The small apartment was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively bustle of the city outside. A single, unlit candle sat atop a small, dog-friendly cake on the coffee table. A few deflated balloons lay scattered on the floor, remnants of a hastily prepared, now abandoned, celebration. Today was supposed to be Lorea’s dog’s birthday.
Lorea, a small, mixed-breed with cloudy, sightless eyes, lay curled up on her worn dog bed. She didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays – the cakes, the presents, the songs. But she understood routine, and today, the routine was different. There was a strange tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that had quickly faded into a heavy quiet.
She’d heard Lorea, her human, moving around the apartment earlier, the rustling of paper, the clinking of dishes. She’d even smelled the delicious aroma of the cake baking in the oven. But the usual cheerful chatter, the gentle strokes, the excited whispers of “happy birthday” never came.
Lorea had been blind since birth. Her eyes, though they didn’t see the world in the same way as other dogs, were full of a gentle, trusting light. She navigated her surroundings with remarkable confidence, relying on her other senses to paint a picture of the world around her. She knew every corner of the apartment, every piece of furniture, every scent that clung to Lorea’s clothes.
She’d often sit quietly by the window, her head tilted slightly, as if listening to the secrets the wind whispered through the glass. She’d hear the happy barks of other dogs in the distance, the laughter of children playing in the park, the rumble of passing cars. She longed to join in the fun, to feel the joy of running and playing, but she knew her limitations.
She couldn’t see the ball being thrown, the other dogs chasing each other, the smiling faces of the people around her. But she could feel the warmth of the sun that streamed through the window, the gentle breeze that sometimes drifted in, and the vibrations of Lorea’s footsteps approaching.
Today, however, those footsteps had been infrequent, and the usual warmth of Lorea’s touch was missing. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by Lorea’s occasional sigh.
Lorea thought, Today…today feels different. Is it…is it my birthday? A wave of sadness washed over her. She knew she was different. She knew her blindness made her less appealing to some people. She’d overheard snippets of conversations before, hushed comments about her “condition,” about how “unfortunate” she was.
She thought, Is it because I’m blind that Lorea is sad? Is it because I’m not…pretty? Is that why there are no happy words, no special touches today? The questions echoed in her mind, a quiet, heartbreaking refrain.
She didn’t need a party or presents. She just wanted a little recognition, a little kindness, a little love. She just wanted to know that she wasn’t being overlooked because of her blindness, because she was, in some people’s eyes, an “ugly” dog. She just wanted to feel loved and cherished, especially on her birthday. She wondered, with a heavy heart, if her blindness and perceived lack of beauty had made this day so sad and lonely.
