The timeless tale of a boy with autism & his shelter dog.
Excerpt
I saw her for the first time through the bars of the pen that I shared with my buddy, Ruffles. Following her was a little boy who was chewing on his coat sleeve and jumping up and down. He was excited (the way we in the pen get excited) every time someone walks past us, talks to us, feeds us or stops to scratch us behind the ear. Did he know what it was like to be a stray? He had a funny way about him, which I would find enjoyable once I moved into my new home.
I knew I had the lady eating out of my paw when she hugged and kissed me and asked if I wanted to be her new baby. She wasn’t afraid when the shelter lady told her that I was a Rottweiler German Shepherd mix and that I was “slightly mouthy” for a 4-month-old puppy. Slightly mouthy? Was she telling her that I talked too much? The lady looked at me, took my head in her hands and said, “Well Chance, today’s your day for a second one.” A second what? Was I getting a new bone, a second bowl of food? What? What? A second what? The lady walked out of the pen and said to the shelter lady, “We want to adopt Chance.” Adopt? Now there’s a new word. I’m getting adopted and a second something all in the same day.
Before I knew it, I was being led away from my pen by the shelter where I had spent two months with my pal, Ruffles. Was I going for a walk? Was this the second one the lady was talking about? Maybe she didn’t know I hadn’t had a first walk. Up to the front counter I bounced with my big paws and happily wagging tail. The lady and the little boy were already at the counter when I arrived. The lady was doing something with a shiny stick and paper and the little boy was looking at me and jumping up and down. Before I knew it, my old leash was taken off my collar and the lady hooked a new one to it.
“Let’s go home and meet the rest of the family, Chance.” Chance? She said my name! Before I knew it I was getting hugs and kisses from all the shelter people who cared for me the last few months. After the kisses and hugs, I pulled the lady out the front door. I was so happy to be outside with this lady and her jumping boy, until I saw where she was taking me. We were heading to one of those big things that move fast on the street. I didn’t want to get into one of those things. The movement makes my belly leap up and down and I get sick. I pulled back on the leash and tried to run back to the shelter. Lady! Lady! Don’t make me get into that thing. She doesn’t listen. Before I know it I am hoisted up by the front paws and pushed into the moving thing. The boy is sitting next to me. He has a big smile on his face and is calling me by my name. He is using other names as well but I ignore him because we start to move and my world starts to spin.
It seems like forever before we finally stop. I drooled all over the inside of this lady’s moving thing. She doesn’t seem to mind because she smiles at me as she takes my leash and leads me out onto the street. “We are home, Chance. It’s time to meet your new brothers and sister.” What are a brother and a sister? We walk up to a building and my question is answered quickly as the lady opens the door and three small dogs come running at me.
The lady says that these are her Pomeranians. However, they sure do remind me of the fury rats I saw on the street before I got to the shelter. They are no bigger than my head and they all have thick furry coats. The lady says, “Chance, these are your new brothers P.J. and Little Rascal and this is your new sister Shelby.” They look nothing like me and I’ve never seen dogs like this before. Shelby tries to bite my paws. What did I ever do to her that she has to bite my paws? All I want to do is play with them but they all run behind the lady and I am left to figure out what to do next.
Copyright 2008 Sandra Gerencher. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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