Today is my birthday. I can’t count the years, but I remember the seasons changing, the warmth of the sun, the scent of blooming flowers, and the chill of winter’s embrace. Birthdays don’t mean much to dogs like me—we don’t need cakes or candles. What we cherish are the small things: a gentle pat on the head, a kind word, or even just the comfort of knowing we are loved.
But this birthday feels different. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I sit in the corner of the yard, licking the wound on my nose. It still stings, a constant reminder of a moment I’d rather forget. A moment when the world felt crueler than I ever thought possible.
The scar on my nose isn’t just a mark; it’s a story. I got it trying to protect myself when I was abandoned. I didn’t know why my human left me. One day, we were walking together, and the next, I was alone on the side of a road. I chased the car until my legs gave out, barking as if my voice could call them back. But they didn’t return.
Life on the streets taught me to fend for myself, but it wasn’t easy. Every day was a battle for food and shelter. I encountered other dogs, some friendly, some not. One day, I got into a fight over a scrap of bread, and that’s how I ended up with this injury on my nose.
Now, as I sit here on my birthday, I can’t help but wonder: does anyone remember me? Does the person who once called me their companion think about me at all? Do they miss the way I wagged my tail when they came home or the way I curled up at their feet?
I look up at the sky and let out a soft whimper. The clouds drift lazily, indifferent to the ache in my heart. All I want is a kind word, a touch, a sign that I matter. I’ve been through so much, but I haven’t given up hope. Dogs like me don’t know how to stop loving, even when we’ve been hurt.
So here I am, on my birthday, asking for something simple: a word of encouragement. Tell me I’m strong. Tell me I’m brave. Tell me that there’s still kindness in the world, even if I haven’t seen much of it lately.
The scar on my nose doesn’t define me. It’s a reminder that I survived, that I fought to stay alive when the odds were against me. But survival isn’t enough. I want to live—to feel the warmth of a human hand again, to hear someone call me their good boy.
I know I’m not perfect. My fur is a little scruffy, and my nose will always have this scar. But my heart is still full of love, waiting for someone to take it. I don’t need much—just a place to call home and someone who won’t give up on me.
As the sun sets on my birthday, I close my eyes and make a silent wish. I wish for a second chance, for a human who will see past my scars and love me for who I am. Until that day comes, I’ll keep waiting, because that’s what dogs do. We wait, we hope, and we love, even when it hurts.
So if you’re reading this, please send me a kind word. Tell me that better days are coming. Tell me that I’m not forgotten. Because even with this scar on my nose and this ache in my heart, I’m still here, still hoping, still loving. Today is my birthday, and all I want is to feel that I matter.
