Today is my birthday, marking exactly 10 years of being judged and called ugly by everyone. Most dogs’ birthdays are celebrated with joy—treats, cuddles, maybe even a party with a silly hat. But for me, it’s just another day of rejection, another day of being reminded that I don’t belong.
I wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I had a soft, golden coat and eyes that sparkled with curiosity. My first family chose me from a litter, picking me up with laughter and promises of a forever home. I was happy then. The children played with me, and I slept at the foot of their beds, dreaming of endless games of fetch.
But as I grew older, things began to change. My fur started to thin and lose its sheen. A strange skin condition left patches of my body rough and bare. My tail, once wagging with pride, became a reminder of how others saw me—unwanted, unworthy.
The family that once adored me started to turn away. The children didn’t laugh anymore when I came near, and their parents whispered words like “burden” and “eyesore.” One day, they loaded me into the car, and I thought we were going to the park. Instead, they left me at the gates of a shelter.
The shelter wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t home. The other dogs barked and wagged their tails when potential adopters walked by. People stopped at their cages, cooing and calling them “adorable” or “perfect.” When they reached mine, they barely looked at me. Some winced; others shook their heads.
“Too ugly,” I heard one woman say. “No one would want that dog.”
And so, year after year, I waited. Families came and went, choosing the playful puppies or the regal-looking breeds. My reflection in the dirty cage glass showed a dog that even I struggled to recognize—scarred, scrawny, with eyes dulled by loneliness.
Ten years have passed. Today, as I sit in the corner of my small enclosure, I can hear the staff whispering. “It’s his birthday,” one of them says. They bring me a small cupcake with a single candle. I don’t know what to do with it. The gesture is kind, but it only reminds me of what I’ve lost, of what I’ve never had.
I wonder if there’s a place for someone like me in this world. My heart still beats with the same love and loyalty I had as a puppy. I still dream of running in the grass, of having someone call my name with joy instead of pity.
The shelter staff pat my head gently, and for a moment, I close my eyes. I don’t blame them or the families who pass me by. The world loves beauty, and I’ve never fit its definition.
But deep down, I hope. Hope that somewhere, there’s someone who will look past my scars and see the dog I used to be—the dog I still am inside. Someone who will love me not because of how I look, but because I’ve waited so long to be loved.
Until then, I’ll sit here, letting the candle on my cupcake flicker out, dreaming of a day when someone finally chooses me. After all, even a dog like me deserves a birthday worth remembering.
