Lofi’s world was a rich tapestry woven from sounds and scents. He couldn’t see the vibrant hues of the city, the bustling crowds, or the changing seasons. His world was one of rustling leaves underfoot, the rumble of passing buses, the comforting smell of warm bread wafting from a nearby bakery. He had been blind since birth, and while he navigated his world with remarkable confidence, a quiet insecurity often lingered in his heart.
He knew the rhythm of the streets, the familiar landmarks he navigated by scent and sound. He knew the rough bark of the oak tree in the park, the smooth concrete of the sidewalk, the soft grass of the nearby field. He also knew the subtle changes in the cadence of footsteps approaching, the different scents that clung to people’s clothing.
He’d often sit quietly beneath the oak tree, his head tilted slightly, as if listening to the secrets the wind whispered through the leaves. He’d hear the happy barks of other dogs, the excited chatter of children, the gentle voices of owners calling their pets. He longed to join in the fun, to feel the joy of running and playing, but his blindness made it difficult.
He couldn’t see the ball being thrown, the other dogs chasing each other, the smiling faces of the people around him. But he could feel the warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze on his fur, and the vibrations of footsteps approaching. And whenever someone stopped near him, he’d greet them with a tentative wag of his tail, his nose twitching with anticipation.
He couldn’t see their expressions, but he could sense their hesitation, the slight pause before they moved on. He’d sometimes hear hushed whispers, words like “blind,” “poor thing,” or even, “I don’t know how to interact with a blind dog.”
He’d think, I can’t see, but I can still smell the flowers, feel the sun, hear the birds sing. I can still love and be loved. But the averted footsteps, the hushed whispers, would plant a seed of doubt in his mind. He knew that some people were uncomfortable around blind dogs. They didn’t know how to approach him, how to interact with him. They seemed to think he was somehow fragile, or broken.
Today felt different. The air had a certain crispness to it, and he could smell the distinct scent of autumn leaves. He’d also overheard snippets of conversations about “birthdays” and “celebrations.” He didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays, but he sensed it was a special day, a day for joy and attention.
He curled up beneath the oak tree, his head resting on his paws, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He thought, Today feels different…maybe it’s my birthday. But…not everyone likes blind dogs, right? So it will probably be a quiet day. No wishes, no gifts. Just another day on the streets.
The thought brought a wave of sadness over him. 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 wished that someone would see past his blindness and recognize the loving companion he truly was. He wished that someone would understand that even though he experienced the world differently, his heart beat with the same unwavering love as any other dog. He just wanted to be seen, to be accepted, to be loved, even just a little, especially on his birthday.
