For as long as I can remember, I’ve been alone. I’ve lived in shelters, where the sounds of barking and the smell of wet fur became a part of me, where people would come and go, but none ever stayed. I watched other dogs get adopted—some with shiny coats, others with wagging tails, full of energy and joy. But me? I was different.
I didn’t have the luxury of that same excitement, that same promise of a forever home. You see, I have an illness—something that people don’t always understand, and something that makes them turn away from me when I need them the most. It’s an intestinal disease, and it makes me weak. I get sick sometimes, and it’s hard for me to keep food down. It’s not something I can control, but it’s a part of who I am.
When I first entered the shelter, I didn’t know what was happening. I was just a small dog, frightened and alone. I wanted to play, I wanted to run, but I also wanted to be loved. I could feel the eyes of potential families on me, but when they saw my condition, their faces would change. It was as if they could see the disease in my eyes, and without a word, they’d turn their backs on me.
I remember the first time a family came to visit. They were so kind at first, petting me, telling me how sweet I was. But when they learned about my illness, their smiles faded. The father looked down at me with concern, and the mother took a step back, as if I had suddenly become something unclean. They spoke in hushed voices to the shelter worker, and before I knew it, they were walking out the door, leaving me behind without even a glance.
Then another family came. I could hear the excitement in their voices as they saw the other dogs, but when they looked at me, I could feel the judgment in their eyes. “He looks sick,” I heard them whisper. “How can we care for him if he’s always ill?” It wasn’t my fault, but still, they left. One after another, families came and went, and I was left with nothing but the empty walls of the shelter and the echoes of my own disappointment.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. I was always the last one left, the dog that no one wanted. I could see the other dogs get adopted, see them leave with their new families, their tails wagging with excitement. They would look back at me as they were driven away, and I’d wonder why they got to leave, why they got to have a home, while I stayed behind.
Each time I was passed over, my heart broke a little more. I wanted so badly to be loved, to feel the warmth of a family, to know that I wasn’t just some discarded soul left to suffer alone. But it felt like no one could see me for who I really was. They only saw my disease. They only saw what I couldn’t change. I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t healthy. But I was still a dog, still full of love, still capable of giving my heart to someone who would accept me for all that I am.
Sometimes, I would sit by the window in the shelter and watch the world outside. I would see children playing with their dogs, running and laughing, and I’d dream about what it would be like to be a part of that world. What would it feel like to be chosen, to be loved? But those thoughts would only bring me pain, because I knew deep down that I might never get the chance.
Then one day, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, something changed. A family came to the shelter, and they saw me. They didn’t look at me with pity or fear. They didn’t turn away when they heard about my illness. They just looked at me with understanding, with patience, and they didn’t seem to care about the things that made me different.
They took me in their arms, gently, as if I were fragile. They didn’t ask about my disease or whether it would cause problems. They just told me that they wanted to give me a chance, that they believed I was worth loving.
It wasn’t an instant fix. There were days when I still felt sick, when I needed extra care and attention, but that family never wavered. They didn’t care about my illness. They cared about me—about who I was, not what was wrong with me.
I’ve learned that not everyone will understand me, and that’s okay. But there are some who will see past the surface and love you for what really matters. And now, as I sit in my new home, with my family, I realize that I’ve finally found the place I belong. I may not have been the perfect dog in everyone’s eyes, but I was perfect for them. And for the first time in my life, I feel truly loved.
No matter how many families passed me by, no matter how many times I was rejected, I never gave up hope. I knew that one day, someone would see me for who I truly was—and they would love me for it. And they did.
