clutching a screaming, swatting calico kitten. I called her Wildflower.