The morning sun peeked through the cracks in the kennel, painting faint golden streaks on the cold, gray floor. I stretched lazily, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Today felt special, though the day started just like any other. My tail wagged softly as I sat up, a sense of excitement bubbling within me.
Today is my birthday.
I remember last year’s celebration vividly. My family had gathered around me, their laughter filling the air. A small cake—more for them than for me—was placed in front of me, and they sang a song. I didn’t understand the words, but I felt the love. The memory of their hugs and the taste of the special treat they gave me made my tail wag faster.
But things are different now.
Several months ago, my family left me at the shelter. They told the kind humans here that they couldn’t take care of me anymore. I didn’t understand their reasons; I only knew the pain of watching them walk away without looking back.
Life in the shelter isn’t bad. The humans here feed me and keep me warm. They pat my head when they pass by, and some even stop to scratch behind my ears. But it’s not the same. The love, the bond I once had, feels like a distant dream.
Today, I hoped someone might notice. Maybe they’d sense that it’s a special day for me. I watched eagerly as the humans walked past my kennel. My tail thumped against the floor whenever someone came near. “Is it for me?” I thought each time someone stopped.
But no one did.
I waited and waited, the excitement in my chest slowly fading into a quiet ache. The other dogs barked and played, unaware of the heavy sadness that hung over me. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, I curled up in the corner of my kennel, resting my head on my paws.
I thought about my family and the warm home I once had. Did they remember me? Did they know today was my birthday? Were they celebrating without me, or had they forgotten too?
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn’t cry. After all, I was just a dog. Who would care if it was my birthday?
As the shelter grew quieter, one of the humans walked into the room carrying a small bowl. She stopped in front of my kennel and crouched down, her eyes soft and kind. “Hey, buddy,” she said, her voice gentle. She slid the bowl under the bars—a special treat with some meat and biscuits.
I looked up at her, my tail wagging weakly. Did she know? Or was this just coincidence? Either way, it felt like a tiny spark of hope in the darkness. I licked her hand gratefully as she reached in to pat my head.
“You’re a good boy,” she whispered before standing up and walking away.
I ate the treat slowly, savoring every bite. It wasn’t much, but it reminded me that maybe, just maybe, there was still kindness in the world for a dog like me.
As I drifted off to sleep that night, I told myself that one day, I would have a family again—a family who would know and celebrate my birthday, a family who would love me unconditionally. Until then, I would wait.
Because even if no one else remembers, I will always know that today is my birthday.
