On a quiet street corner, beneath the shadow of an old, weathered building, lay a yellow stray dog. The once vibrant coat of fur had dulled with time, now thin and patchy, clinging to a body that was far too skinny for a dog of its size. Each rib pressed visibly against its skin, a testament to the many days it had gone without a proper meal. Its frame was so frail that it seemed like a strong gust of wind could knock it over.
But it wasn’t just the dog’s malnourished state that made it look so pitiful. Its left hind leg was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, a constant source of pain that made every step a struggle. The dog limped along the streets, each movement slow and deliberate, as if the very act of walking was a monumental task.
Its eyes, once bright with the joy of life, were now dim and filled with sorrow. They were large, brown, and expressive, silently pleading for kindness from the people who walked by. But day after day, the dog was met with indifference. People passed by, their eyes skimming over the pitiful creature as if it were invisible. Some even stepped around it, hurrying on with their lives, too busy or too uncaring to stop and offer help.
The dog had once known the warmth of a home, the comfort of a full belly, and the gentle touch of a loving hand. But those days were a distant memory now, lost in the haze of its current suffering. The streets had become its world, a harsh and unforgiving place where survival was its only concern. Each day was a battle for food, and every night was spent curled up in whatever shelter it could find, trying to keep warm against the cold.
Today, however, was different. Today was the dog’s birthday. It had been a year since it found itself alone on these streets, a year since it had last known love and care. But the dog still held onto hope. Even in its most desperate moments, it wished for a family, for an owner who would see beyond its pitiful state and offer it the love and care it so desperately needed.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the pavement, the dog found a small corner where it could rest. It lay down carefully, wincing as the pain in its leg flared up. Its sad eyes scanned the faces of the few remaining passersby, hoping against hope that someone would notice it.
But the street was quiet, and no one came.
The dog sighed softly, its body trembling with fatigue and hunger. It closed its eyes and imagined a different life, a life where it had a warm bed, regular meals, and a kind owner who would stroke its fur and tell it that everything would be okay. It was a dream the dog clung to, even as sleep slowly overtook it.
In its dreams, the dog was no longer skinny and broken. It ran freely through green fields, its fur golden and glossy under the sun. It barked joyfully as it chased after butterflies, its leg no longer a source of pain but a strong, sturdy limb that carried it effortlessly. And waiting for it at the end of the field was a person, smiling and calling its name, arms open wide to welcome it home.
The dog slept soundly that night, dreaming of a family that would one day come and take it away from the lonely streets. And even though its body was weak and its spirit tired, the dog’s heart was still full of hope.
Because today was its birthday, and birthdays were meant for wishes. And the dog had wished, with all its might, for a family to call its own.
