0 views
The homeless stronger
I used to have a name, once, but that was a long time ago. Now, I’m just another stray dog, a part of the city's scenery. My days are a series of struggles, and each night, I dream of a time when things were different.
Morning comes with the first light, and with it, the search for food begins. I navigate the busy streets, dodging cars and people, sniffing out any scraps left behind. Today, I find a half-eaten sandwich in a trash can, but another dog—a bigger, stronger one—sees it too. We fight, teeth bared and growls rumbling, but I'm no match. He takes the prize, and I slink away, nursing a fresh wound on my flank.
Hunger gnaws at my belly, but there’s no time to dwell. I need water. There's a small park nearby where I sometimes find a puddle or two. As I make my way there, I pass by a group of children. They see me and, for a moment, I think they might be friendly. But their laughter turns cruel, and they throw stones. I yelp and run, heart pounding, until I'm out of their reach.
The park is a brief respite. I find a puddle, dirty but drinkable, and lap at it until my thirst is quenched. I lie down under a tree, trying to rest, but my mind never fully relaxes. I think about the days before I ended up on the streets, when I had a family and a warm place to sleep. I remember the sound of my human’s voice, the feeling of their hand on my fur. But those memories are fading, and the harsh reality of my current life is ever-present.
As the sun sets, the temperature drops. The nights are the worst. I find a spot behind a dumpster, curling up as tightly as I can to keep warm. The city quiets down, but danger never sleeps. I hear the distant howls of other strays, the screech of a cat, the hum of passing cars. Sleep is fitful, filled with dreams of chasing rabbits and being chased by larger dogs.
Morning comes again, and with it, the cycle continues. But today, there’s a flicker of hope. As I wander through an alley, I see a woman putting out bowls of food and water. My heart leaps, but I approach cautiously. She looks kind, but I’ve been tricked before. I inch closer, and she speaks softly, extending her hand. I sniff it—no threat detected. I eat quickly, glancing up at her between bites. She smiles, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a glimmer of something other than fear or hunger.
Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for a better life. But for now, I’m just a street dog, living one day at a time, holding onto that sliver of hope.
© Pradip Hogade
Morning comes with the first light, and with it, the search for food begins. I navigate the busy streets, dodging cars and people, sniffing out any scraps left behind. Today, I find a half-eaten sandwich in a trash can, but another dog—a bigger, stronger one—sees it too. We fight, teeth bared and growls rumbling, but I'm no match. He takes the prize, and I slink away, nursing a fresh wound on my flank.
Hunger gnaws at my belly, but there’s no time to dwell. I need water. There's a small park nearby where I sometimes find a puddle or two. As I make my way there, I pass by a group of children. They see me and, for a moment, I think they might be friendly. But their laughter turns cruel, and they throw stones. I yelp and run, heart pounding, until I'm out of their reach.
The park is a brief respite. I find a puddle, dirty but drinkable, and lap at it until my thirst is quenched. I lie down under a tree, trying to rest, but my mind never fully relaxes. I think about the days before I ended up on the streets, when I had a family and a warm place to sleep. I remember the sound of my human’s voice, the feeling of their hand on my fur. But those memories are fading, and the harsh reality of my current life is ever-present.
As the sun sets, the temperature drops. The nights are the worst. I find a spot behind a dumpster, curling up as tightly as I can to keep warm. The city quiets down, but danger never sleeps. I hear the distant howls of other strays, the screech of a cat, the hum of passing cars. Sleep is fitful, filled with dreams of chasing rabbits and being chased by larger dogs.
Morning comes again, and with it, the cycle continues. But today, there’s a flicker of hope. As I wander through an alley, I see a woman putting out bowls of food and water. My heart leaps, but I approach cautiously. She looks kind, but I’ve been tricked before. I inch closer, and she speaks softly, extending her hand. I sniff it—no threat detected. I eat quickly, glancing up at her between bites. She smiles, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a glimmer of something other than fear or hunger.
Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for a better life. But for now, I’m just a street dog, living one day at a time, holding onto that sliver of hope.
© Pradip Hogade
