I don’t know why, but something feels different today. The sun is shining, and the air feels fresh, but I can’t shake this feeling in my chest. It’s a strange, gnawing ache—something I’ve become all too familiar with in my short life. I’ve been through so much already, but today… today, it feels harder than usual.
I look around and see the people walking by. They don’t look at me the way they used to. It’s like they can’t even bear to glance in my direction. I can feel their eyes on me, but they’re not full of love or kindness. No, these eyes are full of disgust and pity. It’s as if they can see every part of me that’s broken, and they don’t want to get too close. They pass by quickly, avoiding me, as though my presence might be a danger to them.
I try to stay still, to make myself as small as possible. Maybe if I just sit here quietly, no one will notice how ugly I look. I can’t blame them, really. I know I’m not the most beautiful dog. My fur, once soft and shiny, is now patchy and thin. It itches all the time, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop scratching. The sores on my skin burn, and the scabs never seem to heal. I’ve heard people whispering as they walk by, calling me a “mangy dog,” a “flea-ridden mutt.” Their words sting more than the scratches on my body ever could.
But I’m trying. I really am. I try to walk with my head held high, though it’s hard when I can feel the sting of every passing glance. I want to be loved. I want to be held, to have someone rub my belly and tell me that everything will be okay. But every time I look into someone’s eyes, they turn away. It’s like I’m invisible—or worse, like I’m something to be afraid of.
Do I look that bad? Why is everyone avoiding me? I just want to feel safe. I just want to feel what it’s like to be loved.
I remember the day I was found. I had been wandering the streets for days, weak from hunger, my body covered in sores and scabs. The humans I passed didn’t even glance at me. They would cross the street to avoid walking too close, their faces contorting in disgust when they saw me. I don’t know how long I had been on my own, but it felt like forever. And I couldn’t understand why no one would stop to help me. Why was I left to suffer all alone?
Then, one day, I was lying in the shadows, barely able to keep my eyes open when I heard footsteps. I didn’t have the strength to move, but I felt the warmth of someone’s hand on my back. It wasn’t much—just a gentle touch—but it made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. I tried to lift my head, to show that I was grateful, but all I could do was whimper weakly.
“Poor thing,” I heard a soft voice say. “You’ve had a rough life, haven’t you?”
The woman knelt down beside me, brushing the dirt and grime from my fur. She didn’t pull her hand back when she saw the sores on my skin. She didn’t flinch when she saw how thin I was. She just sat there with me, talking softly, telling me that everything would be okay.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt seen. I wasn’t just some stray dog on the side of the road. I was a living, breathing creature worthy of care and love. It was a small moment, but to me, it was everything.
The woman took me to the shelter, where the kind people there helped clean me up. They gave me medicine for my skin, food to fill my empty stomach, and a warm bed to sleep in. I still have my bad days—my skin still itches, and sometimes the pain is unbearable—but I know I’m not alone anymore. I know that someone cares.
But even here, in the shelter, I see the way people look at me. They treat me with kindness, but I can tell they’re not sure what to make of me. They wonder if I’m worth the effort, if I’ll ever be able to get better. I hear them talking, their voices full of concern, but I wish they knew that I just want to love and be loved.
Every time someone walks by my kennel, I hope that they’ll stop, that they’ll see past the scabs and the sores, and see me—the dog who just wants to be loved. But most of the time, they just keep walking, their eyes avoiding mine. And I can’t help but wonder—do I look that bad?
I know I’m not perfect. I know I may not be the dog everyone dreams of, but I have a heart that is full of love. I have a soul that longs for companionship, for someone who will accept me as I am. And maybe, just maybe, one day, someone will see me for who I truly am—a loyal companion, a friend, and a dog who deserves to be loved.
So, for now, I will wait. I will wait for that one person who will look past my imperfections and see the heart I have to offer. Because no matter how much time passes, I believe that there is someone out there who will see me, love me, and take me home. And when that day comes, I will show them all the love I have saved up, the love I’ve been waiting to give.
Until then, I’ll keep hoping. I’ll keep looking, even if it means being ignored by everyone else. Because I know deep down, that I am worthy of love, just like any other dog.
