The rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the abandoned shed, mirroring the storm raging inside Maslu. He huddled deeper into the pile of discarded blankets, shivering not just from the cold, but from the loneliness that gnawed at him. Today was his birthday, a fact he was dimly aware of, a vague sense of unease hanging in the air.
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 warmth of a gentle hand stroking his fur, the sound of a kind voice speaking his name. And today, that attention was conspicuously absent.
He’d spent his short life on the streets, scavenging for scraps, finding shelter under abandoned cars, dodging hurried footsteps and the occasional cruel kick. He’d seen other dogs, dogs with collars and leashes, walking happily beside their owners. He’d watch them receive loving pats and whispered words of affection, and a deep longing would fill his heart. He longed for that same connection, that same feeling of belonging, that same unconditional love.
He’d often find a quiet corner under a bridge, his head resting on his paws, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He’d think about the other dogs, the ones with loving families, the ones who probably had their own birthdays celebrated with joy and excitement. He’d think, What would it be like to have a home? A warm bed, a full bowl of food, a loving hand to stroke my fur?
He didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays, but he understood the feeling of being special, of being loved. He’d seen other dogs receive birthday treats, hear happy birthday songs sung to them by their owners. He longed for that feeling, for even a small acknowledgment of his existence.
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 thought, It’s my birthday…but I’m just a stray dog. No one will care. The thought was a cold, hard knot in his stomach. 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 a stray, alone and forgotten, that no one had wished him a happy birthday. The thought was a cold, hard knot in his stomach. He was just a stray dog, and he knew, with a heartbreaking certainty, that his birthday would go unnoticed, just like every other day of his lonely life.
