The alley was Posin’s world, a narrow, concrete canyon echoing with the sounds of the city. Today, the air felt thick with a strange mix of anticipation and loneliness. He didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays – the cakes, the presents, the cheerful songs – but he sensed a subtle difference in the city’s rhythm. He’d seen glimpses of it before: colorful decorations strung across storefronts, people carrying wrapped packages, the sound of laughter spilling out from open doorways. He’d also noticed that some dogs, dogs with collars and leashes, dogs with loving owners, received extra attention on these special days.
He was different. He knew it. His fur was a rough, wiry mix of browns and greys, his ears were slightly mismatched, and a scar ran across his nose, a memento of a life before the streets, a life he barely remembered. He’d seen the quick glances, the averted eyes, the hushed whispers. He knew he wasn’t considered “cute” or “handsome” by human standards. He knew some might even consider him “ugly.”
He’d watch from the shadows as people hurried by, their faces preoccupied, their footsteps echoing in the alleyway. He’d see them smile at other dogs, dogs with gleaming coats and playful energy, dogs who had homes and families. Then, they’d pass him by, their expressions changing, a flicker of pity or even discomfort crossing their faces.
He found a quiet corner beneath a dripping fire escape, a small patch of shade offering a brief respite from the midday sun. He curled up into a tight ball, his head resting on his paws, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He thought, Today feels different…maybe it’s a special day. Maybe…maybe it’s my birthday.
The thought brought a wave of sadness crashing over him. He knew he was just a stray, a homeless dog, one of many who roamed the streets, trying to survive. He knew no one would know it was his birthday. No one would bake him a cake or give him a present. No one would even offer a simple “Happy Birthday.”
He thought, Is it because I’m ugly? Is it because I’m just a stray? Is that why no one cares? The thought was a heavy weight on his small shoulders, a deep ache in his heart. He didn’t expect a grand celebration. He didn’t expect to be suddenly adopted and taken to a loving home. He just longed for a simple acknowledgment, a kind word, a gentle touch. He just wanted someone to see past his physical imperfections and recognize the loving, loyal heart that beat within him.
As the day wore on, and the shadows lengthened in the alleyway, Posin remained in his quiet corner, his tail tucked between his legs. He closed his eyes, and in his dreams, he was surrounded by warmth and love. He dreamt of a home, a family, a place where he belonged, a place where his birthday was celebrated, a place where he was loved, not in spite of his appearance, but for who he was. But when he awoke, the cold reality of the alleyway would remain, a stark reminder of his loneliness and the unanswered question that echoed in his heart: Was it because he was ugly, or simply because he was just a stray?
