One afternoon, Zachary found Daisy curled in straw while the cubs tumbled over her ears. They pawed her muzzle, biting clumsily, and she huffed in mock annoyance. With a sharp bark, she rolled them onto their backs. For a moment, the nursery seemed less like a place of survival and more like a playground.
Another day, Daisy trotted proudly across the floor, tail high. The cubs followed in a wobbly parade, stripes blurring as they scrambled after her. Visitors pressed to the glass, gasping at the sight. Zachary laughed quietly, calling it her “royal procession.” Daisy only glanced back once, as if to count them.