I’ve always wondered why no one seems to look at me the way they look at other dogs. Every day, I watch people walk by, their eyes sparkling as they bend down to pet the other dogs they pass. Those dogs, with their shiny fur, perky ears, and bright eyes, are always met with smiles and affection. But when they see me, their faces change. They look away quickly, or sometimes, I can see a flash of pity in their eyes.

I know I’m different. I can feel it every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a puddle or in the windows of the store. My face is swollen, lopsided, and not like the others. My eyes, once bright, now seem a bit dull, and the skin around them is stretched and saggy. My ears are uneven, one drooping lower than the other. I try not to look at myself too often, but when I do, it’s hard not to notice how different I am from the other dogs.

Maybe it’s because of the way I look that no one seems to want me. I’ve seen the way people look at me, like they’re unsure, maybe even afraid. Some of them pause for a moment, but then they quickly turn away, walking past as if I’m not there. I don’t understand why. I’m just like any other dog. I want love, a warm home, and someone to care for me.

When I was younger, I used to dream of running through a grassy field, feeling the wind in my fur, with someone by my side to call me their own. But those dreams always felt distant, out of reach. I never had a family. I spent my days wandering the streets, my face always drawing looks of confusion, maybe even fear. My swollen face made it hard to smile like the other dogs. When I tried to wag my tail, it didn’t feel like enough to catch anyone’s attention.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m invisible to them. If my face is what keeps them away, then does that mean I’m unworthy of love? I watch other dogs curl up in their owners’ laps, being petted and praised, while I lie in the corner of the shelter, hoping for the same kind of affection. But it never comes.

I hear the people at the shelter talk to each other about me. Some say, “Poor thing, look at his face.” Others whisper that I might never find a home because of how I look. I overhear them saying it’s hard to find someone willing to adopt a dog with such an unusual face. They say it with pity, and I can’t help but feel a little sad. Why does my face make me less deserving of love than any other dog?

But then, there’s a small voice inside me that refuses to give up. I refuse to believe that the way I look should stop me from being loved. I may have a swollen face, a crooked smile, and uneven ears, but I am still a dog, and I have so much love to give.

I have seen the way people smile at the dogs that look like “perfect” pets, but I wonder if they understand what makes a dog truly special. It’s not just the way they look; it’s the love they give, the loyalty, and the joy they bring. Maybe my face is different, but inside, I am just like those other dogs. I just want to be loved and to love in return. I want someone to see past my face and understand that my heart is full of love.

And one day, maybe someone will. Someone will look at me and see more than just my appearance. They’ll see the dog who is eager to please, the one who wags his tail at every passing stranger, the one who just wants to curl up at their feet and be their companion. Someone will see the dog inside, not just the face.

Until that day comes, I will keep hoping. I will keep being myself, even if my face doesn’t look like the others. I will keep my tail wagging, my heart open, and my spirit strong. Because deep down, I know that love isn’t about how we look on the outside—it’s about what’s in our hearts. And I have plenty of love to give.