Gift was no ordinary dog. He was a stray, a survivor, a creature of the streets. His fur, once a vibrant shade of gold, was now matted and faded from the harsh elements. His eyes, once bright and hopeful, were now clouded with a mix of weariness and sorrow. Today was Gift’s fifth birthday, a milestone for most dogs, but for Gift, it was a day of solitude and longing.
Gift spent his days wandering the city, scavenging for scraps of food and finding shelter in abandoned buildings. He had learned to trust few, for humans were often cruel, treating him with indifference or even hostility. He had grown accustomed to the silence, the emptiness of his existence.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the city, Gift found himself in a quiet park. He curled up beneath a bench, his heart heavy with a longing he couldn’t name. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of a home, a family, a warm bed. But these were just dreams, fantasies that would never come true.
As Gift drifted off to sleep, he made a wish. A simple wish, really. He wished for someone to remember him, to acknowledge his existence, to send him a thought or a wish on his birthday. It was a small wish, but it was the only one he had.
As the night wore on, Gift lay motionless, his breathing shallow. The city around him was quiet, except for the distant sound of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. And then, from somewhere far away, he heard it. A faint voice, whispering a wish.
“Happy birthday, Gift. May you find happiness and love.”
Gift’s heart skipped a beat. He listened intently, hoping to hear the voice again. But it was gone. He was alone once more.
Still, a small spark of hope ignited within him. Someone had remembered him. Someone had wished him a happy birthday. And that, in the end, was enough.
