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Day: October 12, 2021


Natasha’s her name
And she’s finding some fame,
  She’s feral and wooly,
A measure from tame.

They believe that she’s five,
And was barely alive
  When they found her alone
To fend and survive.

Living with dogs
She was wearing no togs;
  She was filthy and starved
In a shack made of logs.

No inches she grew
From the time she was two,
  Her nourishment sparse,
Her parents no clue.

A condition quite rare,
Russian doctors now care
  For Natasha’s afflicted -
With Mowgli compared.

She barks at the doors,
Crawls around on all fours
  She snarls at keepers
And scratches the floors.

She’s harmed to the core,
It’ll be quite a chore -
  From snarls to smiles  
Toward human rapport.
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