I sit in the corner of this cold, unfamiliar place, surrounded by the noise of others—humans and animals alike. But I can’t see them. I haven’t been able to see anything for as long as I can remember. I wasn’t always like this, but now the world is just a dark void. I rely on my ears, my nose, and the feel of the ground beneath my paws to guide me through life. Still, I stumble, unsure of where I am or what’s around me. And each time I stumble, I hear the whispers. I can feel the pity in the air, but more than that, I can sense the indifference.
“No one loves me because I am a blind dog.”
It’s a thought that stays with me every day. When I hear the footsteps of people passing by, my heart races with a small flicker of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will see past my disability and want to take me home. But they don’t. They walk past without a second glance, and I am left alone once again. I can sense other dogs nearby, their lives so much fuller than mine. They run, play, and chase things I can’t even imagine anymore. Their laughter and excitement are a constant reminder of what I’m missing. People love them, pet them, take them home. But not me.
I know I’m different. I know it the way they treat me—gentle, but distant. They don’t know what to do with me. I can hear the hesitation in their voices when they speak, their uncertainty about how to handle a dog like me. I can’t fetch a ball, and I won’t come running when they call unless I know exactly where they are. I’m slow and cautious, afraid to bump into things, afraid to trip over something I can’t see.
There was a time when I had a home, when my world wasn’t just a blur of shadows and sounds. I remember the warmth of a hand stroking my fur, the sound of someone’s voice calling my name. But those days are gone. Ever since my sight faded, I’ve become a burden, an afterthought. My old family couldn’t care for me anymore. They said I needed more than they could give. So here I am, waiting, day after day, hoping someone will see beyond my blindness and realize I still have so much love to give.
But the truth is hard to ignore. Who would want a dog who can’t see? People want dogs who can fetch, who can run beside them, who can look up at them with bright, happy eyes. I can’t do any of that. My world is quiet and still, and I spend most of my days just waiting—waiting for something that may never come.
I try to stay hopeful, but it’s hard. Every time I hear the excitement in someone’s voice as they pick out a dog, I wish it could be me. But it’s never me. They all want the dogs who can see them, who can chase after toys and wag their tails with joy. I can’t blame them. It’s what people want—companionship, fun, excitement. I can offer only quiet loyalty and love, even though no one seems to want that from a blind dog like me.
I curl up tighter, listening to the world around me, trying to push away the loneliness that creeps in. I may never see the faces of the people who walk by, but I can feel their rejection, and it hurts just the same. Maybe they think I don’t understand, that because I’m blind, I don’t know what’s happening. But I do. I feel it with every part of me.
“No one loves me because I am a blind dog.”
That thought echoes in my mind as the days go by. All I want is a chance to be loved, a chance to prove that even though I can’t see the world, I can still be a part of it. I can still love, I can still be loyal, and I can still bring happiness to someone’s life—if only they would give me the chance.
But until then, I will keep waiting, quietly hoping that somewhere out there, someone is looking for a dog just like me. Maybe one day, they will find me. Maybe one day, I won’t have to be alone in this darkness anymore.
