The rain lashed against the shelter windows, mirroring the storm raging inside the tiny puppy. He huddled in a corner of his kennel, his small body trembling. He didn’t understand why they had left him. One minute he was playing with his siblings, the next, he was alone, the sound of his family’s car fading into the distance.
He remembered the warmth of his mother’s fur, the gentle nudges that encouraged him to play. He remembered the feeling of being held, of being loved. He had tried his best to be a good puppy, to wag his tail enthusiastically, to lick the hands that reached out to him.
But something had changed. He didn’t understand what. Was it his clumsy playfulness? His tendency to chew on forbidden shoes? Or was it something else, something about him that made him unworthy of their love?
He watched the other puppies, the ones with brighter eyes and softer fur, being chosen by smiling families. He longed for that same touch, that same feeling of belonging. He wondered if he was too small, too clumsy, too different. He wondered if he was even lovable.
The rain continued to fall, each drop a tiny hammer against the shelter roof. But within the small puppy, a flicker of hope remained. He continued to greet visitors with a tentative wag of his tail, his eyes searching for a spark of recognition, a flicker of interest. He believed, deep down, that someone would see him, not as a discarded puppy, but as a loving companion, a friend in need of a home.
He believed, with a trembling hope, that he was worthy of love. And that belief, fragile as it was, was the only thing keeping him warm on that cold, rainy night.
