Bibi was a small, golden-furred puppy with ears too big for his head and a tail that never stopped wagging. He was only a few months old, still learning the ways of the world, and everything was new and exciting to him. The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen, the cool breeze from the window, the sound of birds in the morning — all of it made Bibi bounce with joy.
But nothing made Bibi happier than when Uncle Phong came to visit.
Uncle Phong wasn’t Bibi’s real uncle, but everyone in the family called him that because he had been a part of their lives for as long as anyone could remember. He wasn’t loud or flashy. In fact, he was quiet, kind, and always seemed to know exactly what Bibi needed — even before Bibi knew it himself.
It started one rainy weekend when Bibi’s parents had to travel to another city for a wedding. They couldn’t take Bibi with them, and Bibi was scared. He had never stayed home without his parents before. His little puppy heart beat fast as he watched them pack their bags. But then the doorbell rang, and there stood Uncle Phong with his gentle smile, an umbrella in one hand, and a bag of dog treats in the other.
“Hello, Bibi,” he said softly, kneeling down. “We’re going to have a fun time, just you and me.”
At first, Bibi was shy. He hid under the sofa and peeked out with curious eyes. But Uncle Phong didn’t force him. Instead, he sat down on the floor, opened a treat, and placed it near Bibi’s hiding spot. Then he pulled out a little squeaky toy shaped like a bone and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Squeak!
Bibi’s ears perked up. His nose twitched. Slowly, he crept out and took the treat. Then, cautiously, he touched the toy with his paw.
Uncle Phong smiled. “That’s it. Good boy.”
That night, Bibi curled up next to Uncle Phong on the couch while they watched animal documentaries. Uncle Phong let Bibi rest his head on his leg, and from that moment, Bibi knew: Uncle Phong was special.
The next morning, Uncle Phong woke up early, even before the sun rose. He stretched, yawned, and tiptoed downstairs to prepare breakfast. Bibi followed close behind, his paws tapping quietly on the wooden floor. Instead of his usual kibble, Uncle Phong cooked a warm bowl of rice mixed with chicken and a tiny bit of carrot. It smelled so good that Bibi’s tail wagged so hard, it thumped against the chair leg like a drum.
“There you go, little guy,” Uncle Phong said, placing the bowl down. “A special breakfast for a special pup.”
Bibi ate every last bite and licked the bowl until it shone.
After breakfast, Uncle Phong took Bibi for a walk. It wasn’t just any walk. Uncle Phong took Bibi to the park, the really big one with a pond and ducks. He even brought along a frisbee and a long leash so Bibi could run freely. Bibi chased butterflies, rolled in the grass, and barked at the ducks — who only quacked back, unbothered.
They sat by the water’s edge for a while, watching the ripples. Uncle Phong gently scratched behind Bibi’s ears, and Bibi leaned into him, closing his eyes.
“You’re a good boy, Bibi,” Uncle Phong whispered.
Day by day, whenever Uncle Phong visited or stayed over, he brought peace, comfort, and play. He was never in a rush. He never raised his voice. He always made time to listen — really listen — to what Bibi needed. Whether it was a tummy rub, a game of fetch, or simply sitting together in silence, Uncle Phong always knew.
One time, Bibi got sick. He had eaten something bad during a walk, and by the evening, he was throwing up and trembling. His parents were worried, but they had to work late and couldn’t rush home. Uncle Phong was called in. He came as fast as he could, carrying a soft blanket and a bottle of water.
“It’s okay, Bibi. I’m here now,” he said gently.
He wrapped Bibi in the blanket and sat beside him all night, giving him sips of water, softly humming lullabies, and stroking his back. When morning came, Bibi was still tired but already feeling better. Uncle Phong hadn’t slept a wink, but his eyes still shone with kindness.
From then on, whenever Bibi even heard the sound of Uncle Phong’s scooter outside, he would run to the door, jump up and down, and bark excitedly. His whole body would wiggle with happiness.
Every day spent with Uncle Phong was full of love, laughter, and learning. Uncle Phong taught Bibi how to sit, stay, roll over, and even play dead (which Bibi thought was very silly). He also taught him to wait patiently before meals and to greet people politely without jumping.
But most importantly, Uncle Phong taught Bibi about love — the quiet, patient kind. The kind that doesn’t need big words or fancy gifts. Just time, attention, and gentle care.
As Bibi grew older, he became wiser, too. He no longer chewed on shoes or chased his tail (well, not too often). But one thing never changed: his joy whenever Uncle Phong came around.
Uncle Phong would sometimes say, “You’re not just a dog, Bibi. You’re family.”
And Bibi knew it was true.
Years passed, and Bibi grew into a strong, loyal dog. His fur stayed golden, though a little paler now. His eyes remained bright. But no matter how old he got, he still turned into a puppy again whenever Uncle Phong was near.
Because deep in Bibi’s heart, he remembered those first moments — the rainy weekend, the warm chicken rice, the late-night lullabies. And he knew that he would always be happy when Uncle Phong took care of him.
After all, Uncle Phong wasn’t just someone who fed him or played with him. Uncle Phong saw him. Understood him. Loved him.
And that made all the difference.
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