My name is Toby, and today is my birthday. It’s a day I used to dream about—a day I believed would be filled with wagging tails, warm hugs, and maybe even a cake shaped like a bone. But as I sit here on the cold, cracked pavement behind a rusty fence, I realize that this birthday is far from what I imagined.
I wasn’t always here. Once, I had a family. I remember the little boy who would run through the garden, laughing as I chased after his toy car. His mom would call out to us from the porch, warning him not to let me dig up her flowers again. They loved me—or at least, I thought they did.
But something changed. One day, the laughter stopped, and the family started spending less time with me. They said I was “too much work” now that I’d grown bigger. They told me I barked too loud, that I shed too much fur, and that I wasn’t as cute as when I was a puppy. Then one morning, they loaded me into the car. I was so excited; I thought we were going to the park.
Instead, they drove me to this place—the shelter. They handed me over to a stranger and walked away without looking back. I remember standing at the gate, watching the boy I loved wave half-heartedly before the car disappeared.
That was six months ago.
Today, I woke up with a glimmer of hope. I thought, “Maybe they’ll come back for me. Maybe they remembered it’s my birthday.” I imagined the boy running through the shelter doors, shouting, “Toby! We missed you!” I pictured balloons, a little hat on my head, and a delicious treat in my bowl.
But as the hours passed, reality sank in. The shelter was busy today, with families coming in to adopt dogs. I watched as the smaller, fluffier pups were whisked away into loving arms. No one stopped at my kennel. No one even glanced my way.
The kind lady who works here noticed me sitting quietly. She came over with a biscuit and a gentle pat on the head. “Happy Birthday, Toby,” she said softly. Her words were kind, but they only made the ache in my heart grow deeper.
I moved to the corner of my kennel, curling up tightly. I thought about my family, wondering if they even remembered me. I thought about the boy—did he miss me at all? My dreams of a joyful birthday party began to fade, replaced by the heavy truth.
This isn’t the birthday I hoped for, but it’s the one I have. And yet, even as sadness wraps around me, I can’t stop hoping. I hope that someday, someone will walk through these doors and see me—not just as a dog in a shelter, but as a friend waiting for a second chance.
For now, I’ll close my eyes and dream of a better birthday. One where I’m surrounded by love, wagging my tail so hard it feels like it might fly off. One where someone whispers, “You’re special, Toby, and I’m so glad you’re here.”
I once hoped for my birthday party, but it wasn’t what I imagined. Still, I hold on to the hope that one day, it will be. Until then, I’ll keep waiting—because even in the darkest moments, a dog’s heart never stops believing in love.
