Today is my birthday, but it doesn’t feel special. I sit alone in a dark corner of the backyard, the cold ground beneath me and a small piece of cake in front of my paws. The cake is stale, probably left over from yesterday’s leftovers, but it’s all I have to mark the occasion. Quietly, I nibble on it, my ears drooping as I wonder if anyone remembers what day it is.
I wasn’t always alone like this. There was a time when my birthdays were filled with laughter and love. I remember the first one vividly. My human, Sarah, had baked me a special dog-friendly cake and invited the neighborhood kids over to celebrate. I wore a silly hat and wagged my tail so hard it felt like it might fall off. Back then, I felt like the luckiest dog in the world.
But things are different now. Sarah doesn’t live here anymore. She went away to a place called “college,” and I was left behind with her parents. They’re nice, but they don’t understand me the way she did. Sarah used to scratch behind my ears just the way I liked, take me on long walks, and whisper secrets into my fur. Her parents feed me and let me out, but their hearts aren’t in it. I’m just… here.
As I nibble on the cake, a single tear rolls down my muzzle. I wonder if Sarah remembers me today. Does she think about the way we used to celebrate? Does she miss me like I miss her? I try to convince myself that she does. After all, I’m her dog, her best friend.
The night grows colder, and the shadows stretch longer. The other dogs in the neighborhood bark in the distance, their voices echoing through the darkness. I wish I could join them, but I don’t have the energy tonight. My heart feels too heavy.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps pulls me out of my thoughts. I perk up, my tail wagging cautiously. Could it be Sarah? My heart leaps at the possibility, but it’s just her mom, carrying a bowl of food. She sets it down without a word and walks back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
I look at the bowl, then at the cake. A part of me wishes I could share this moment with someone who understands. Someone who would celebrate me, even if just for a moment.
As the moon rises high in the sky, I curl up in my corner, the uneaten cake still by my side. “Happy birthday to me,” I whisper softly to the night. My voice is lost in the stillness, but in my heart, I hold onto the hope that maybe next year will be different. Maybe Sarah will come back. Maybe I won’t be alone.
Until then, I’ll keep waiting. Because that’s what dogs do – we wait, we hope, and we love, even when it hurts.
