A SECOND CHANCE
The day that I first saw him, he was a convict; just a number. What his crimes had been to put him behind bars, I never knew and never really wanted to know. Twice I had walked past his cell; the tiny room where he sat in dignified silence, ignoring the uproar from the inmates around him. We made eye contact each time, but he never made a sound. All around, other dogs barked, jumped and lunged at the bars, each desperately trying to attract someone who would perhaps take pity on them and give them a home. All but him.. He sat quietly in the middle of that small pen, just watching out of liquid brown eyes. By my third pass through the cacophony, I had almost decided on a young shepherd mix, but as I was about to pass him that final time, I heard a strange noise. Stopping, I looked curiously towards him. There he sat, head tilted to one side, eyes fixed on me and from his throat came the most unusual assortment of sounds. Certainly not whines or growls, but a range of noises that could almost be likened to human speech. I laughed and spoke softly to him and for the first time he moved, lifting his golden body to its feet and walking up to the bars, huge tail waving like a happy flag. Still, he never jumped up, but carried himself with a sober dignity. I had planned on a pup, one I could raise and train,but who could resist this face and gentle manner? Noting the number on the cage, I again spoke quietly to him. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon," and went quickly to the front desk of the animal shelter. The woman there took down the number and looked up at me with a smile. "Oh, I'm so glad." she said. "He would not have been here tomorrow. This was his last day." A lump came unbidden to my throat. "Last day?". "Yes," she replied. "he would have been put down tonight." Strange how fate works. I had not planned on visiting the shelter until the weekend, but a small voice in my head had urged me "why not today?".
And that is how my beautiful Golden Retriever joined my family. I named him Chance, as he now had a second chance at life and I have never regretted it for a second. When I am home he is with me constantly, either following me around the house as I do different things, or laying with his head on my feet when I sit at my desk. My bed has become his and he even has his own pillow. He sulks when I leave for work and no matter what treat I give him to ease the parting, it will still be there, untouched until I return, at which point he will wolf it down. He watches me leave from the window, head pushed between the drapes, and neighbours say that is where he remains until I get back. From the minute I brought him home, he has been my champion, fierce and protective of me. The only person that he greets happily is the pizza delivery boy. Chance has a weakness for pepperoni and cheese. And he still *talks* to me, as he did on that first day, much to the amusement of those who overhear his vocal talents. In fact, if I am on the telephone for longer than he thinks I should be, he will intervene, going from a small grumble to a deafening complaint, if ignored. And so the convict has turned into the king of our home and I'm not sure which of us is the luckiest. But I have a strong feeling that it is me..
Written January 21st 2000
Note: If any readers out there are thinking of adding a dog to their family, please check out your local animal shelter first. Give another dog a second chance....
