Jyn knew he wasn’t the picture of canine perfection. His left ear drooped stubbornly, refusing to stand upright like its counterpart. His tail, short and stubby, gave only a hesitant wag. And his legs, slightly bowed, gave him a comical, wobbly gait. He’d seen the quick glances, the averted eyes, the hushed whispers. He knew he wasn’t the first dog people gravitated towards at the shelter.
He’d watch the other dogs, their sleek coats gleaming, their movements fluid and graceful as they ran and played. He longed to join in, to feel the wind in his fur as he chased a ball, but his wobbly legs held him back. He’d sit on the sidelines, his tail giving a tentative thump against the concrete floor, a quiet longing in his eyes.
He’d see families stop at other kennels, their faces lighting up as they connected with a playful puppy or a well-groomed adult. He’d hear the coos and ahs, the gentle words of affection. Then, they’d pass his kennel, their expressions often shifting, a flicker of pity or perhaps even a slight recoil crossing their faces.
He’d often overhear snippets of conversations between visitors and staff, hushed comments about his “deformities.” He didn’t understand what was so wrong with him. He was just Jyn, a dog with a big heart and a gentle soul. He couldn’t change the way he looked. He hadn’t chosen to be born with a droopy ear, a stubby tail, and bowed legs.
But he could choose how he lived his life. He could choose to be happy, to be friendly, to be loving. He could choose to greet every human interaction with a hopeful wag of his short tail and a gentle nudge of his nose. He could choose to show the world that he was more than just his physical imperfections.
Today felt different, though. There was a buzz of excitement in the air, a festive atmosphere that hadn’t been there before. He’d seen other dogs receive extra attention on days like this – a new toy, an extra treat, perhaps even a longer walk. He didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays, but he sensed it was something special, a day for celebration.
He sat patiently by the front of his kennel, his one good ear perked, his stubby tail giving a small, hopeful wag whenever someone walked by. He didn’t bark or beg. He simply sat there, his eyes filled with a quiet plea.
He thought, Today feels different…maybe it’s my birthday. I know I’m not as…perfect…as the other dogs. But I still hope that someone will see me. I still hope that someone will send me a little love.
He didn’t need a big party or fancy presents. He didn’t need to be chosen for adoption, not today, maybe not ever. He just wanted a small gesture, a kind word, a gentle touch. He hoped that on this day, his birthday, people could look past his droopy ear, his stubby tail, and his bowed legs and see the loving heart that beat within him. He hoped that even a dog like him, a dog with many physical defects, deserved a little bit of birthday love, a little bit of kindness, a little bit of recognition. He just wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be wished well, just like any other dog.
