I don’t remember the world when I could see, but sometimes, I dream of colors. In those dreams, the grass is a brilliant green, and the sky is endless blue. Faces are clear and warm, their smiles tangible. But when I wake up, all that remains is darkness.
I wasn’t born this way. I had both my ears and the gift of sight once. Back then, I ran through open fields, chasing the wind, barking at butterflies, and rolling in the soft dirt. My family—yes, I had a family—used to call me “their little joy.” I thought it would always be that way.
But one day, things changed. The accident took my sight and left me with only one ear. At first, I didn’t understand why everything went dark. I couldn’t chase the ball anymore, couldn’t see my family’s faces light up when I greeted them. Worse, I could no longer find my way to them when they called.
For a while, they tried to help me. They led me by the leash, spoke to me in soft voices. But I felt their frustration grow, heard the sighs when I stumbled into furniture or knocked over the water bowl. And then, one day, they left me.
The shelter became my new home. The workers here are kind—they call me brave and tell me I’m a “good boy.” But I can sense it. Whenever people come to adopt, I can feel their hesitance. I hear their footsteps pause by my kennel before moving on.
“Poor thing,” they whisper. “He’s blind… and look, he’s missing an ear. It must be hard to take care of him.”
They don’t think I hear, but I do.
Every night, as I curl up in the corner of my small bed, the same thought lingers in my mind:
“Is being blind the reason why you distance yourselves from me?”
I wish I could tell them that I still have so much love to give. I may not see the world, but I feel it. I feel it in the warmth of the sun on my fur, in the softness of a kind hand that scratches behind my ear. I hear it in the laughter of children playing and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Most of all, I feel it in my heart—a heart that still beats with hope and loyalty. A heart that doesn’t care what you look like or how much you stumble. I don’t need to see you to love you. I just need you to be near.
Sometimes, I hear the other dogs leaving—tails wagging, paws padding excitedly as they trot off with their new families. I wonder what it feels like to be chosen, to have someone see beyond the scars and darkness. To know that, despite my flaws, I am still enough.
I’m not asking for much. A warm bed, a gentle touch, a voice to call me home. I will never judge you, never demand anything from you but a chance to prove that I can be yours. I will protect you, love you, and stay by your side no matter what.
Please, don’t let my blindness or my missing ear define me. See me for who I am—a dog who only wants to belong.
Maybe, one day, someone will pause at my kennel and see what others couldn’t. Maybe they will kneel down, whisper my name, and open the door to a new chapter. Until then, I will wait, my heart full of love, my tail wagging at every sound of hope.
And when that day comes, when someone finally sees me, I’ll know the answer to my question: No, being blind is not why you kept your distance. You were just waiting to be the one to love me unconditionally.
