初访报恩古寺

I stumbled upon a video of Master Zhixiang. Dressed in red overalls, he crouched before a cage, gently stroking the fur of a puppy missing the tip of its ear. The caption read: "This is the 9,872nd furry friend we've rescued." The video contained no incense smoke, only the sound of dogs barking.

At that moment, I couldn't help but tell my parents, "I want to go see it."

Early the next morning, we drove to Fengxian. Pushing open the side gate of the ancient temple, several small dogs came over wagging their tails, their paws still bearing muddy prints.

The second and third floors of the front building in the ancient temple courtyard were entirely filled with kennels. Some puppies huddled together, grooming each other's fur. A yellow-and-white dog lay quietly by the cage, its tail wagging gently whenever it saw people.

Stepping down into the courtyard, I saw tall stacks of dog food bags beside an old, battered blue handcart—its handles rusted, wheels caked with dried mud. The volunteer auntie explained that they used it every day to haul food and other supplies, though pushing it was incredibly strenuous.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to meet Master Zhixiang. The volunteer said he had gone to the rescue base in Pudong early that morning—it's much larger and houses nearly ten thousand stray dogs.

I pitched in with small tasks: opening dog food, changing pads, refilling water bowls. A puppy with a scar on one ear gently nuzzled my finger. Auntie handed me a cracked plastic bowl: "This will have to do for now. We'll have to wait for donations for a new one."

Life isn't heavy, but when I left, my hands were filled with the scent of disinfectant and dogs. I left behind the old blanket I'd brought in my bag, and the auntie pressed a puppy-shaped candy into my hand.

The car slowly pulled away. Looking back, I saw the old beat-up car still leaning against the wall, ginkgo leaves quietly falling onto the cage.

Kindness, it turns out, isn't something out of reach. It's a creaky little cart pushed along, a pot patched time and again, and so many pairs of eyes finally at ease. And what I can do, perhaps, is add just a little warmth to winters like this. I know there's still something I can do...