The air in the shelter was thick with the usual mix of disinfectant and the constant, echoing barks of many dogs. But in one of the quieter corners, a small, blind dog named Kena lay curled up on his worn blanket, a deep sadness weighing on his small frame. Today was his birthday, a fact marked only by a small, hand-drawn bone taped to his kennel door by a volunteer who had long since gone home.
Kena couldn’t see the colorful drawings or the other decorations that sometimes adorned the kennels. His world was one of scent and sound. He knew the familiar smells of the shelter – the slightly musty scent of the concrete floor, the distinct aroma of kibble, the comforting scent of the volunteers who cared for him. He knew the sounds too – the distant rumble of traffic, the excited yaps of puppies in the next kennel, the soft footsteps of someone approaching.
He’d listen intently as people walked past, their voices sometimes stopping at other kennels, filled with coos and happy exclamations. He’d hear the excited barks of dogs being chosen for walks, the click of leashes, the sound of car doors closing as they drove away with their new families. But no one ever stopped at his kennel for long.
He’d often hear hushed whispers. “He’s blind,” someone would say, their voice tinged with pity. “It’s a shame.” Or, “He’s sweet, but…” The unspoken words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of his difference.
He didn’t understand the human concept of “birthday,” but he understood the feeling of being special, of being loved. He remembered, from fragmented memories of a time before the shelter, the warmth of a loving hand, the sound of a kind voice whispering in his ear. He longed for that feeling again.
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 from the kitchen, 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 different. 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 just wanted to know that he wasn’t entirely forgotten.
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 feel seen, to feel acknowledged, to feel loved, even just for a moment. He wondered, with a deep ache in his heart, if it was because he was blind that no one had wished him a happy birthday. He wondered if that was why he was always overlooked. He wondered if it was because he was just a blind dog.
