I still don’t understand why my owner left me. One day, everything was normal—we played in the yard, he scratched my ears, and I felt happy just being by his side. Then, the next day, everything changed. I was put into the car, which usually meant an exciting trip to the park or the vet, but this time, it was different. We drove for a long time, and when we stopped, it wasn’t a place I recognized. It wasn’t home.
My owner got out, and I followed, wagging my tail, eager to see where we were. But then, something strange happened. He didn’t call me back to the car. He didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he walked away, leaving me behind. I tried to follow, thinking maybe he was just going for a quick walk, but he told me to stay. So I did, even though everything inside me was telling me to run after him.
Minutes passed. Then hours. I sat there, confused, waiting for him to come back. But he never did. As the sky grew darker and colder, I began to realize something was wrong. The place he left me was unfamiliar, and I started to feel scared. Why did he leave me here? What did I do wrong? My tail stopped wagging, and I curled up, trying to stay warm on the cold ground, my heart heavy with confusion.
As the hours turned into days, it became clear—he wasn’t coming back. I was on my own now. I roamed the streets, looking for food, shelter, and any sign of him. But he was gone, and I couldn’t understand why. Had I done something to upset him? Was I not good enough? These questions kept swirling in my mind, and every time I thought about it, I felt a deep ache in my chest.
I remembered the days when I would chase after balls, jump into his arms, and lay by his feet at night. I thought we were happy together. But now, I couldn’t help but wonder—was I useless? Did he leave me because I wasn’t good enough for him? I tried to be the best dog I could be, always eager to please, always there for him. But maybe that wasn’t enough.
The world without him was harsh. I had to find my own food, drink from puddles, and sleep wherever I could find shelter. There were kind people here and there who would give me a little food or a scratch behind the ears, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t home. I still hoped every day that maybe, just maybe, my owner would realize he made a mistake and come back for me.
But deep down, I knew that probably wouldn’t happen. And the question still lingered: Was I really that worthless? Did he not love me anymore? All I wanted was to feel the warmth of his hand on my head again, to hear his voice call my name, to be told that I was a good dog. But those days were gone, and now, I was left to wonder, trying to make sense of why I was abandoned.
Maybe one day, I’ll find a new home, someone who will see the good in me and remind me that I’m not useless. But for now, I’m still searching—searching for answers, for comfort, and for a place where I belong.
