Today is my birthday, and I am lonely in a cold, muddy puddle. The rain has stopped, but the ground beneath me is soaked. My fur clings to my thin frame, damp and dirty, a far cry from how I once looked. My stomach growls faintly, but it’s a sound I’ve grown used to. Hunger, cold, and loneliness have become my constant companions since the day I was left behind.
I remember my life before all of this. My name used to echo through the house, spoken with love and laughter. My family—my humans—celebrated me every year on this day. They’d call me their good boy, shower me with belly rubs and treats, and even sing me a silly birthday song. Oh, how I loved those moments! The sound of their voices, the warmth of their hands, and the feeling that I belonged. Back then, I had no idea that happiness could slip away so easily.
It happened so suddenly. One day, they took me for a ride in the car, something I used to love. I stuck my head out the window, letting the breeze ruffle my fur, thinking we were off on another adventure. But when the car stopped, they left me by the side of the road. I chased after them, barking until my voice cracked, but the car sped away, and I was left standing there, confused and heartbroken.
That was months ago—maybe even a year. Time feels strange when you’re on your own. The days blend together into a blur of searching for scraps of food, finding places to sleep, and avoiding the dangers of the streets. But today feels different, heavier somehow. It’s my birthday, and the ache in my chest is sharper than ever.
This morning, I saw children playing in a park. Their laughter reminded me of my humans. I wanted to join them, to feel the joy of being seen and loved again, but as I approached, they screamed and ran away. To them, I’m just a dirty, stray dog, not the cherished companion I once was.
As the day went on, the sky darkened, and the rain began to fall. I found shelter under an old bench, but it wasn’t enough to keep me dry. The puddle I’m lying in now formed around me as I waited for the storm to pass. The cold seeps into my bones, and I shiver uncontrollably. My tail lies limp in the mud; I can’t even summon the energy to wag it anymore.
I tilt my head toward the sky, watching the first stars appear. I close my eyes and make a wish, though I don’t know if wishes come true for dogs like me. I don’t wish for fancy toys or big meals. All I want is to feel warmth again—the kind of warmth that comes from being loved. I want a family who will look past my matted fur and tired eyes to see the loyal heart inside me.
As the night deepens, the streets grow quiet. The distant hum of cars fades, leaving only the sound of my breath and the occasional rustle of the wind. I curl into a tight ball, trying to conserve what little warmth I have left. My eyelids grow heavy, and I drift into a dream.
In my dream, I’m back with a family. Not my old one, but a new one. A kind hand strokes my head, and a soft voice tells me I’m safe. There’s a warm bed waiting for me by the fireplace, and a bowl filled with food just for me. For the first time in so long, I feel at peace.
When I wake, the puddle is still cold, and the world is still lonely. But the dream lingers, giving me a small spark of hope. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe someone will see me, not as a stray, but as a dog who deserves a second chance.
For now, though, I am just a lonely dog, spending my birthday in a cold, muddy puddle, waiting for the day when I will finally be loved again.
