Bora’s world was a muted symphony of sounds, a subtle dance of scents carried on the wind. He couldn’t see the vibrant tapestry of the world, the changing seasons, or the faces of the people who hurried past him. His world was one of rustling leaves, the rumble of passing cars, the comforting smell of rain-soaked earth. He was blind, and he was homeless.
He’d learned to navigate his surroundings with remarkable skill, relying on his other senses to map out his small territory. He knew the precise location of every tree, every lamppost, every doorway where he might find a moment’s shelter.
But there was a different kind of darkness that shrouded him, a darkness not of sight, but of feeling. He could sense the presence of people, hear their footsteps approaching, their voices sometimes hushed, sometimes loud and boisterous. He’d lift his head, his ears perked, hoping for a kind word, a gentle touch.
More often than not, however, he was met with silence. He could feel their gaze, the weight of their attention, but it was a gaze that quickly shifted, drawn to something else, something more appealing. He’d hear their footsteps fade away, leaving him alone in the quiet solitude of his blindness.
He’d listen to the happy barks of other dogs, the excited chatter of children, the gentle calls of owners to their pets. He longed to experience that same connection, that same feeling of belonging. But he remained on the periphery, a silent observer, a forgotten presence.
He’d overheard snippets of conversations before, hushed comments that stung like the winter wind. “That poor blind dog,” they’d say, their voices tinged with pity. But sometimes, the tone was different. There was a hesitation, a discomfort, sometimes even a hint of disgust.
He’d often curl up in a quiet corner, his head resting on his paws, a deep sadness settling in his heart. He couldn’t see his reflection, but he could feel the weight of other people’s perceptions. He’d think, Do they shun me because I’m blind and homeless? Is that why they avoid me?
The thought was a constant ache, a heavy weight on his small shoulders. He hadn’t chosen to be blind. He hadn’t chosen to be homeless. He was just a dog, longing for warmth, for safety, for a little bit of kindness. He just wanted to be loved, to be accepted, to be seen for the gentle, loyal companion he truly was.
Despite the loneliness and the confusion, a tiny spark of hope still flickered within Bora. He’d greet every approaching sound with a tentative wag of his tail, his nose twitching with anticipation. He hoped, deep down, that somewhere, someone would see past his blindness and his homelessness and recognize the loving heart that beat within him. He sadly thought, perhaps everyone does shun him because he is a homeless and blind dog.
