Maika didn’t know his exact age, but he guessed it was around four. Four years of hunger, cold, and the relentless pursuit of survival. He was a street dog, a creature of instinct and resilience. Today, a day that should have been marked by celebration for other dogs, was for him just another day of struggle.
He remembered fragments of a life before the streets, a time of warmth and comfort. But these memories were fading, replaced by the harsh realities of his current existence. Hunger was a constant companion, a gnawing emptiness that never truly subsided.
As the day wore on, Maika wandered the streets, his gaze fixed on the ground, searching for discarded scraps. People hurried past, their lives a world away from his. He was invisible, a shadow in their bustling existence. He longed for a touch of kindness, a warm meal, a safe place to sleep. But the city offered little in the way of compassion.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, mournful shadows, Maika found a sheltered spot beneath a discarded cardboard box. The city’s cacophony faded, replaced by the quietude of the night. He curled up, his body trembling from cold and hunger. It was his birthday, a day marked by loneliness and despair. There were no presents, no birthday songs, no loving pats. Just the harsh reality of his existence.
As sleep claimed him, he dreamed of a home, a soft bed, and the love of a human. But when he woke, the cold, unforgiving world would be waiting. His fourth birthday, a milestone for many, was for him a stark reminder of the life he’d been dealt, a life of solitude and survival.
