The pregnant spotted dog padded through the garden, her swollen belly low beneath the fern fronds. She sniffed at mossy stones and damp earth, nose twitching as she searched for a safe place. The sky had turned grey all morning.
A sudden chill wind rattled the leaves and she whined, curling tighter around her middle. The rain was coming — she could feel it in the air. She needed shelter now.
She squeezed under a broad hosta leaf, but it sagged fast under the weight of the dew. Water dripped all around her. She scrambled out, shaking every drop from her spotted coat. The leaf drummed against the soil like a warning beat.
Next she found a hollow beneath an old oak root, but a family of squirrels chittered and threw acorns at her paws. She backed away, tail tucked, ears flattened. The acorns scattered like angry little stars across the earth.
Rain began to fall in steady drops. The garden swallowed sound — each splash muffled by thick soil and layered leaves. Somewhere ahead, a shape of green caught the fading light.
A large Alocasia plant — Bila-Bila — rose before her, its enormous heart-shaped leaves arching like a green cathedral. She stepped beneath the canopy. The leaves shivered and parted.
Beneath the leaves she gasped — a dry nest of soft petals and moss, perfect and still. A single leaf detached and landed gently on her nose. Then another fell beside it. The plant was bowing.
Days passed. The rain stopped. The Alocasia leaves kept watch over the hollow beneath them, swaying gently in the warm breeze.
Three tiny spotted puppies nursed contentedly beneath the swaying leaves. Dotty licked each one carefully, then rested her chin on her paws. Her belly was soft again.
She watched the sun slow through the green canopy. The garden hummed around her — bees, leaves, the soft breathing of her puppies. A quiet lullaby.