Today is my birthday,
but sadly, there’s no one by my side.
I woke up early this morning, just as the sun began to peek through the clouds. The ground beneath me was still damp from last night’s rain. My fur clung to my skin, dirty and cold, but I didn’t care. I was used to it by now. This broken box in the alley, covered with an old, torn blanket, had been my home for months.
But today… today felt different.
I remember birthdays. At least, I think I do. A warm kitchen. The scent of cooked meat. The sound of laughter. A little boy—my boy—wearing a paper hat, clapping his hands as he gave me treats. He used to call me his best friend. We played fetch in the garden. We napped under the trees. He whispered secrets into my ear like I was the only one in the world who would understand.
And I did. I always understood.
But things changed. The laughter stopped. The boy grew quiet. His parents argued more. One day, they packed boxes. I was excited, thinking we were going on another trip. I wagged my tail, ready for adventure. But instead of a journey together, they left me by the side of a road with a bag of food and a collar that no longer had my name.
I waited. For days, I waited.
They didn’t come back.
Since then, every day has been the same—searching for scraps, avoiding angry voices, and curling up in corners where no one would kick me away. People see me, but they don’t see me. Just another dirty stray. Just another pair of eyes begging for kindness.
But today is my birthday.
I don’t know how I remember the date, but I do. Maybe it’s something in my heart, a little clock that never stopped ticking since the day I was born. I hoped… just maybe, someone would notice. Someone might smile at me. Offer me a crumb. A pat on the head. A moment of love.
But the street was busy, and no one looked down. Children laughed with balloons. Families walked with their dogs—clean, leashed, loved. I watched them from my corner, my tail giving a hopeful thump that faded with every step they took away.
I tried to sing to myself, the way I used to when the boy sang to me. But my voice was hoarse. My stomach growled louder than my song.
I closed my eyes and whispered to the wind:
“Today is my birthday, but sadly, there’s no one by my side.”
A tear fell, soaking into the dirt below me.
Then… I felt something. Not a voice, not a sound—but warmth.
A pair of gentle hands. Small and soft. A girl. Her eyes met mine, and for the first time in a long while, someone saw me. Really saw me.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t call me “gross” or “stray.” She knelt beside me, offering a piece of bread and half her sandwich. I ate slowly, savoring every bite—not because of the taste, but because of the love that came with it.
She whispered, “Happy birthday, sweet dog,” and kissed the top of my head.
Her parents called for her, and she ran off. But before she left, she tied a red ribbon from her hair around my neck like a gift.
It wasn’t much—but to me, it was everything.
I curled back into my corner, belly warm, heart full. Maybe the world hadn’t forgotten me entirely. Maybe someone still cared.
And even though the street remained loud and the sky turned gray, I let my eyes close and whispered again—this time with hope:
“Today is my birthday… and someone saw me.”
