At that time, my daughter happened to be home on vacation. As soon as she heard about it, she became full of enthusiasm and firmly insisted that we could not just stand by and do nothing. One moment she spoke about determination, the next about confidence—basically trying to lift her mother to such a moral high ground where refusing the dog would seem impossible. Persuaded by her passion and concerned about the cold weather outside, I figured that since my daughter was home for a while, we could at least bring the puppy home and see how things went.
So we went together to my friend’s place. When my friend brought the dog out, my daughter immediately scooped her up. The little dog was terrified when she saw us and trembled constantly in my daughter’s arms. My daughter gently patted her and spoke to her in a soft voice.
Next, we took the dog to the veterinary clinic for a check-up, vaccinations, and a bath. Then we went to the pet store to buy all kinds of supplies and food for her. After several hours, we finally returned home.
Now the question was: what should we name her? Since it was the Laba Festival, we called her Laba.
At that time, Laba was about four or five months old and still had baby teeth. She was extremely hungry and devoured her dog food in a flash. We gave her two more servings, and she quickly ate those as well. Before long, however, she had overeaten and threw everything up. What a pitiful little creature. She looked at us timidly, perhaps wondering how we would treat her.
During the first week, my daughter mostly took care of her. To our surprise, Laba already knew to go outside to relieve herself, which saved us a lot of trouble. She seemed to realize that she now had a new home. She was gentle and obedient, quickly bonding with my daughter. My daughter even taught her basic manners like sitting and shaking paws, and then the two often napped together.
From then on, Laba became a member of our family.
Whenever we came home and opened the door, the first thing we saw was her wagging tail as she bounced toward us happily. At mealtimes she would sit quietly beside us, her innocent eyes asking whether she might get a small share. Every time we went out, she would follow us to the door, even pressing close to us, hoping we would take her along with us.
But half a year later, something unexpected happened.
One morning, as usual, I took Laba out for a walk. Suddenly she started to scream. I quickly crouched down to check on her. Her left hind leg was lifted off the ground—she must have been in pain. I immediately carried her to the veterinary hospital. After X-rays, the doctor discovered that due to a congenital skeletal problem, both of her hind legs had severe patellar dislocations. Surgery was necessary to correct it; otherwise, before long she would no longer be able to stand normally.
It was truly heartbreaking.
The sparkle disappeared from her eyes. She curled up weakly on the floor, and anyone who saw her would feel distressed. Laba was still so young—we had to give her a chance to live a normal life.
After searching extensively, we finally found an excellent orthopedic veterinarian. After discussing all the details with the doctor, we scheduled Laba’s surgery. When I first saw her after the operation, she was exhausted and weak, but there was resilience and hope in her eyes. Two days later, the doctor finally allowed me to hold her. As I carried her and walked around the hospital, I said softly, “Laba, don’t be afraid. You will get better. We will walk and run together again.”
She lay quietly in my arms, without struggling or crying. The doctors and nurses all said she was an exceptionally well-behaved dog.
The surgery was very successful. Laba bravely stood up again and soon returned to her lively, mischievous self.
In the months that followed, whenever my daughter called from overseas, the first thing she would always ask was, “Where’s Laba? I want to see Laba.” I would turn on the video on my phone and point it toward Laba. “Laba, your sister wants to see you.”
Hearing my daughter’s voice from the phone, Laba would wag her tail and stare with wide, curious eyes, circling around the phone to inspect it. She must have been wondering: Why can I hear my sister’s voice but not see her?
In 2024, I worked on an important project that took six months to complete. From researching policies and searching for solutions, to negotiating terms, coordinating with outside organizations, and resolving the endless problems that kept arising, there were many nights when I returned home utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally.
Each time, Laba would look at me with her clear, gentle eyes. Sensing my mood, she would quietly lie down by my feet to keep me company. Every now and then she would place a paw on my leg and look up at me, as if checking in: Mom, are you okay?
During that time, I almost fell asleep on the sofa holding her every night. She would curl up obediently in my arms, keeping me warm and comforting me.
When the project was finally completed, the next morning at five o’clock I took Laba for a walk along the Huangpu River. We walked from the Bund all the way to the Zhapu Road Bridge over Suzhou Creek. Passing through the dim light before dawn, we watched as the colors of the sky and the river slowly changed. Then, before us, a brand-new sun rose—marking the beginning of a new day, and a new chapter in our lives.
Laba has now been with us for over three years. She has accompanied us through the bitterness and sweetness of life, through our joys and sorrows.
On the surface, it seems that we adopted Laba and that we are the ones taking care of her. But on a deeper level, it is actually Laba who comforts, heals, and nourishes us.
I remain grateful for the serendipity of that Laba Festival in 2022.
About the Author
Born in Hunan, China, and raised on the vast Gobi Desert of Gansu Province, Moon Tan developed a distinctive lens through which she views the world. Having lived in numerous cities across both China and the United States, she draws richly from these diverse experiences in her writing. She now resides in Shanghai.
© Moon Tan 2026 Copyright
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Article Information
Category: Non Fiction / Essay
Tags: Moments in life / Dog / Shanghai
