Fera’s world was a little different. It wasn’t a world of complete darkness, but rather a world with a permanent, shadowy corner. His left eye, clouded and milky, couldn’t see the vibrant colors, the shifting shapes, the details that his right eye perceived so clearly. He knew he wasn’t like the other dogs at the park, their eyes bright and symmetrical, their gazes sharp and focused.
He’d watch them chase squirrels with effortless grace, their bodies leaping and bounding, their eyes following the swift movements of their prey. He’d try to join in, his tail wagging with enthusiasm, but he’d often misjudge distances, bumping into trees or tripping over his own paws.
He’d hear the children’s laughter, the gentle coos of adults admiring the other dogs. He’d feel the warmth of the sun on his fur, the gentle breeze on his nose, and he’d long to be a part of the joyful chaos. He’d approach tentatively, his tail giving a hopeful wag, but he’d often sense a hesitation, a slight pause before someone reached out to pet him.
He’d overheard snippets of conversations, hushed whispers that drifted on the wind. “Look at his eye,” someone might say, their voice tinged with pity. “It’s a shame.” Or, “He’s cute, but…” The unspoken words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of his difference.
Fera didn’t understand the human concept of “perfect.” He understood the warmth of a loving touch, the sound of a kind voice, the feeling of belonging. He understood the joy of a good run, the satisfaction of a tasty treat, the comfort of a warm bed.
He’d think, My eye might not be perfect, but I can still smell the flowers, feel the sun, hear the birds sing. I can still love and be loved. He’d look down at his paws, then back up at the passing people, his tail giving a gentle thump against the ground.
He knew he couldn’t change the way he looked. He hadn’t chosen to be born with a clouded eye. But he could choose how he lived his life. He could choose to be happy, to be friendly, to be loving. He could choose to greet every human interaction with a hopeful wag of his tail and a gentle nudge of his nose.
He believed, deep down, that his imperfect eye didn’t define him. He knew that he had a big heart, a playful spirit, and an unwavering capacity for love. He might not have perfect eyes, but he knew he had a perfect loving heart.
He hoped that one day, people would see past his physical difference and recognize the gentle soul that resided within. He hoped they would understand that true beauty wasn’t about outward appearances, but about the kindness and love that shone from within. He hoped that they would see him, truly see him, and accept him, just as he was, one cloudy eye and all. He hoped they would see that although he didn’t have perfect eyes, he had a perfect loving heart, and that was all that truly mattered.
