The air in the shelter was a symphony of sounds – the excited barks of puppies, the deep rumbles of larger dogs, the occasional clang of food bowls. But in one of the quieter corners, a small, scruffy terrier mix named Jisu lay curled up on his worn blanket, his head resting on his paws. Today was his birthday, a fact marked only by a small, hand-drawn bone taped to his kennel door by a kind volunteer who’d long since gone home.
Jisu 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 warm feeling of a gentle hand stroking his fur, the sound of a kind voice speaking his name. And today, that attention was noticeably absent.
He’d watched, with a quiet resignation, as other dogs were taken for walks, their tails wagging excitedly as they left the kennel. He’d heard the joyful barks of dogs playing in the outdoor run, the happy chatter of visitors admiring the puppies. But no one had stopped at his kennel. No one had offered a scratch behind the ears or a kind word.
He’d seen this before. He’d been at the shelter for a while now, long enough to see countless other dogs come and go. Puppies were usually adopted quickly, their playful antics drawing in eager families. Younger, more “attractive” dogs were often chosen for their potential for adventure. Jisu, with his mismatched ears, his slightly crooked tail, and his fur that never seemed to lie quite right, was often overlooked.
He’d overheard snippets of conversations too. “He’s…different,” someone might whisper, their voice tinged with pity. “Not exactly the prettiest.” He didn’t understand the human concepts of “different” or “prettier,” but he could feel the weight of their judgment. He could sense the subtle recoil, the averted gaze.
He touched his nose to the cold metal bars of his kennel, sniffing the air for any sign of change. He could smell the familiar scent of dog treats from the kitchen, but no one stopped at his door. He heard the joyful barks of other dogs being taken for walks, but no leash clipped onto his collar.
He thought, Today…today is supposed to be special. 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…I just wish someone would remember. I just wish someone would send me a good wish. 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 wasn’t “pretty” that no one had wished him a happy birthday. The thought was a cold, hard knot in his stomach.
He was a good dog, he knew that in his heart. He’d always tried his best to be friendly, to wag his tail at the volunteers, to greet the other dogs with playful nudges. He just wanted to be loved, just as he was. He hoped, with a quiet desperation, that one day, someone would see past his “unconventional” appearance and recognize the loving heart that beat within. He hoped that someone would see him, truly see him, and know that even a dog with mismatched ears and a slightly crooked tail deserved to be loved, especially on his birthday. He hoped that someone, somewhere, would send him a silent wish, a thought of good cheer on his special day.
