Fod was small, even for a puppy. His fur was a haphazard mix of brown and black, giving him a perpetually scruffy appearance. His ears, one perked up and the other flopped down, added to his slightly comical look. He’d seen other puppies at the shelter, sleek and fluffy, with bright, symmetrical features. He knew he didn’t look like them.
He’d arrived at the shelter a few days ago, carried in a cardboard box by a kind shelter worker who’d found him abandoned by the side of a quiet country road. He didn’t remember much about his early life, only fragmented memories of warmth and the faint scent of another dog, presumably his mother.
He’d spent the last few days huddled in the corner of his kennel, his tail tucked between his legs, his big, brown eyes filled with confusion and fear. He’d watch as potential adopters walked by, their faces lighting up as they stopped at the cages of his more “attractive” kennel mates. They’d coo and ah, their voices filled with delight, but their gaze rarely lingered on Fod.
He’d overhear snippets of conversations, hushed comments that drifted on the air. “He’s…different,” someone might whisper. “Not exactly a looker.” Or, “He’s sweet, but we’re looking for something a little…prettier.”
Fod didn’t understand the human concept of “pretty.” He understood the warmth of the sun on his fur, the satisfying crunch of dry kibble, the comfort of a soft blanket. He understood the tentative wag of his tail when a kind hand reached into his kennel, the brief moment of connection, of acceptance.
But the rejections stung. He’d watch as other puppies were scooped up into loving arms, their tails wagging furiously as they left the shelter, and a deep sadness would settle over him. He’d retreat further into his corner, his small body trembling slightly.
He’d think, Why don’t they want me? Is it because of the way I look? Did my parents abandon me just because I was born with an appearance that was not as beautiful as other dogs? The questions echoed in his small head, a constant, nagging worry.
He’d look down at his paws, then back up at the passing people, his tail tucked low. He longed for the same kind of attention, the same loving gaze, the same warm embrace that the other puppies received. He longed to feel accepted, to feel like he belonged.
He didn’t understand why his appearance mattered so much. He was still a puppy, full of love and potential. He had a playful spirit, a gentle nature, and an unwavering capacity for loyalty. He just wanted a chance to prove it. He just wanted someone to see past his scruffy fur and mismatched ears and recognize the loving heart that beat within him. He just wanted to be loved, just as he was. The thought that he might have been abandoned simply for not being “beautiful” was a heavy weight on his small, puppy heart.
