A Second Chance for Him and For Me

The worst year of my life to date was 2017.

Simply, 2017 sucked. I was depressed, lonely, gaining stress weight, tired all the time, angry at nothing and numb to everything. I was hurting, badly, both emotionally and spiritually, and there was no one who was going to resue me from that. I was drowning in school, taking on too much responsbility at work, not investing my time into lifegiving friends and having a crisis of faith. It was terrible.

One of the only reprieves from that mess was when my mom would come home with a random litter of puppies from the Colorado Springs Humane Society that needed fostering. She signed our family up to foster litters of puppies and kittens at the top of the year, and let me tell you, they had LOTS of litters. I can't remember our house ever NOT having some kind of animal family living in it that year. Fostering litters was an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation, so I was heavily involved in the care of the animals.

Caring for them was like a balm to my wounded soul. They were helpless and adorable and I wanted to keep every litter we fostered that year.

My mom and I got so invested in all the animals we fostered that we singlehandedly found each one a forever home. We still get check-ins from their forever families about how they are doing to this day, which I think is hilarious and ridiculous all at the same time.

As per the norm, I was at school around August of 2017 when I got a "I'm headed to pick up a foster" text from my mom. I think I had just failed a chem test that day so I wasn't really paying her any mind. I was enrolled in a small, highly competitive college prepatory academy and getting anything less than a B++ was an epic failure, so I was reeling in the disaster that was a C-. I don't even like chem.

When I got home from school, still stirring in the sorrow that was a C- chem exam, I literally yelled at the sight that was in front of our fireplace. This small, red welt of what I think was a dog was laying in piles of torn blankets. It was pathetic. Without even touching the thing, I immediately found my mom and asked her to explain what that big red pimple in the living room was.

Looking confused and a little startled, all she said was "he's our foster."

The backstory was that a small pitbull puppy was shot in the shoulder, presumedly by his original owner. In an attempt to escape, he ran into the road and was run over by an F150. The family in that car brought him in, and asked to adopt him when he recovered.

What they brought in is pictured in the photo above. A poor looking, broken, clearly hurting animal.

We took him in for a few months while he was recovering. My mom did most of the work on this one, but I did all the cuddle times.

Seeing this dog, who the Humane Society tragically named "Tonka" (cause he was run over by a truck...) was like seeing an image of myself. Literally wounded everywhere. But somehow still going.

After the first few days of being in our home Tonka wanted to get in on the action and the fun. He was limping around and followed on either mine or my moms heels everywhere we went. He played outside and tried to run the fence with the neighbor dogs.

I was dumbfounded at his ability to even let us touch him after all the trauma he had endured. A gunshot wound (with the bullet still in his shoulder to this day) and a car crash? I would have tapped out by then, but he was just getting started.

When we all played together he acted like he wasn't injured at all. He pushed himself to walk, bark, play, wag his tail. I could tell he was putting effort into trying. For his own sanity, probably.

I didn't even know what was happening until after it had happened, but spending time with him was healing me. He was a reflection of me in that season. Someone wounded, deeply, but fighting for their own survival. Someone recoginizing they were worth fighting for. No one pushed him to get better and get back to interacting with the world more than he did, and I really felt the same way.

I needed to fight for me. For my sanity. My for my peace of mind. For my own healing.

So I did. I stopped saying yes to things I should have said no to a long time ago. I started putting up boundaries with toxic friends. I spoke my truth, even when it was uncomfortable for others. I changed course, and it showed.

People who profitted off of my lack of boundaries started speaking up, gaslighting and guilt tripping me. People who never put the same energy into our friendship just faded away. Friendships that were sticking, stuck.

After about 3 months of this kind of lifestyle I had a clear enough mind to make some decisions about my next steps, like what to do after graduation, quit my insanely toxic job now and look for another for the next year, stop spending time with the guy I loves when all he did was talk about the other girls he liked. You know, the normal stuff.

Spending time with Tonka was the wake up call I needed. Seeing him be able to love anyone at all after his hurt was actually kind of inspiring.

When we had to give him back to the Humane Society for adoption I think I actually cried. It was the first time I had shed tears in probably 2 years. Tonka was gentle and loving ,energetic and fun. He totally fit into our family.

My mom dropped him off and the family who originally brought him in (after they ran him over, on accident, but whatever) came to adopt him. They paid the fees and were off.

2 days later my mom was back at the HS, and I was back in class when she text me asking "should I get the dog?"

I thought, "what do you mean should you get the dog, its your house you can do whatever you want, and why are you asking my permission to get another foster?"

I came home to Tonka greeting me at the door, and the story unfolded from there.

The family who adopted him changed their minds and brought him back, saying they didn't want to have a dangerous animal in their home.

The injustice of it all caused my mom to angrily avenge Tonka, and so she adopted him herself and brought him home.

When we were talking at dinner that night, my mom feeding him chicken from the table (insert an eye-roll) she said we just HAD to rename him. Tonka was a stupid name and we dont have stupid names in this family.

Her thoughts.

Chance. like, 2nd chance.

A 2nd chance for him, and a 2nd chance for me.

A second chance to reinvest into myself, observe what I value and priorities and adjust those where needed.

Life wasn't great automatically. 2018 and 19 were also really hard years. Somewhere along the lines though, I started becoming more resilient, and Chance was both a physical symbol and a reminder of resilience in my life.

We were both badly wounded and hurting, but healing and growing. We both had major trust issues that were totally valid and yet we longed for connection. We both wanted a place to belong and were willing to go through some more pain in order to find it.

Resilience.

It's needed and necessary in this life. It's really pivotal for survival. I wasn't taught resilience as a child, but I was shown it as a teenager, and through a dog for god sake.

Everyone in my family has a similar story like this with Chance. Though my older siblings probably won't openly admit it, they are all inspired by him too.

The update to the story is that he's doing really good now, and so am I. Not sure why my life is sinced up to his but I won't complain.

He has gained the needed weight back, all in muscle (very jealous) sleeps most of the day and plays hard. He loves to wresltle with my dad, he constantly licks my moms hands while she walks around and, he sleeps at my feet every single night.

He has recently been enrolled in "seeing-eye dog" school. My little brother is legally blind and wanted to see if Chance could be his guide dog. He qualifies :)

He also hates bugs, loves hiking and LOVES car rides, to my surprise. He's a perfect little puppy (though he's almost 6 in human years) and we love love love him <3.