On my birthday, but as an unloved, scruffy dog, no one has noticed or wished me well; Still waiting for joy

It’s a cold, grey morning, and the scruffy dog sits at the edge of the street, his fur tangled, unkempt, and matted with dirt. His once golden coat is now a dull mix of brown and grey, patches of hair missing where time and neglect have taken their toll. His ribs press against his sides, a stark reminder of the meals that never came. It’s his birthday today, though no one else knows that—no one has noticed him, and no one has cared enough to celebrate.He waits, as he has waited for so long, hoping that maybe today will be different. Maybe today, someone will see him, someone will offer a kind word, a pat on the head, or—if the universe is feeling particularly generous—a warm meal. But the morning sun rises higher in the sky, and the street begins to fill with people. They pass by, some walking briskly to work, others holding hands with loved ones, all too preoccupied with their own lives to notice the small, scruffy dog sitting at the corner, staring at the world with eyes that are too wise for their years.

The dog is used to being overlooked. His life has been a series of forgotten moments and missed opportunities for connection. He wasn’t always this way. There was a time when he was loved, or at least, he thinks there was. The memories are blurry now, fading like a dream after waking, but he holds on to them because they’re all he has left. He remembers warm beds, the sound of children laughing, and the feeling of soft hands petting him behind the ears. He remembers the joy of running through fields, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he chased butterflies, his heart light and free.But that was a long time ago, and now, things are different. The family he once belonged to left him behind when they moved to a new home. He didn’t understand at first. He waited by the door for days, certain they would return for him. Every passing car sent a jolt of hope through his tired body, and every stranger who walked by made his tail wag, just a little. But no one came for him. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the realization finally settled in: he had been forgotten.

The streets became his home, and survival became his only purpose. He learned which alleys had the best scraps of food, where to hide when it rained, and how to stay out of sight when the humans who didn’t like dogs walked by. His fur grew scruffier, his body thinner, and his heart heavier. But through it all, he kept waiting—for something, anything, to change.Today, on his birthday, he finds himself once again waiting. But this time, there’s a deeper ache in his chest, a longing that’s hard to ignore. He watches as the people pass by, their shoes tapping against the pavement, their faces focused on destinations that he can’t imagine. A couple walks by, hand in hand, laughing about something he doesn’t understand. Their joy feels like a far-off echo of something he once knew, a ghost of a feeling that used to fill his heart but now feels so distant, so unreachable.He wonders what it would be like to be noticed again. To have someone bend down, look into his eyes, and really see him. Not just as a stray dog, dirty and hungry, but as a soul who is still capable of love, still capable of feeling joy. He wonders if anyone will ever take the time to see beyond the dirt, beyond the scruffy exterior, to the heart that still beats inside him, waiting for a chance to belong.

The day wears on, and the sun climbs higher into the sky, its heat beating down on his thin frame. He gets up and walks slowly down the street, his paws sore from the rough pavement. He doesn’t know where he’s going—he rarely does these days—but the movement helps him feel like he’s doing something, anything, to keep from giving in to the weight of his loneliness.As he walks, he catches the scent of food—freshly baked bread, perhaps, or a roasted chicken from a nearby restaurant. His stomach growls, a reminder of the many days he’s gone without a proper meal.

3But he knows better than to hope for scraps from places like that. They don’t waste food there, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be for him. Still, the smell lingers in the air, a cruel reminder of the world he’s been shut out of, a world where meals are shared, and birthdays are celebrated.The afternoon turns into evening, and the scruffy dog finds a spot in the park to rest. The trees provide some shelter, and the cool grass feels good against his tired body. He lies down, his head resting on his paws, his eyes half-closed but still alert. He watches as the sun begins to set, casting a golden light across the park, making everything look softer, warmer. For a moment, he allows himself to imagine a different life—a life where he’s not alone, where someone remembers that it’s his birthday, where he’s loved, not just for what he used to be, but for who he is now.

In this imagined life, he’s no longer scruffy or hungry. His fur is clean, his belly full, and his heart light. He runs through fields again, chasing butterflies and feeling the wind rush through his fur. And when he returns home, there’s a family waiting for him, arms open, smiles wide, ready to celebrate him, not just today, but every day.But the dream fades as quickly as it came, and the scruffy dog is left with the same reality he’s known for so long. The park grows quieter as the night falls, and the last of the people head home, leaving him alone once more. He curls up tightly, trying to keep warm as the temperature drops, and he closes his eyes.He knows that joy may not come today, and maybe not tomorrow either. But still, he waits. Because even though the world has forgotten him, he hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to be loved. And maybe, just maybe, one day someone will see him again.