Today is my birthday, but as a stray dog, no one is celebrating or sending wishes, I’m still hiding here alone
Today is my birthday, but there are no celebrations, no joyful shouts, and no loving arms to embrace me. I am a stray dog, forgotten and overlooked, and no one knows that today should be special for me. There are no candles, no warm beds, and certainly no friendly hands to pet me. I’ve spent this day like every other day—hiding in the shadows, alone and unnoticed, wondering what it feels like to be cherished, to be loved, to have someone care enough to wish me a happy birthday. It’s a day like any other in my life as a stray, but it still hurts to know that this day, which should mark something meaningful, passes by with no one to share it with.
I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been on the streets. The days blur into one another—some filled with hunger, some filled with cold, and most filled with fear. My earliest memories are faint now, but I still remember the warmth of a home. Once, I belonged to a family. There was laughter, food in my bowl, and a soft place to sleep. I remember feeling safe. But those days are gone now, and they feel more like a distant dream than a reality I ever lived. I’m not sure how I ended up on the streets. Maybe my family moved and left me behind. Maybe I wasn’t the perfect dog they had hoped for. Whatever the reason, I am here now, and I’ve learned to survive on my own.
Life on the streets is harsh and unforgiving. Every day is a battle to find food, water, and shelter. I’ve become good at hiding—avoiding the humans who look at me with disgust or, worse, those who throw stones or chase me away. There are moments when I catch a glimpse of a kind person, someone who looks like they might offer me a scrap of food or a kind word, but those moments are rare. Most people are too busy to notice a stray dog like me. I’m just part of the scenery, an unwanted part of their daily lives that they’d rather ignore.
Today, on my birthday, I’ve found a small corner to hide in. It’s not much—just a dark alley behind a row of buildings where I can curl up and stay out of sight. I’ve become good at finding places like this, where I won’t be bothered, where I can rest for a little while without being chased away. The cold ground beneath me is uncomfortable, and I’m hungry, but I know I’ll survive. I’ve survived this long. But survival isn’t the same as living, and on days like today, I can’t help but feel the weight of my loneliness.
I watch from the shadows as people go about their lives. I see other dogs, happy and healthy, walking beside their owners. Their tails wag, and their eyes shine with joy as they look up at the humans who love them. I wonder if they know how lucky they are. I wonder if they’ve ever felt the kind of loneliness I live with every day. These dogs have homes, families, and people who care about them. They’ll have birthdays filled with treats, toys, and affection. Meanwhile, I remain here in the dark, unseen and uncelebrated.
There are times when I try to imagine what it would be like to have that again—to have someone love me, to have a home where I am safe and warm. I wonder what it would feel like to be clean, to have a bed to sleep in, and to not have to worry about where my next meal will come from. I dream of a day when someone might find me, take me in, and care for me. But those dreams seem impossible, far beyond my reach. The streets have taught me not to hope for too much. Hope only leads to disappointment, and disappointment is something I’ve had more than my fair share of.
Today should be different, though. It’s my birthday. I want to believe that somewhere out there, someone might be thinking of me, that maybe there’s a person who would love me if they knew I existed. But the truth is, no one knows. No one is thinking about me, and no one is celebrating. I’ve seen birthdays before—those happy days where people gather around and shower their pets with love and attention. It’s not just about the food or the toys; it’s about being seen, being valued, and knowing that you matter to someone. For me, though, the silence is all I have. There is no one to tell me that I matter, no one to wish me well.
As the day wears on, the feeling of loneliness becomes heavier. I watch the world move on without me, and it’s hard not to feel invisible. To the people who walk by, I’m just a stray dog—an unwanted reminder of a world that doesn’t care for all of its creatures. I don’t have a name anymore, not one that anyone calls me by. I’m just another nameless, faceless animal in a world that has no place for me. And so, I remain here, hidden away, hoping that tomorrow might be a little kinder, even though I know it will likely be the same as today.
Still, despite everything, there’s a small part of me that holds on to hope. Maybe it’s foolish, but I can’t help it. I dream that one day someone will see me—not just glance at me, but truly see me for who I am. Maybe they’ll see past the dirt and the fear in my eyes, and they’ll recognize that I’m not just a stray dog. I’m a soul, a creature who once had a home, who once knew love. I want to believe that there’s someone out there who would care, who would want to take me in, if only they knew I was here.
But for now, that remains a dream. Today is my birthday, but there are no celebrations, no well-wishes, and no one to share it with. I’m still hiding here, alone, waiting for a kindness that may never come. Yet, even in this loneliness, I cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, one day will be different. Maybe one day, someone will find me, and I won’t have to spend my birthdays—or any other days—alone. Until then, I will continue to survive, one day at a time, waiting for the world to finally notice me.
