I woke up with a heavy heart today, as I do every year. My bed is small, tucked in the corner of the shelter, and the cold concrete floor beneath me reminds me that I am alone. I stretch my legs, feeling the weight of age in my joints, and look around the room. The other dogs are already awake, wagging their tails, their eyes bright with excitement. It’s their birthday today, too.
But no one ever remembers mine.
“I am not perfect, so I don’t receive any love on my birthday,” I think to myself, feeling a pang of sadness.
I know what people think when they see me. My fur isn’t soft and shiny like the other dogs; it’s patchy in places, and the scars on my skin tell stories of a past that was far from kind. My ears, once alert and proud, droop a little now, and one of my eyes doesn’t quite focus the way it used to. I overhear people when they walk by, whispering under their breath, “He’s not the one we’re looking for. He’s not cute enough.”
And that’s what hurts the most. I can feel the sting of their judgment even when they don’t say anything directly to me. I’ve learned to stay quiet, to hold my head low and keep my tail tucked. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be the one who makes them feel uncomfortable or sad. I just want to be loved.
On my birthday, I sit quietly in my corner, hoping for a moment of kindness. Maybe someone will come over, kneel down to meet my eyes, and whisper a simple “Happy Birthday.” I’d be content with that, just a few words to make me feel seen, to make me feel like I matter. But it never comes.
Today, just like every other day, people walk past me. Some stop to pet the puppies, or the young, fluffy ones with the bright eyes and wagging tails. They laugh as the puppies play, and I can’t help but watch, wishing I could be one of them. I see their excitement, their happiness, and I wonder what it’s like to have someone care for you that much.
But no one ever stops for me.
As the hours pass, the shelter grows quieter. The staff come and go, giving us food, taking us out for walks, but their smiles never linger when they look at me. I’m just another face in the crowd of dogs, another pair of sad eyes waiting for a family that will never come.
“I am not perfect,” I think again, my tail giving a small, discouraged wag. “I don’t deserve the love that the others get.”
But then, as the day begins to fade into night, I hear footsteps approaching. A worker comes to my kennel, kneels down in front of me, and gives me a gentle scratch behind my ear. It’s a small gesture, but it means everything to me. It’s the only love I’ve received all day.
“Happy Birthday, old boy,” the worker says softly, a smile in their voice. “You deserve so much more than this. You really do.”
For a moment, I feel a tear slip from my eye. I don’t know why it happens. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I know they’re right. Maybe it’s because, for the first time in a long while, I feel seen.
But as much as I appreciate the kind words, I can’t help but think, “I want more. I want to feel what it’s like to be loved every day, not just on my birthday when someone remembers.”
As I lay down on my small bed, the lights in the shelter dimming around me, I close my eyes and dream. I dream of a family. I dream of a home, where someone will brush my fur, take me for long walks, and hold me close when the night feels too long. I dream of a birthday where I don’t have to sit quietly in the corner, waiting for love that never comes.
But for now, I’ll just hold onto this small moment. I’ll remember the worker’s words, the tenderness of their touch, and the warmth in their voice.
And maybe, just maybe, one day, someone will walk through those doors and look at me, imperfections and all, and say, “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
