I remember the days when I used to run through the grass, my fur gleaming under the sun, full of life and joy. I was once a happy dog, loved and admired by those around me. My coat was shiny, smooth, and soft. People would stop to pet me, smile at me, and I would wag my tail in return, grateful for the attention. Life felt perfect back then, and every day was a new adventure.
But then everything changed. It started as a small irritation, a little itch here and there. At first, I thought it was nothing—just a harmless scratch. But over time, the itching grew worse. My skin became red and inflamed, and patches of fur began to fall out. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I could feel my body changing.
The mange took over my once-beautiful coat, leaving me with rough, patchy fur that no longer shone. My skin became scaly and sore. I could feel the eyes of others on me as I walked by, but it wasn’t the same as before. Instead of smiles and affection, there were looks of disgust, and I could hear whispers behind my back. “Look at that poor dog,” they would say, “what happened to him?” I could feel the rejection in their eyes, the distance they kept from me.
I was no longer the dog people admired, the dog they wanted to be around. The mange had not only changed my appearance, but it had also made me invisible to the world. I would watch as people walked by, their eyes quickly darting away when they saw me. I wanted to run up to them, to show them that I was still the same dog inside, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore. I felt ashamed of how I looked, and I could sense that others felt the same.
The worst part wasn’t the pain of the mange or the discomfort of my skin—it was the loneliness. I missed the days when I was surrounded by people who cared for me. I missed the gentle pats on the head, the kind words, the loving gazes. Now, all I had were the empty streets and the occasional glance from a stranger who looked at me like I was some kind of monster. I wanted to be loved again, but how could anyone love me when I looked like this?
I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t my fault, that the mange wasn’t something I could control, but it was hard to keep that in mind when every look I received seemed to confirm my worst fear—that I was no longer worthy of love. I had become a shadow of the dog I once was, and it hurt more than I could ever explain.
But still, somewhere deep inside, there was a part of me that refused to give up. My heart still beat with hope, even though the world seemed to have forgotten me. I still wanted to run and play, to feel the warmth of someone’s hand on my head, to be seen not for the ugliness of my skin but for the love I had to give.
I may have lost my shiny coat, but I haven’t lost my heart. I am still the same dog inside, with the same capacity for love, loyalty, and joy. I wish I could make the world see that, to let people know that just because I look different doesn’t mean I’m any less deserving of affection.
If only someone would take a moment to look past my scars, to see the dog I still am underneath all the pain and the mange. I may not be as I once was, but I am still here, still hoping, still waiting for the day when someone will see me, truly see me, and love me for the dog I am—not for the way I look.
So, even though my appearance has changed and people may avoid me, I will keep my heart open. I will keep hoping that one day, someone will look beyond my fur and see the love I have to offer. I may not be beautiful anymore, but I am still a dog full of love, and that is something that no mange or scar can take away.
