Today is my birthday. It should be a day of joy, a day of celebration, but instead, it feels like every other day—lonely and cold. I’m just a black dog, overlooked, unwanted, and unloved. I sit quietly by the side of the road, my fur blending with the shadows, my heart heavy with a longing I don’t quite understand.
I watch people pass by, their faces lighting up when they see a golden retriever or a fluffy white poodle. They stop to pet them, their hands full of kindness and affection. But when their eyes meet mine, something changes. Their smiles fade, replaced by indifference or, worse, discomfort. They quicken their pace, pretending I don’t exist. Is it because of my color? Is it because I’m black?
“Today is my birthday,” I want to tell them. “Just a kind word, a smile, or even a gentle pat would mean the world to me.” But no one stops. No one sees me.
The streets are empty now, the bustle of the day giving way to the stillness of night. The moonlight reflects off the puddles on the pavement, and I catch a glimpse of myself. My eyes, though weary, still hold a spark of hope. My fur, though dusty, carries the memory of better days—days when I had a home, a family, and a name.
I close my eyes and remember the warm hands that used to scratch behind my ears, the cheerful voice that used to call me in from the yard. They left me one day, without explanation. Maybe they couldn’t afford to keep me, or maybe they thought I wasn’t beautiful enough. Whatever the reason, I ended up here, a stray, a shadow, invisible to most.
The growl of my stomach pulls me back to the present. Hunger is a constant companion, but tonight it feels sharper, a reminder of the emptiness I feel inside. I curl up under a streetlamp, trying to ignore the cold seeping into my bones. The world around me is silent, but in my mind, I hear the echoes of a birthday song—soft, loving, and just for me.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper to myself, the words catching in my throat. A single tear rolls down my muzzle, glistening like a tiny pearl before it falls.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps. A pair of worn shoes stops in front of me. I look up hesitantly, expecting another glance of pity or fear. Instead, I see kindness. A gentle hand reaches out, holding a small piece of bread. The man kneels, his eyes meeting mine.
“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” he says softly. His voice is warm, like the sun breaking through a stormy sky.
He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t flinch. He stays, stroking my fur, telling me I’m good, I’m worthy, and I’m seen. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel hope stirring in my chest.
Maybe today isn’t just another lonely day. Maybe today is the start of something new. Maybe, just maybe, someone sees the beauty in me, even if I’m black.
As he ties a piece of rope gently around my neck, I realize that this might be the best birthday gift I could ever hope for—a chance to be loved, a chance to matter.
And for the first time in years, I wag my tail.
