My name? I don’t have one. At least, no one has ever cared enough to give me one. People just call me “that blind, ugly dog.” I live in a small, rusty cage in a shelter where the days pass by in silence, and the nights are filled with cold winds and quiet tears that only I know I shed.
I wasn’t always this way. Once, I could see. Once, I was just a happy little pup chasing butterflies and leaves, believing the world was filled with kindness. But one day, there was an accident — a terrible one. I lost one eye and the other grew cloudy. My head was injured and became swollen. I don’t remember the pain as much as I remember the fear — the fear of being left alone.
After the accident, my owner didn’t want me anymore. He said I was “too much trouble” and “too hard to look at.” I saw — well, I felt — the moment his love disappeared. I remember the day he tied me to a pole outside the shelter and drove away without looking back. I waited for hours, thinking he would return. He never did.
Now, I sit quietly while people pass my cage. They stop sometimes, curious about the odd-looking dog with the swollen head and clouded eyes. But then they whisper, “Poor thing,” or “Too ugly,” and walk away. I hear them say, “Nobody will ever adopt that one.”
They said nobody will love me… because I am blind… because I am ugly.
But what they don’t see is my heart. I may not have sight, but I can feel love. I can feel warmth when someone speaks kindly to me. I can sense when a gentle hand brushes my fur. And despite everything, I still wag my tail every time I hear footsteps — just hoping someone might finally choose me.
All I want is a home. A warm place where I don’t have to sleep on cold concrete. A voice that calls me by a name. A person who doesn’t flinch when they see me, but sees the love I have to give. I don’t want toys or fancy food. I just want to be loved… even if I’m not perfect.
Sometimes, at night, I dream. I dream of running in a field, my ears flapping in the wind, someone laughing and calling my name. In those dreams, I’m not blind. I’m not ugly. I’m just a happy dog… loved and wanted.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here. But I keep waiting. Maybe one day, someone will walk past my cage and see not the scars, not the swollen head or my missing eye — but see me.
And maybe, just maybe, they’ll whisper not “ugly,” but “beautiful.”
