“Not everyone sees what my father sees—but maybe, someday, someone will see the beauty in me too.”

I wasn’t the first choice.
I wasn’t the pup with sparkling eyes or a fluffy coat. I wasn’t the one who ran excitedly to the kennel door, tail wagging and tongue out.
People passed by me all the time. Some glanced briefly, some didn’t look at all. I heard the quiet whispers:
“Too old.”
“Too shy.”
“A little… different.”

But then he came—my foster dad.
He didn’t look past me. He stopped. Sat beside my kennel. He didn’t say much at first—he just waited.
And something in his eyes felt kind. Like he saw something… more.
Not the scars on my legs. Not the dullness of my fur.
But something deeper. Something I almost forgot I had: worth.

He brought me home.
Gave me a bed, some food, a quiet corner just for me.
He didn’t expect tail wags or tricks. He just gave me time.
And slowly—so slowly—I began to trust. I began to lift my head when he called.
I began to believe I mattered.

Each day, he told me I was beautiful.
Not in the way people usually mean—but beautiful in spirit.
Beautiful because I kept going. Because I still chose to love, even after everything.
And when I curled beside him at night, I felt something I hadn’t in a long, long time: safe.

Still, I know he can’t keep me forever.
He’s just a stop on my journey—one I’m so grateful for.
But every time someone comes to adopt, I feel that same ache… the wondering:
“Will they choose me?”
“Will someone ever love me—not in spite of who I am, but because of it?”

I don’t want pity. I don’t want to be “someone’s good deed.”
I just want what every soul craves—a place to belong. A heart that sees mine and says, “You’re home.”

So until that day comes, I’ll keep being me.
Quiet. Gentle. Loyal.
Not flashy. Not perfect. But real.

And maybe—just maybe—someday someone will walk through the shelter, look into my eyes, and finally see what my foster dad already does.