The little dog had been wandering the streets for days, perhaps weeks. His once shiny coat was now matted with dirt, his eyes weary from exhaustion. Yet, as people passed by, there it was—the subtle wag of his tail, a desperate signal of hope, begging for attention. It wasn’t food he craved the most. It was a place to call home.
Stray dogs are a common sight in many cities, but there's always something deeply unsettling about seeing one so sick and vulnerable. This dog’s ribs jutted out beneath his skin, and his limp showed the wear of countless miles walked in search of comfort. He looked up at passersby with those large, soulful eyes, hoping—just maybe—someone would notice his plea.
His tail, despite his illness, wagged weakly, as if saying, “I’m still here. I still believe in kindness.”
Every day, the streets were unforgiving. Most people walked past without a second glance, and others shooed him away as if his very presence was an inconvenience. His illness was hard to ignore—his fur patchy, his gait uneven—but even more striking was the resilience in his tiny wag, as if it was the only part of him that still believed in a better tomorrow.
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