Max was a scruffy little terrier with a heart full of love. He had always been the life of the house, chasing after toys, cuddling up on the couch, and wagging his tail at the door every time someone came home. But lately, things had felt different. His owner, Clara, had started a new job, and life had gotten busier. The days stretched longer, and Max found himself spending more time alone than he ever had before.

Today was Max’s birthday. He didn’t understand dates the way people did, but he remembered that on this day every year, something special always happened. Clara would come home with a new toy or a tasty treat, and they’d spend the evening together, just the two of them. He’d wait patiently by the door, his ears perked and his eyes hopeful.

But the sun began to set, and the house remained quiet. Max’s food bowl was filled with the same kibble he ate every day, and the couch where Clara would usually sit remained empty. He paced around the living room, letting out a soft whine, wondering when the celebration would begin.

As the night grew darker, Max curled up on his favorite blanket, feeling a strange emptiness in his chest. He didn’t know why, but today felt lonelier than most. He missed the way Clara used to ruffle his fur and call him her “birthday boy.” Now, she seemed so far away, even when she was in the room.