I’m just a failed dog, one who has never found a forever home. My journey began on cold streets, where I was born with no name and no one to call family. The world was loud, and everything felt big and scary. I tried to keep close to my siblings, but as time went on, they each found homes. Somehow, I was always the one left behind. I watched people come and go, their faces full of love for other dogs, but their eyes would just pass over me.
Life on the streets was hard, especially as I grew older. Finding food became a struggle, and I learned quickly which corners offered the most scraps, which alleys to avoid at night, and which people would yell at me just for being there. Sometimes, I’d wander into parks, watching other dogs with their owners, feeling an ache deep inside, wondering why I could never be one of them. I remember one winter night vividly—it was freezing, the ground hard as ice beneath me. I found a small box to curl up in, but the cold seeped through, chilling me to the bone. As I lay there shivering, I thought, “Is this all there is for a dog like me?”
I’ve spent years searching, hoping that someone would look at me and see more than just a stray. When it rains, I find shelter wherever I can, curling up to wait for it to pass. I’ve learned to live with my hopes small, each day just a chance to find a meal and a safe place to sleep. And when people call me a “failure,” I can’t help but believe it. Maybe I was never meant to have a home or family, maybe some dogs are just meant to wander, nameless and forgotten.
I’m not asking for much—just a warm place to rest, someone to sit beside me and tell me that I matter. I’m not perfect or young or even healthy, but I still have love left in my heart. I still dream that maybe one day, I’ll find a home where I’m wanted, where I can belong. But until then, I keep walking these streets, carrying my story of loneliness and hope, wondering if anyone will ever see beyond my flaws and take a chance on a dog like me.
