The salty breeze tickled my nose as I stared out at the vast expanse of blue. The waves rolled gently onto the shore, their rhythm soothing, yet today, they couldn’t wash away the ache in my heart. It was my birthday—a day I once believed would always be filled with joy and love. But here I was, alone, a stray dog with a pair of wheels where my back legs used to carry me.
I wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I could run—oh, how I loved to run! The feeling of the wind rushing past me, the ground solid beneath my paws, the pure freedom of movement—it was everything. But an accident changed all of that. I don’t remember much about it; just the blinding pain, the frightened voices, and then the realization that my legs no longer worked.
At first, I thought my family would stay by my side, but as the days turned into weeks, I noticed their patience waning. One morning, they drove me to the edge of town, near this very beach, and left me there. I didn’t understand. I still don’t. My heart broke as I watched their car disappear, my barks drowned by the crashing waves.
That was months ago. Since then, I’ve learned to survive. The kind fisherman who works nearby sometimes throws me scraps of fish, and the children playing on the beach occasionally stop to pet me. But most people pass by without a glance, as if my wheels make me invisible, as if I don’t deserve love because I’m different.
Today, as I sit here, the sun dipping lower in the sky, I can’t help but wonder what my birthday would have been like if things were different. I imagine a soft bed, a bowl of treats, and a warm voice saying, “Happy Birthday, boy!” I imagine running again, chasing sticks, feeling whole.
But that’s not my reality. Instead, I have the sea as my companion, its vastness reminding me of how small and lonely I feel. I try to stay strong, to tell myself that I am still a good dog, that I still matter. But the truth is, I’m tired. My wheels are worn, and my spirit feels heavy.
As the stars begin to dot the sky, I close my eyes and make a wish. I wish for a home, for someone who will see past my disability and love me for who I am. I wish for a second chance, for a life where my birthday is a celebration, not a reminder of all I’ve lost.
A soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Hey there, buddy,” it says. I open my eyes to see a man standing in front of me, his face kind, his hands holding a small bag. He kneels down, placing a piece of grilled fish in front of me. “You look like you could use a friend.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I wag my tail, my heart daring to hope. Could this be the start of something new? Could this be the answer to my birthday wish?
For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so alone. The sea may have taken many things from me, but tonight, it feels like it’s giving something back—a chance to be seen, to be loved, to start again.
Happy birthday to me. Maybe this one won’t end in sadness after all.
