January 5, 2017
I'm not sure what drew me to the puppy section at Citizens for Animal Protection, a local animal shelter here in Houston.
My family didn't necessarily want a puppy. We didn't actually need a puppy. After all, puppies meant "accidents" on the floor, pointy teeth that chewed up hands and furniture, and tiny whimpers in the night.
No, we definitely didn't need that. My daughter and I only visited the shelter to check out the older dogs and maybe bring one home with us.
It wouldn't replace the wiener dog mix we lost last November. Nothing could replace Chrissy, a sweet dog with a big heart and an equally tiny brain. But maybe it would help. Coming home now felt strange without a canine welcome committee, since we've owned a dog ever since we moved to Houston almost twenty years ago.
No, I definitely shouldn't have visited the puppy section. Because there he sat: an indiscriminate mutt who viewed the world through inch-wide slats in his cage. Improbably, one ear flopped forward and the other fell back. Move along, my brain urged. And then he sneezed. Maybe just another minute, my heart countered.
You know what happened…we brought him home on January 2, once the shelter had a chance to "fix" him. ("Why? Was he broken?" joked a tech at my vet's office.)
My daughter named him "Chance," since he (and we) were getting a second chance. It may have been one of the worst-or best-decisions of our lives. Only time will tell.
I'll be writing about Chance's adventures each month. (With photos, of course!) To subscribe, simply leave your email address in the box on the homepage.