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Today is my dog’s birthday.
He turned 12. That’s 84 in dog years. And for the first time since I got him, I think he felt... forgotten.
This morning, I found him lying by the window—his favorite spot, where the sun hits the floor just right. Normally, he would have perked up when he heard my footsteps, tail thumping against the ground like a little drumbeat of joy.
But today, he barely lifted his head.
He’s getting older. His face has gone gray around the eyes and muzzle. His steps are slower, and sometimes he pauses halfway up the stairs, as if remembering how much easier it used to be. But there’s still that light in his eyes, that quiet loyalty I’ve come to depend on more than I ever realized.
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| My friend to happy birthday to me |
And yet, I almost forgot his birthday.
Not completely—I knew it was today. I even told myself last week, Don’t forget Max’s birthday. Do something special. But then life happened. Work. Errands. Deadlines. Texts. Noise.
And Max—my sweet boy—waited all day. For a walk that didn’t happen. For a surprise that never came. For a moment of celebration that never arrived.
I saw it in his eyes.
Dogs may not know dates, but they know love. They know attention. They know when they are being cherished—and when they’re being brushed aside.
I sat on the couch scrolling through social media, and I saw all these birthday posts. People getting cakes for their pets, balloons, hats, even parties. And there Max was, lying quietly at my feet. As if waiting. Hoping.
That’s when it hit me.
He’s had twelve birthdays. And I’ve had the honor of being beside him for every single one. He was with me when I left home, when I cried on the bathroom floor, when I failed exams, when I got my first job, when I didn’t feel like anyone saw me.
He always saw me.
And today, when it was his turn to be seen… I looked away.
I broke down crying right there on the floor next to him. He looked up, confused, then gently leaned his head against my lap—comforting me as always.
I whispered, “I’m so sorry, Max.”
Then I got up and did what I should’ve done from the moment I woke up.
I made him his favorite dinner—chicken with carrots. I found the squeaky toy he always loved, even though it barely squeaks anymore. I lit a candle on a tiny piece of banana (he loves banana), and I sang to him.
His tail wagged slowly. He licked my hand. And for a moment, I saw a flicker of that puppy-like joy again. Not because of the food or the toy, but because I was finally with him.
I don’t know how many birthdays we have left. I don’t know how many more mornings I’ll wake up to his sleepy yawn or feel his warm fur by my side at night.
But I do know this:
Today reminded me that love doesn’t need grand gestures. It just needs presence. Awareness. A moment where you stop the noise of the world and give someone—anyone—your full attention.
So if you're reading this, and you’ve got someone in your life—dog, cat, friend, partner—who’s always been there in silence, loving you in the background… let today be the day you turn and say, “I see you. I haven’t forgotten you.”
Because today, my dog turned 12.
And I nearly made him feel invisible.
But tonight, he’s curled up by my side. His eyes are closed, but his tail just gave one small wag.
He forgives me.
And I’ll spend every day moving forward making sure he never feels forgotten again.