Versa knew she was different. Her left front leg was twisted, a birth defect that made her walk with a distinctive hop. It didn’t hurt, but it made her stand out. She’d seen the quick glances, the averted eyes, the hushed whispers that followed her at the park. “Poor thing,” they’d say, their voices laced with pity.
She’d watch the other dogs, their movements fluid and graceful as they chased squirrels and played fetch. She longed to join in the fun, to feel the wind in her fur as she ran alongside them, but her hop held her back. She’d sit on the sidelines, her tail giving a tentative thump against the ground, a quiet longing in her eyes.
She’d see families walk by, their faces lighting up as they spotted a playful puppy or a sleek, well-groomed adult. They’d stop to pet them, to offer treats, to whisper loving words. Then, they’d pass her by, their smiles faltering, a flicker of discomfort or pity crossing their faces.
She’d often overhear snippets of conversations. “Do you like a disabled dog?” a child would ask their parent, pointing at Versa. The parent would often hesitate, their answer carefully chosen, a mixture of politeness and reservation. Versa understood. She knew that people often preferred “perfect” pets, dogs who could run and jump without limitations.
Today, however, felt a little different. There was a festive air at the park, balloons tied to benches, and the smell of grilling hotdogs in the air. She’d seen other dogs receive extra attention on days like this – a new toy, an extra treat, perhaps even a special song. She didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays, but she sensed it was a special day, a day for celebration.
She sat patiently by the edge of the path, her tail giving a hopeful wag whenever someone walked by. She didn’t beg or bark. She simply sat there, her eyes filled with a quiet plea. She knew she was different. She knew she was disabled. But she also knew she had a lot of love to give.
She thought, Do you like a disabled dog? I hope…I hope that someone does. I hope that someone can see past my hop and see the loving heart that beats within me.
She didn’t expect a grand celebration. She didn’t expect to be suddenly adopted and taken to a loving home. She just hoped for a small gesture, a kind word, a gentle touch. She hoped that on this day, her birthday, people could look past her disability and send her good wishes, not for her legs, but for the loving companion she longed to be. She hoped that even a disabled dog deserved a little bit of birthday love, a little bit of acceptance, a little bit of kindness. She hoped that people would see her, truly see her, and understand that her disability didn’t define her. She was Versa, a dog with a big heart, and she deserved to be loved.
