By daily 
On the cold, hard steps of an abandoned building, a stray dog lay motionless. His fur, once thick and full, clung thinly to his fragile frame. Every bone in his body was visible—sharp outlines of ribs and hips telling the story of days, maybe weeks, without food.
His eyes, dull and sunken, stared out into the empty streets, hoping for something—anything—that might bring relief. He hadn’t eaten in days, and the hunger gnawed at him relentlessly. His legs, too weak to carry him any further, had given up, leaving him to rest on the cracked stairs where he now lay.
Though his body was frail, his spirit hadn’t completely faded. As people passed by, he barely lifted his head, his gaze pleading for just a bit of kindness. But most walked by without a second glance.
The stray dog, clinging to the last thread of hope, lay there in silence, waiting for the moment someone would notice and offer him the chance to survive. His fragile bones told the story, but it was his heart that still held on, waiting for a hand that might finally reach out.