I spend most of my days wandering alone, unsure of where I belong. I watch other dogs as they walk happily beside their owners, tails wagging, eyes bright, and hearts full of love. It’s such a different life than mine. Sometimes, I try to imagine what it must feel like to have someone waiting for me, a place that’s warm and welcoming where I can finally rest. But that’s just a dream—my reality is far lonelier.
I remember the day I was left by the roadside. My paws were so tired from walking, and my fur was dirty from the dust and rain. I sat down and waited, hoping they’d come back. Hours turned into days, and I finally understood they weren’t coming for me. Since then, I’ve been on my own. The nights are the hardest; I curl up wherever I can find shelter, but the cold always finds its way to me. The sounds of the night echo around me, sometimes distant barking, sometimes the soft pitter-patter of rain on a rooftop.
Every now and then, I approach people, hoping someone will see the sadness in my eyes and offer me a bit of kindness. But most just pass by, not even glancing in my direction. Sometimes, children point and say, “Look, a stray dog!” but their parents pull them away quickly. I see the way they look at me, as if I’m nothing more than a nuisance. It hurts to feel invisible, like no one sees the heart that just wants to be loved, the paws that yearn for a gentle pat, and the soul that’s desperate for companionship.
Once, a kind man stopped to give me a scrap of food. He spoke to me softly, and for a moment, I felt warm inside. But even he had to leave. I followed him for as long as I could, but he disappeared into the distance, leaving me behind once more. It was a moment of kindness that I cherished, but it reminded me of what I don’t have—a home, someone who will stay, someone who will care.
In my dreams, I imagine a life where I’m not lost or alone. I imagine a cozy bed in a little corner of a home, a family that looks at me with love, and a bowl of food waiting just for me. I imagine being called by a name, feeling hands that scratch behind my ears and rub my belly. But when I wake up, I’m still here, just a lonely dog in a world that seems to have no space for me.
I keep hoping, though. Even though I feel lost and lonely, I hold on to the small chance that maybe, one day, someone will look at me and see beyond my rough fur and tired eyes. Maybe, they’ll see a friend who has waited all his life for a bit of love. Until then, I’ll keep wandering, keep hoping, and keep dreaming.
