Today is my birthday, and it is also the day I became a stray dog. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I had always thought birthdays were meant to be happy, filled with treats, belly rubs, and the warm presence of my owner. But today, I am alone—wandering through the empty streets, searching for something I can’t even name.
I remember when I was younger, how every year my owner would celebrate my birthday. She’d smile as she gave me a special treat, a little cake just for me, and I’d wag my tail, so happy to be loved. We would spend the day together, just the two of us, playing in the park, chasing after sticks, and enjoying each other’s company. Life felt simple, and I was content. She was my world, and I was hers.
But that was before. Before the day came that I didn’t understand, when she left, and I never saw her again. I remember the day clearly, though it feels like a blur now. She had been so sick for a while. Her energy faded, and there was a strange sadness in her eyes. She told me everything would be okay, that she loved me, but that day, she left. I waited for her, as I always did when she went out, but this time, she didn’t return. Not the next day. Not the next week. And not ever.
I thought she was just taking longer than usual, maybe busy or caught up in something important. I stayed by the door, looking out the window, hoping to see her walking down the street, calling my name like she always did. But she never came back. It was just me, day after day, waiting in that empty house. I couldn’t understand. I didn’t know where she went, or why she had to leave me.
Eventually, the house felt cold and lonely without her. The walls seemed to close in around me. I didn’t know what to do. Without her, everything lost its meaning. I missed her voice, the gentle touch of her hands, the way she would laugh when I did something silly. I missed being her companion. I missed feeling safe in her presence.
I remember the day I finally had to leave the house. The neighbors told me that they couldn’t keep me anymore, that they were moving. I didn’t understand at first, and I refused to leave the place where I had so many memories with her. But the day came when the door was closed behind me, and I was out on the streets, all alone.
That was when I became a stray dog. A dog without a home, without an owner, and without the love I had once known. The streets are different from the cozy home I had. There are no soft beds or familiar smells. It’s cold out here, and the people I pass don’t notice me. They just walk by, too busy with their own lives to stop and help. I’ve learned to stay hidden, to avoid the loud cars and strangers who might not be kind. But still, there is a longing inside of me—something I can’t shake. A wish for love, for comfort, for someone to see me and care.
Today is my birthday, but I don’t feel like celebrating. The streets are empty, the sun is low in the sky, and my stomach is empty too. I haven’t eaten much today. But I’m not hungry for food alone; what I crave is the warmth of someone who will look at me the way my owner used to. I long for a gentle voice, for hands that would pet me and tell me that I’m not alone. I miss the feeling of being wanted, of being loved, of knowing that I am important to someone.
As I wander through the city, the people around me don’t seem to notice the sadness in my eyes. Some of them look at me with pity, but they don’t stop. They don’t reach out to help. I can feel the loneliness creeping into my bones, and yet, I keep walking, hoping that somewhere, someone will see me for who I am—not just a stray dog, but a dog who still remembers the love he once had.
I pass by a park where children are playing, their laughter ringing in the air. I watch them, wishing I could join them, feeling that old familiar ache in my heart. If only I could have one more day with my owner, one more birthday together. I would chase after those sticks again, roll in the grass, and feel the joy of being with someone who loved me.
But that’s not my reality anymore. My reality is the cold pavement beneath my paws, the long, quiet nights alone, and the hope that someday, someone will take me in again. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but I still hope. As I lie down on the sidewalk, curled up in the corner of an alley, I close my eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like to be loved again. Just for a little while, I allow myself to dream.
Today is my birthday, and I am alone. But I am not forgotten. I am a dog with a heart full of love, still searching for a place to belong. And as long as I have breath in my body, I will keep hoping, because I know that somewhere out there, there is someone who will see me and give me the love I so desperately need. Until then, I will keep walking, keep hoping, and keep dreaming of the day when my birthday will once again be filled with joy and love.
