I work at a chemical manufacturing plant. The factory stands almost at the edge of the forest — from the gate to the river it’s only about a ten-minute walk. Often after my shift, I take the path home that runs along the river.

That evening was overcast, and a light mist hung over the water. I was about to turn toward the bridge when I noticed something strange near the riverbank — a lump of mud, grass, and fur.

At first, I thought it was just trash, but suddenly the lump moved. I came closer… and saw that it was breathing.

It was a small creature, soaked to the bone. Its fur was matted with dirt, its ears drooped, and its eyes were barely open.

— Poor puppy… — I whispered.

Someone must have abandoned it, maybe even tried to drown it — the river was right there. I felt an overwhelming wave of pity.

I gently picked it up — a warm, trembling little body. It whimpered softly and pressed itself trustingly against my hands. I wrapped it in my jacket and hurried home.

All the way, the filthy creature shivered, whether from fear or from the cold, I couldn’t tell.

At home, the first thing I did was fill the bathtub with warm water to wash it. When the water touched its fur, the dirt began to slide off — and that’s when I realized I wasn’t holding a puppy. I was horrified when I understood what it really was…

At first, I was simply glad to finally see its real color — beneath the gray-brown layer appeared thick, gray fur. But the more I washed it, the stronger a strange feeling grew inside me.

The fur was too dense, too coarse — not like a dog’s. The ears were pointed and slightly too long. And the paws… large, with powerful claws.

I froze. The little creature lifted its gaze — amber eyes glowing faintly in the dim bathroom light. And it gave a quiet growl.

My heart dropped. This was no puppy.

I carefully wrapped it in a towel and called a veterinarian I knew, telling him I’d found “a wounded dog near the forest.” He agreed to see us right away.

At the clinic, the vet took just one look at the animal, and his face immediately changed. He froze for a moment, then said quietly:

— That’s not a dog… It’s a wolf cub.

I was speechless. A real baby wolf. It was exhausted and weak, but according to the vet, it would survive — and most likely its pack was somewhere nearby.

The next morning, I took it back to the place where I had found it. I set the carrier down on the grass and opened the door. The little wolf stepped out, looked back at me one last time — and ran toward the forest.