Nito knew the rhythm of the streets. The rumble of early morning trucks, the hurried footsteps of commuters, the distant sirens that wailed through the night. He knew the best places to scavenge for scraps, the safest corners to curl up in for a few hours of uneasy sleep. He knew he was just a stray, a shadow moving through the city’s underbelly, largely unnoticed, mostly ignored.
He didn’t blame people for not caring. He understood. They had their own lives, their own worries, their own destinations. He was just a dog, after all, a homeless dog, one of many who roamed the streets, trying to survive.
He didn’t understand the human concept of birthdays, of cakes and presents and cheerful songs. But he sensed a subtle shift in the air, a festive undercurrent he couldn’t quite place. He’d seen glimpses of it before: brightly colored decorations strung across storefronts, people carrying wrapped packages, the sound of laughter spilling out from open doorways. He’d also noticed that on some days, certain dogs – dogs with collars and leashes, dogs with loving owners – received extra attention, extra treats, extra pats.
Today, he noticed the small calendar hanging in the window of a nearby bakery, a calendar he often glanced at while sniffing the tantalizing aroma of fresh bread. Today, a red circle marked a number. He didn’t know what the number meant, but he noticed the bakery owner, a kind woman who sometimes tossed him a crust of bread, looking at it with a smile.
He found a quiet spot in a narrow alleyway, a small patch of sunlight warming the cold concrete. He curled up into a tight ball, his head resting on his paws, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He thought about the warmth of the sun on his fur, the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, the occasional kind word from a passerby. These were the small joys that punctuated his life on the streets.
He thought, Today feels different…maybe it’s a special day. Maybe…maybe it’s my birthday. He didn’t dare to hope for anything more than the usual scraps and fleeting moments of kindness. He knew he was just a homeless dog. He knew no one would throw him a party or buy him a present.
But a small part of him, a tiny spark of hope that refused to be extinguished, still longed for some kind of acknowledgment. He didn’t expect a grand celebration, but he wished, just for a moment, that someone would see him, truly see him, and offer a kind word, a gentle touch. He wished that someone would know, or even just guess, that it was his birthday and offer a simple, heartfelt wish.
As the day wore on, and the shadows lengthened in the alleyway, Nito remained in his quiet corner, his tail tucked between his legs. He closed his eyes, and in his dreams, he was surrounded by warmth and love. He dreamt of a home, a family, a place where he belonged. But when he awoke, the cold reality of the alleyway would remain, a stark reminder that he was just a stray, a homeless dog, hoping for a kindness he knew he might not receive, but hoping nonetheless. He just wanted a little birthday recognition, a small sign that even a homeless dog was worthy of a good wish.
