I’ve never been like the other dogs. As soon as I was born, I knew I was different. While most puppies looked cute with their fluffy fur and bright, shiny eyes, I was born with a face that made people stare, sometimes in fear, sometimes in confusion. I don’t have a nose like other dogs, and my eyes are large and bulging, making me look as though I’m always surprised, always startled. But it’s just how I look. I didn’t choose it.
When I was younger, I didn’t understand why people didn’t want to play with me or pet me. I would wag my tail, trying to approach them with the excitement and innocence that all puppies have. But they would step back, their faces contorting into expressions I couldn’t quite understand. Some would even cross the street to avoid getting too close. At first, I thought it was just an accident, maybe they were in a hurry. But after a while, I realized it wasn’t an accident. They didn’t want to be near me.
It hurt. I was just a puppy, full of love, with so much to give, yet no one wanted it. I had a family once, or at least, I think I did. They didn’t seem to care much about me. Maybe they didn’t like the way I looked either. Maybe they thought I was broken in some way. One day, they simply left me behind. They drove away, and I was left there, alone, confused, with no idea of what had happened. The world felt cold and empty without them.
For days, I wandered the streets, searching for food, water, and warmth. Sometimes people would throw food at me from a distance, but no one would stop to talk to me. I learned to stay away from them, to keep my distance, to avoid the looks that stung and the whispers that followed me. “Look at that poor thing,” I would hear. “It’s so different… so strange.” I wished more than anything that I could look like the other dogs, with soft fur and eyes that didn’t bulge out like mine. I wished I didn’t stand out so much.
One day, I found myself near a park, tired and hungry. I sat down on the sidewalk, feeling the weight of my loneliness press down on me. I was so tired of being ignored, so tired of seeing people with their dogs, their happy, healthy pets. I wanted that too. I wanted someone to look at me with kindness, to pet me and tell me that I was special, that I was loved.
That’s when she saw me. A woman was walking by, her eyes scanning the park. She paused when she saw me sitting there, my head lowered, my tail tucked between my legs. I didn’t move, didn’t approach her. I wasn’t sure if I could handle another rejection. But then, she crouched down and looked at me, really looked at me, with eyes that weren’t filled with fear or disgust. Her expression softened, and she spoke gently.
“You’re a beautiful dog,” she said, her voice warm and kind. “You may look different, but you are perfect just as you are.”
I couldn’t believe it. No one had ever said something like that to me before. No one had ever told me that I was beautiful, especially not with the way I looked. I lifted my head slowly, unsure if I should believe her. But something in her voice, something in the way she looked at me, made me feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t lying.
She reached out her hand, slowly, cautiously. I didn’t move. I was still afraid. Afraid that she might pull away, that she might change her mind. But she didn’t. Her hand touched my head gently, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a warmth, a kindness that wasn’t born of pity but of genuine affection.
“I know you’re different,” she said softly, “but your differences make you special. Your face may be unique, but that’s what makes you who you are. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not worth loving.”
For the first time in my life, I felt truly seen. Not as an oddity, not as something to be avoided, but as a creature worthy of love. The woman smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but wag my tail, unsure at first if it was safe to show how happy I felt. But she didn’t pull back. She stayed with me, talking to me softly and stroking my fur.
From that moment on, I never felt alone again. She took me in, brought me to her home, and gave me a place where I was loved, where I didn’t have to hide or be ashamed of my appearance.
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I still see the dog with the strange face, the one with no nose and big, bulging eyes. But now, when I look at myself, I don’t see something wrong. I see a dog who has finally found a family, a dog who is loved for exactly who he is.
I still wonder sometimes if the way I look is why so many people turned away from me. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t need their approval. I don’t need them to love me. Because I have someone who does.
And that’s enough for me.
So, if you’re reading this and you see me with my funny face and my awkward appearance, don’t look away. Because I promise you, I have so much love to give. I’m special in my own way, and I hope you can see that too.
Because, for the first time, I’ve learned to see it in myself.
