Today is my 10th birthday, but I am still lonely on an empty street. I never imagined my birthday would feel like this. I thought there would be laughter, maybe a special treat, or even a soft bed to curl up in, surrounded by the warmth of a loving family. But instead, I find myself alone, my paws dirty from the cold concrete and my belly empty from the lack of food.
I remember the days when I was a puppy, when my world was filled with joy and laughter. There were soft hands to pet me, a voice calling me in from the yard, and food in my bowl every day. I would chase after sticks and roll in the grass, the sun warming my fur. Birthdays back then were special—presents of squeaky toys, belly rubs, and a cake with a little candle I would pretend to blow out.
But that all changed, one piece at a time, until I found myself here. The day I was abandoned still feels fresh in my memory. One moment, I was living with a family I thought loved me, and the next, I was standing alone in front of a closed door. The door that once opened to call me inside, now just a cold barrier between me and the life I had known.
I don’t understand why they left. I wasn’t perfect, but I tried so hard to be good. I learned tricks, I played, I loved them with all my heart. But somewhere along the way, they decided I wasn’t enough. Maybe I was too old, too tired, too much of a burden. I wish they had told me.
Now, on my 10th birthday, I wander the streets, trying to find some comfort in the silence. The cold wind brushes against my fur, but it doesn’t feel as comforting as it once did. I hear the distant sounds of cars passing by, but no one stops to notice me, not even for a second. My paws ache from walking, but I keep moving, hoping that maybe someone will take pity on an old dog with no place to go.
I see other dogs with their families, their owners smiling and patting them on the head. It’s hard not to feel a pang of jealousy when I see them. I used to have that. I used to have a place to belong.
A few times, people have passed me by and looked at me with pity. Some have tossed me a scrap of food, and for that, I’m thankful. But it doesn’t fill the emptiness inside me. The emptiness that comes from not having someone to share this day with.
I remember the excitement I used to feel when I saw my humans on my birthday, when they would sing to me, even if I didn’t understand the words. I remember the joy I felt when they’d say, “Happy Birthday, buddy,” and give me a big hug. It wasn’t just about the treats or the toys—it was the love that came with it, the feeling of being wanted, of being part of something.
But today, there’s no one. No one to wish me a happy birthday, no one to give me a gentle pat on the head or tell me I’m loved. Just the cold concrete beneath my paws and the quiet emptiness of the street.
I try to keep my head high, to keep walking, to remind myself that I’m still here, still breathing. But my heart aches, and the weight of the years begins to show. I’m not the young pup I used to be. My legs are slower, and my fur isn’t as shiny as it once was. But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve love. I still have so much love to give.
As the sun begins to set, I find a small corner to curl up in. The streetlights flicker on, casting long shadows over the pavement. I close my eyes and imagine what it would be like if my family were here, if I had a home to return to. But the sound of passing cars pulls me back to reality.
I don’t know what the future holds for me. Maybe one day, someone will come and see me, really see me, and offer me a place in their life. Maybe they’ll see beyond my age and my tired eyes and recognize the love I still have to give.
But for now, I’ll lie here, alone in the street, and wait for a tomorrow that may never come.
Happy birthday to me.
