Gesa’s world was a little closer to the ground than most other dogs. His back legs were weak, a condition he’d had since birth. It didn’t stop him from exploring, though. He navigated his surroundings with a determined scoot, his front paws propelling him forward, his tail wagging with unwavering enthusiasm.
He’d watch the other dogs at the park, their sleek bodies bounding across the grass, their owners laughing and throwing balls. He longed to join in the chase, to feel the wind in his fur as he ran alongside them, but his weak legs held him back. He’d watch from the sidelines, his tail giving a tentative thump against the ground, a quiet longing in his eyes.
He’d see families walk through the park, their faces lighting up as they spotted a playful puppy or a well-groomed adult. They’d stop to pet them, to offer treats, to whisper loving words. Gesa would watch, his heart sinking a little each time they passed him by. He’d overheard whispers before, hushed comments about his “condition,” about how much “extra work” a disabled dog would be.
He knew, deep down, that people often preferred dogs who were “perfect,” dogs who could run and jump and play without limitations. He knew that adopting a disabled dog required extra care, extra patience, extra love. And he wondered if anyone would be willing to give him that.
He’d often find a quiet spot under a shady tree, his head resting on his paws, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He couldn’t run and play like the other dogs, but he had so much love to give. He was gentle, affectionate, and incredibly loyal. He’d greet every human interaction with a happy wiggle and a wet nose nudge, his eyes filled with unwavering devotion.
He’d think, I know I’m different. I know I’m not as easy to care for as other dogs. But does that mean I don’t deserve to be loved? The thought was a constant plea, a silent question echoing in his heart.
He didn’t need grand gestures or extravagant displays of affection. He simply longed for a gentle touch, a kind word, a loving gaze. He yearned for someone to see past his disability and recognize the loving companion he truly was. He longed for someone to understand that even though he moved differently, his heart beat with the same unwavering love as any other dog.
Despite the whispers and the averted glances, Gesa held onto a small spark of hope. He believed, deep down, that somewhere, someone would see past his limitations and recognize the beautiful soul that resided within. He hoped that someone would understand that even a disabled dog deserved to be loved, cherished, and given a chance at a happy life. He hoped, more than anything, that someone would say, “You’re perfect just the way you are, Gesa.” He truly believed he deserved to be loved, just like any other dog.
