I don’t know exactly how long I have been here. The days blur together, blending into one endless wait. Every morning, I wake up to the same cold floor beneath me, the same metal bars surrounding me, and the same routine of barking, eating, and waiting. Always waiting.
I wasn’t born in a shelter. I remember a time when I had a home—a real home. A warm place where I could curl up on soft blankets, where someone would call my name, stroke my fur, and whisper kind words to me. I remember playing in the sun, running in the grass, and feeling loved. But those memories are distant now, fading like a dream I once had but can no longer reach.
One day, my life changed forever. I don’t know why my owner left me. Maybe they moved away, or maybe they simply decided they didn’t want me anymore. I don’t understand. I still dream of the day they will return for me, but deep down, I know they never will.
The shelter isn’t a bad place. The people here are kind; they feed me, clean my space, and sometimes even give me treats. But it’s not the same as having a home. I watch as people come and go, looking at all of us behind these cages, searching for the perfect pet. They stop, they smile, they talk to some of us. But they never choose me.
Maybe it’s because I’m not a puppy anymore. People love puppies—tiny, playful, and full of life. But I have grown older, and I know that with every passing day, my chances of being adopted get smaller.
I try my best to be noticed. Whenever someone walks by, I wag my tail, I press my nose against the bars, hoping they will see that I am still full of love. But their eyes move past me, onto the younger, prettier dogs. I hear them say things like, “Oh, he’s been here for years,” or “He’s too old now.” My heart sinks every time.
But I still hope. Hope is all I have.
At night, when the shelter is quiet, I close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to have a family again. I dream of a warm bed, of a gentle hand scratching behind my ears, of hearing the words, “You’re home now.” I dream of going on walks, feeling the grass beneath my paws, and having a name that someone calls with love.
I wonder if there is someone out there for me—someone who won’t care that I’m not a puppy anymore, someone who will look into my eyes and see the love I have to give. I am not perfect, but I am loyal. I have been waiting for so long, and I still have so much love left to give.
If only someone would give me a chance.
Tomorrow will be another day. I will wake up, I will wag my tail, and I will hope—because maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be the day I finally go home.
