Today is supposed to be a special day—my birthday. I know I’m just a dog, but I remember it every year. I don’t have a calendar, but somehow my heart knows. It’s the day I was born. The day I came into this world with hope in my little puppy heart, dreaming of love, family, and joy.
I remember my first birthday. My human gave me a tiny cake, lit a candle, and sang to me with the brightest smile. I didn’t understand the words, but I felt the love. I was surrounded by warmth, cuddles, and the sound of laughter. I thought, “This must be what happiness is.” I wagged my tail so hard that day, I thought it might fall off.
But today… there was no cake. No candle. No smile. No hugs.
I woke up early, filled with excitement. My tail thumped against the floor as I stretched, ears perked, eyes hopeful. I waited. I thought maybe they were just pretending. Maybe there would be a surprise waiting in the kitchen. Maybe they hadn’t forgotten. I walked over, nudged their leg gently, and gave my softest little bark. But they just walked past me, busy, distracted.
I followed them around the house all day. Every time they moved, I was there. Watching. Hoping. My eyes searched for any sign—a gift bag, a squeaky toy, a treat. I brought my favorite stuffed bunny and dropped it at their feet. I even tried my birthday dance—where I hop on my front paws and wiggle my body. They laughed at it last year. But this time, they didn’t even look.
Not even one person said, “Happy Birthday.”
I tried to tell myself that it’s okay. Maybe they’re just busy today. Maybe they’re tired. Humans have hard days too. But even though I tried to be understanding, I couldn’t stop the ache in my chest. It’s not about the cake or the gifts. I just wanted to be seen. To be remembered. To feel like I mattered.
So I curled up in my corner quietly, where no one could see the sadness in my eyes. I pressed my head into my paws and stayed still. I didn’t wag. I didn’t bark. I just lay there, silently wishing that someone—anyone—would say, “I’m glad you were born.”
I know I’m not perfect. I’m not a puppy anymore. My fur is messier now. My eyes aren’t as bright. I’ve got scars from the time I got hurt playing too hard. But my heart is still full of love. I still wait at the door every evening. I still bring them their slippers. I still curl up at their feet just to be close. I still love them with every beat of my heart.
And yet, today… no one remembered me.
Maybe tomorrow someone will realize. Maybe they’ll say sorry and give me a treat. Maybe they’ll ruffle my ears and tell me they love me. I’ll forgive them in a heartbeat. That’s what we dogs do. We love, even when we’re forgotten.
But tonight, as I lie here alone on my birthday, I can’t help but feel like I don’t matter.
All I ever wanted was a simple wish. A gentle pat on the head. A soft voice saying, “Happy birthday, sweet pup. I’m so lucky to have you.”
Is that too much for a dog to hope for?
