The shelter was a symphony of sounds: the excited barks of puppies, the deep howls of larger dogs, the occasional clang of a food bowl. But in one of the quieter kennels, a heavy stillness hung in the air. Canbi, a three-legged terrier mix, lay curled up on his worn blanket, his head resting on the cold concrete floor. Today was his birthday, a fact marked only by a small, faded drawing of a bone taped to his kennel door by a kind volunteer.
He didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays – the cakes, the presents, the cheerful songs. But he understood attention. He understood kindness. He understood the warm feeling of a gentle hand stroking his fur, the sound of a kind voice speaking his name. And today, that attention was noticeably absent.
He’d watched as other dogs were taken for walks, their tails wagging excitedly as they left the kennel. He’d heard the joyful barks of dogs playing in the outdoor run, the happy chatter of visitors admiring the puppies. But no one stopped at his kennel. No one offered a scratch behind the ears or a kind word.
He’d seen this before. He’d been at the shelter for a while now, long enough to see countless other dogs come and go. Puppies were usually adopted quickly, their playful antics drawing in eager families. Younger, more energetic dogs were often chosen for their potential for adventure. But Canbi, with his missing leg and slightly wobbly gait, was often overlooked.
He’d overheard snippets of conversations too. “He’s sweet,” someone might say, “but we’re looking for a dog who can keep up with us.” Or, “It’s too bad about his leg.” He didn’t understand the human concept of “disabled,” but he could feel the weight of their judgment. He could sense the subtle hesitation, the quick glance at his missing limb.
He touched his nose to the cold metal bars of his kennel, sniffing the air for any sign of change. He could smell the familiar scent of dog treats, but no one stopped at his door. He heard the joyful barks of other dogs being taken for walks, but no leash clipped onto his collar.
He thought, Today…today is supposed to be special. But no one has come. No one has even looked at me. A heavy sadness settled over him, a familiar weight in his chest. He didn’t need a party or presents. He just wanted a little recognition, a little kindness, a little love.
He thought, It’s my birthday…I just wish someone would remember. I just wish someone would send me a good wish. He didn’t need a grand celebration. He just wanted to know that he wasn’t entirely forgotten, that even a three-legged dog like him was worthy of a kind thought, a silent wish for happiness on his special day. He just wanted to feel seen, to feel acknowledged, to feel loved, even just for a moment. He wondered, with a deep sadness, if his missing leg was the reason no one had wished him a happy birthday. He wondered if that was why he was still waiting, still hoping, for a home. He wondered, with a heavy heart, if it was because he was a disabled dog.
