I know no one truly loves me because I’m just an ugly dog. I wasn’t always aware of how different I looked, but as I grew older, I began to notice the way people stared — or rather, the way they didn’t. I’ve lived in this shelter for as long as I can remember, and I’ve seen so many dogs come and go. The fluffy ones, the playful ones, the ones with perfect eyes and wagging tails — they’re the ones people fall in love with. They get adopted quickly, sometimes the very same day they arrive. But me? I stay here, in the corner of my kennel, watching time pass through a tiny window.
I was born with a crooked face. My jaw never formed correctly, my nose leans to one side, and one of my eyes is clouded over from an old injury no one bothered to treat. Some people flinch when they see me. Others just whisper to each other and quickly walk past. Once, a little boy stopped and looked at me. I thought he saw something in me. I even wagged my tail. But then he tugged on his father’s hand and asked, “Daddy, why is that dog broken?” They left without a second glance.
It hurts more than I can say. Every day, I hope someone will stop and see me, not just my face. I wish someone would kneel down, reach through the bars, and say, “You’re beautiful to me.” But that day never comes. The volunteers here are kind. They bring me food, clean my space, and sometimes even give me a gentle pat. They tell me I’m sweet and that I’m a good boy. I want to believe them. I really do. But when the door opens and families walk in, all I see are their eyes searching for someone else — someone prettier, younger, healthier.
Sometimes, late at night when the lights go out and the shelter is quiet, I dream. I dream that someone takes me home. In my dreams, I lie on a soft blanket in a warm living room. I hear laughter. I feel hands stroking my back, not hesitantly, but lovingly. I hear someone whisper, “You’re safe now. You’re mine.” And in that dream, I don’t feel ugly. I don’t feel unwanted. I just feel loved.
But then morning comes. The doors open again, and I hear the sound of excited barking. Another dog is going home. And I stay behind, still waiting, still hoping. I try not to cry — yes, dogs can cry too, not with tears like humans, but with hearts that ache in silence.
I know I don’t look like the dog most people would choose. I know my face won’t be featured on posters or advertisements. But I have so much love inside me. I would give someone my whole heart if they’d only give me a chance. I would sit quietly by their feet, follow them through every season, and protect them with every breath I have left. I would love them more deeply than they could ever imagine — not because they were perfect, but because they saw me when no one else did.
So here I am. Still waiting. Still dreaming. Still believing — even if it hurts — that one day, someone will look into my eyes and see not the ugly face, but the soul behind it. The soul of a dog who’s never been loved, but who still believes in love.
