Titi didn’t know his age, let alone his birthday. Time was a blur of hunger, cold, and the endless search for survival. He was a street dog, a creature of instinct and resilience. Today was no different from any other day. The city was a harsh mistress, offering little in the way of compassion.
He 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 was a concrete jungle, offering little in the way of compassion.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, mournful shadows, Titi 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. There were no birthday wishes, no presents, no warm embrace. 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 birthday, if it was indeed a birthday, was a stark reminder of the life he’d been dealt, a life of solitude and survival.
