I often wonder, as I lie in my small bed, looking out the window at the world beyond, if anyone would want a dog like me. I’m not like the other dogs you see running around, tails wagging, eager for attention. I don’t have the energy to chase after balls, and I certainly don’t look as graceful as the dogs you might see on a magazine cover. My legs don’t work like they used to, and my fur, well, it’s patchy and uneven. Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass, and I can’t help but wonder: Do you look down on disabled and ugly dogs like me?
I wasn’t always like this. Once, I was a puppy, full of life and playfulness, running through the grass with my siblings, my tail wagging at the speed of light. I remember the days before my leg was broken, before everything changed. Life was simple, filled with love and warmth from the humans who took care of me. But that was before the accident.
I don’t remember much of that day. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. One moment, I was chasing a butterfly, and the next, there was a loud noise, followed by excruciating pain. My world spun as I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even feel my back leg. The pain was unbearable.
When I was found, I was alone. The people who had once cared for me were nowhere to be found. They must have thought I was no longer useful, no longer worth the effort. Maybe they thought I was just another burden, too broken to love. The days that followed were long and lonely. I spent them curled up in the corner of a shelter, scared and confused, hoping someone would come to help me, to see that I still had love to give, even if I wasn’t perfect.
But no one came for me—not at first. My heart sank as I watched other dogs leave with their new families. They had shiny coats, wagging tails, and the kind of energy that people loved. They were cute. They were perfect. And then there was me, an awkward dog with a limp, my coat thin and patchy, my eyes dull with sadness. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Did people not like dogs who didn’t look perfect? Did they look down on dogs like me, who had been hurt and didn’t fit the mold of what a dog should be?
One day, as I lay on the cold floor of my cage, I heard footsteps approaching. It was different this time—softer, more gentle. I raised my head, hoping, but also fearing. When the person stopped in front of me, I saw them crouch down, looking at me with a warm smile in their eyes. It wasn’t pity I saw; it was something else—something I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was kindness.
They reached out to me slowly, carefully, as if they understood the weight of my pain and my fear. I took a tentative step forward, my limp making me move slower than I wanted. But when their hand touched my head, it was like the world changed. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a burden. I didn’t feel ugly. I didn’t feel broken. I felt… loved.
“I’m not perfect,” I wanted to tell them. “I know I’m not like the other dogs. But I have so much love to give. Please don’t look down on me.”
But I didn’t have to say anything. They knew. They knew that even though I wasn’t perfect, I was still worthy of love, of a home, of a chance. They didn’t care about the way I looked or how I walked. They only saw the dog I still was on the inside—the dog who wanted nothing more than to be loved and to love back.
Now, I have a family. They don’t mind that I’m not as fast as other dogs or that I have scars from the accident. They see me for who I am—not just a disabled dog, but a loyal companion, a friend. Every day, I show them how much they mean to me, even if I can’t run as fast or jump as high as I used to. Every wag of my tail, every soft nudge, is my way of saying, Thank you for seeing me, for loving me, even when I didn’t think I deserved it.
So, the next time you see a dog like me—one who might not look like the others, one who’s been through hard times—remember this: we all deserve love. We all deserve a chance to show that we can be more than the way we look or the way we’ve been hurt. No dog is ugly or worthless just because they don’t fit into a perfect mold. We all have hearts that are capable of so much love, and that’s what truly matters.
And to anyone who might look down on me for being different: I hope you can see that even a disabled, imperfect dog like me can bring joy, loyalty, and love into your life. Because we may not look like the perfect dog, but in our hearts, we are the perfect companion.
