The morning sun peeks through the cracks in the old wooden fence, casting soft rays of light onto the dusty ground where I lay. I stretch my legs and wag my tail instinctively, hoping today will be different. Today is my birthday—the first one I have ever had the chance to celebrate.
For so long, I never knew what a birthday was. I was born on the streets, where each day was just a struggle to survive. There was no such thing as celebrations, no special meals, no warm embraces. Just me, my mother, and my siblings, trying to find shelter and food. But things changed when I was rescued and brought to this shelter. Here, I have food every day, a small bed to sleep in, and people who care for me.
Still, deep inside, I dream of more. I dream of a family of my own—a home where I belong, where someone will love me not because they have to, but because they want to. And today, for the first time, I had hoped that someone would celebrate my birthday.
I watch as the volunteers walk past my kennel, busy with their daily tasks. Some of them smile at me, some even stop to pat my head, but no one says anything about my birthday. I keep waiting, hoping that maybe there will be a surprise. Maybe someone will come with a special treat, or maybe they will take me out to play longer than usual. But as the hours pass, my hope begins to fade.
The other dogs bark and wag their tails as people come and go. Some of them are lucky—they get to leave with new families, their faces filled with joy as they step into their forever homes. I press my nose against the bars of my kennel, watching as another puppy gets adopted. He is small and fluffy, the kind of dog people love at first sight. I wonder what it feels like to be chosen.
By the time the sun begins to set, I realize that no one remembered. No special meal, no extra playtime, no loving words whispered just for me. I curl up on my small blanket, trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter. But deep down, it does.
I close my eyes and imagine a different kind of birthday—a home where I would have my own soft bed, where someone would hug me and say, Happy Birthday. Maybe there would be a cake, or a new toy, or even just a moment where I felt truly special. But instead, I am here, alone in my kennel, wondering if anyone will ever love me enough to remember.
Even though my heart feels heavy, I promise myself that I won’t give up hope. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, someone will see me. They will look past the loneliness in my eyes and see the love I have to give. And when that day comes, I will finally have a birthday worth celebrating.
