I’ve spent countless days in this shelter, surrounded by the scent of other dogs, the clinking of cages, and the soft voices of volunteers who come and go. I’ve seen many dogs come and go, their tails wagging as they were adopted, their eyes filled with excitement as they left the shelter behind. But for me, each day passes with the same emptiness. I long for something more—something I don’t even have a name for yet. I long for a home. A place where I can rest my head without the cold, hard metal of a cage surrounding me. A place where I belong.
Every morning, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching my cage. My heart skips a beat as I stand up on my paws, my tail wagging gently, hoping that this time, someone will notice me. But instead, they walk past, stopping at the cages of the younger, more playful dogs. They don’t see me. They don’t notice how I sit quietly, waiting patiently for my chance. I’m not loud, I’m not jumpy, and I’m not the one who jumps up on the bars and begs for attention. Maybe that’s my mistake.
I watch as families come and look at the other dogs. They coo over the puppies, the playful ones with bright eyes and soft fur. But no one looks my way. I’m not as young as I used to be, and my coat isn’t as shiny as theirs. I’ve had my share of hard days—days spent on the streets, struggling to survive. I’ve lost my health along the way, but I’ve never lost my hope. Hope that one day, someone will look at me and see more than just a dog with a sad face. Hope that one day, someone will see me for the loyal, loving soul that I am.
Every night, as I curl up on the thin blanket they give me, I close my eyes and dream of a home. I dream of a warm bed, of a person who will stroke my fur and tell me that I am loved. I dream of playing in a yard, running freely without the walls of this shelter holding me back. I imagine what it would feel like to wake up in a house that smells like love and safety, where the person who loves me will be there to greet me with a smile.
But that fortune has not come to me. I’ve waited and waited, with hope in my heart, but each day is the same. I try to be patient. I try to be strong. I tell myself that my time will come—that I just need to wait a little longer. But as the days turn into weeks and then months, the pain of longing becomes harder to bear. I wonder if anyone will ever choose me. I wonder if my wish for a home will ever be granted.
I long to be part of a family. I long to be loved and cared for, to know that I have a place in someone’s heart. I long to show them that I will always be there, by their side, loyal and true. I want to be the one who greets them at the door when they come home, the one who curls up beside them when they feel sad, the one who loves them unconditionally. I have so much love to give, but I’m still waiting for the right person to see it.
I’ve seen so many other dogs leave, and while I’m happy for them, a part of me feels left behind. I watch as they are chosen, as they are given their second chance, and I can’t help but wonder: Why not me?
But I won’t give up. I can’t. Because deep down, I know there’s a family out there for me. Maybe they haven’t found me yet, but I will keep waiting. I will keep longing for that home that I’ve dreamed of every day. I’ll keep hoping, even when it feels like the world has forgotten me.
I long for a home, but that fortune has not come to me yet. But I know, one day, it will. I’ll be waiting, as patiently as I can, for the moment when someone looks at me and sees everything I’ve always known I am: a loyal companion, a loving soul, and the dog who will forever be grateful for the family who finally chooses me.
Until that day comes, I will wait. And I will hope.
