I Learned To Fear Footsteps
Every evening, when the sun slowly disappears behind the fence and the yard begins to grow dark, my body starts trembling before he even opens the door. I know the sound of his footsteps too well—heavy, angry, unpredictable. Once upon a time, I used to run toward humans with happiness. My tail would wag wildly, and my heart would race with excitement whenever someone called my name. I believed every human hand existed to pet me, every voice existed to comfort me. But now, the sound of footsteps only means fear. So I hide in the farthest corner of the yard where the dirt is cold and damp, curling my body tightly against the wall, praying tonight he won’t notice me. Sometimes it works. Most nights… it doesn’t.
My Body Hurts… But My Heart Hurts More
People passing by this house probably think I’m just a quiet dog. They don’t see the way I flinch whenever someone raises their hand too quickly. They don’t notice how slowly I walk because my ribs still ache from the last time he kicked me. They don’t hear the quiet crying that escapes my throat late at night after everyone else has gone to sleep. Some bruises hide beneath my fur, but the deepest wounds are the ones nobody can see. Every scar on my body carries a memory. Every painful breath reminds me that the human I trusted the most became the human I fear the most. And somehow, that heartbreak hurts more than any beating ever could.
I Forgot What Kindness Feels Like
Sometimes I try to remember if life was ever different. Maybe when I was smaller, someone held me gently once. Maybe someone smiled when they saw me. But those memories feel blurry now, swallowed by years of shouting, hunger, chains, and fear. Food is often thrown toward me like I’m unwanted. Water only comes when someone remembers. Love feels like something meant for other dogs. I watch them through the fence sometimes—the happy dogs walking proudly beside their owners, tails wagging, leaning into warm hands without fear. I watch them carefully because I’m trying to remember what safety looks like. I’m trying to remember what it feels like not to be scared all the time.
I Learned To Make Myself Invisible
After a while, I stopped barking for attention. I stopped wagging my tail so much. I stopped trying to be noticed. Because every time he looked at me, something bad usually followed. So I learned to stay quiet. To stay small. To disappear. Even when I’m hungry. Even when I’m hurt. Even when loneliness feels heavier than my own body. I discovered that silence hurts less than punishment. But deep inside, even after everything, there’s still a small part of me hoping someone will notice me anyway. Someone kind. Someone gentle. Someone who looks at me and sees more than just a scared dog hiding in a corner.
Tonight Was The Worst Night Yet
Tonight, the shouting started earlier than usual. I still don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe I barked too loudly. Maybe I moved too slowly. Or maybe he was simply angry at life and decided I would be the one to suffer for it again. All I remember is the sound of his voice, then the pain exploding through my side as his boot struck my body. I fell hard against the ground, too terrified to even cry loudly. I curled into myself while he continued yelling above me, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. And when it was finally over, he walked away as if hurting me meant absolutely nothing. I stayed there for hours beneath the darkness, unable to move properly, staring at the sky and wondering if this would be the night my heart finally gave up.
But Somehow… I Still Hope Someone Will Save Me
And maybe that’s the saddest thing of all. After everything humans have done to me, I still hope. Every time someone walks near the fence, my tail still moves just a little before fear forces it back down again. Every time a stranger looks at me with soft eyes, something inside my chest whispers, “Maybe this human is different. Maybe this human won’t hurt me. Maybe this human could save me.” I know I look broken now—thin, scared, exhausted, covered in sadness. But please believe me… I was not born this way. Humans taught me fear. Humans taught me pain. But I still want to believe humans can teach me love again too.
Please… Before It’s Too Late
So if you’re reading this, please don’t look away. Please don’t leave me here. I don’t need a perfect home or expensive toys or a giant yard. I just want safety. A warm place to sleep. A gentle hand that doesn’t hurt. A voice that says my name with kindness instead of anger. I promise I’ll try my hardest to trust again. I promise I’ll love you with every broken piece of my heart. Just please… save me before I completely forget what love feels like.
