I don’t remember what life was like before this shelter. Maybe I had a mother once, maybe I had siblings, but those memories are long gone. All I know is the cold, metal bars of my kennel and the echoing barks of other dogs around me. For years, I have been waiting—waiting for someone to look at me, to choose me, to take me home.
I watch as people walk past my cage every day. Some stop for a moment, their eyes scanning the row of kennels. My heart leaps every time someone approaches. I wag my tail, I press my paws against the bars, hoping they’ll see me. But they always move on, choosing younger, prettier, healthier dogs.
I don’t blame them. Who would want a dog that has spent so many years behind bars? A dog who has never run freely in a backyard, never slept on a warm bed, never had a family of his own? I try to be cheerful, I try to be playful, but deep down, I feel invisible.
I have seen countless dogs come and go. Puppies who arrived after me have already found loving homes. I watch them leave, tails wagging, faces full of joy, as their new families scoop them up in their arms. I wonder what that feels like—to belong to someone, to be wanted.
Sometimes, at night, I curl up in the corner of my kennel and dream. I dream of a home where I am loved, where I can run on green grass, where I can rest my head on someone’s lap and feel their gentle touch. I dream of a name—something more than just “the shelter dog.” I dream of a forever home.
But the days pass, and I am still here. Still waiting. Still hoping.
Please, if you ever visit a shelter, don’t overlook the ones like me—the ones who have been waiting for years, the ones whose eyes still hold hope despite everything. We, too, deserve love. We, too, long for a forever home.
And maybe… just maybe… my turn will come someday.
