Every morning, before the city fully wakes up, 56-year-old Cherrie Lyn Arcio climbs onto her e-bike in Manila. The sun is just starting to rise. The streets are still quiet. And strapped to the back of her bike are containers of food. Not for herself. Not for her family. But for the stray dogs and cats scattered across the neighborhoods she passes through. The ones most people ignore. The ones living in alleys, under bridges, in abandoned lots. The ones who’ve learned not to expect kindness.
She’s been doing this for over a year now. Every single morning. Rain or shine. Hot or cold. Doesn’t matter. Cherrie loads up her bike, maps out her route, and sets off. She knows where the strays gather. Knows which corners have the most animals. Knows which dogs limp, which cats are pregnant, which ones are too scared to approach. She’s learned their patterns, their personalities. And they’ve learned hers. When they see her bike coming, some start wagging their tails before she’s even stopped.
She doesn’t just drop food and leave. She stops. Sits with them. Talks to them. Pets the ones who’ll let her. Checks to see if any are injured or sick. Sometimes she brings medicine. Sometimes she brings blankets. Sometimes she just brings her presence, because these animals have been alone for so long, they’ve forgotten what it feels like to be seen. And Cherrie sees them. Every single one.
People ask her why she does it. Why she spends her own money, her own time, her own energy on animals that aren’t hers. Animals that won’t thank her, won’t remember her name, won’t give her anything in return. And her answer is always the same. Because they’re helpless. Because no one else will. Because I can. It’s not complicated. It’s not philosophical. It’s just compassion. The simple recognition that suffering exists, and if you have the ability to ease it, you should.
Her mission has transformed countless lives. Not just the animals’, but the people who see her. Neighbors who used to shoo strays away now leave out water bowls. Kids who were taught to fear street animals now ask their parents if they can help. Strangers stop her on her route to hand her donations, extra food, old blankets. She’s created a ripple. Not because she set out to change the world, but because she decided to change the corner of it she could reach.
The animals know her now. There’s a three-legged dog who waits for her every morning at the same intersection. A mama cat who brings her kittens over to eat when Cherrie arrives. A scruffy terrier mix who used to growl at everyone but now curls up beside her while she refills the bowls. These animals, who’ve known nothing but rejection and hunger, have learned to trust again. And that’s because of Cherrie. Because she showed up. And kept showing up.
She doesn’t have much. She’s not wealthy. She’s not famous. She’s just a woman with an e-bike and a heart that refuses to look away. She buys the food with her own money, supplemented by small donations from people who’ve heard about her work. She doesn’t ask for recognition. Doesn’t post for likes or shares. She just rides her route, feeds her strays, and goes home. And then she does it again the next day. And the next. And the next.
Rain doesn’t stop her. She just puts on a raincoat and keeps going. Heat doesn’t stop her. She brings extra water. Exhaustion doesn’t stop her. She pushes through it. Because these animals depend on her. And she refuses to let them down. They’ve already been let down by so many people. She won’t be another one.
Her story is a reminder that you don’t need wealth or power or a platform to make a difference. You just need to care. And then you need to act on that care. Every single day. Cherrie Lyn Arcio does that. She’s not waiting for someone else to solve the problem. She’s not hoping the government will step in. She’s just getting on her bike every morning and doing what she can. And in doing so, she’s saving lives. Not dramatically. Not loudly. But steadily. Surely. One bowl of food at a time.
Now, when people in her neighborhood see a stray dog or cat, some of them think of Cherrie. And instead of shooing the animal away, they leave food. They leave water. They show a little kindness. Because they’ve seen what kindness can do. They’ve seen the strays who used to cower now approach humans with cautious hope. They’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to give up on the forgotten. And slowly, that compassion is spreading. One person. One bike. One morning at a time.