My name doesn’t matter anymore. I forgot it when they stopped calling me affectionately.
I’m just a dog. One who believed he had a home, who had found a place where he belonged. I rejoiced at every return, wagged my tail even when no one was looking at me, even when the bowl was empty. I didn’t ask for much, just a little attention, a gesture, a pet…
But instead, the screams came. The shoving. The kicking. At first, I didn’t understand. I huddled, ducked my head, thinking if I stayed still, it would all end. It didn’t end.
Until one day, the violence worsened. It was a cold night, the ground wet, and fear seeped into my bones. It hit me harder than ever. I didn’t bark. I didn’t bite. I just looked at him… and that’s when I saw his eyes. There was no guilt. There was no love. There was only indifference.
And then he left me there. Alone. Hurt. Shivering. As if I’d never meant anything.
Hours passed, maybe days. I don’t remember. I remember the thirst, the hunger… and the pain. But above all, I remember that look. The last look of the one who betrayed me.
I was rescued by people who didn’t know me, but who treated me better than the one who “adopted” me. They took me to the vet. They said I almost didn’t make it. They wrapped me in a warm blanket and spoke to me softly. It was strange. Unfamiliar. But it didn’t hurt.
Today, I’m still learning to trust. I flinch at sudden movements. I hide when I hear screams. But I’m also beginning to understand that not all humans hit. Some heal.
Maybe I’ll never forget that look. Maybe it will always hurt. But now I have a new chance. I don’t know if I’m brave, but I’m alive. And this time, I don’t plan on giving up so easily.
