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Making your own Luck
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Making your own Luck |
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banished_fairy Junior Member
since 2006-10-02
Posts 31Happy in H*ll, PA |
I was asked by a friend to post this. It is still a work in progress. For you MC, *smooch* Making your own Luck My earliest memory is rocking in a cage. I am not sure how, but I think we are moving. Bundled in a towel being held in the gentlest embrace, I quake with fear. I am lost in my own pain. Each time I move, I am enveloped intense agony. This metal cage stops and I am carried into a grey stone building. In an instant I am lost in a room filled with light. I am placed so tenderly on an ice cold table. I know I whined and whimpered as my “boo-boos” were looked over. I heard the phrase “lucky to be alive”. I tried to ignore the fingers poking my legs, cautiously moving them. Those same fingers dress my wounds, stitch my skin. The voices around me use the word lucky over and over again. “Lucky they did break his leg”, “The eye seems to be intact luckily”, “This little guy is lucky we stopped those animals.” Actually, that word uttered alot for the next few days. I guess that explains my name. Oh sorry, I’m Lucky. I live in a no kill animal shelter. My first room here was with other puppies. We had toys and room to run around and play. At night, we would curl up together and keep each other warm and safe. Every couple of days, groups of people would stop by. Some would play with and pet us. It felt so nice to be held and loved, even for a short while. Sometimes these “families” would pick out one of my friends and take them to a place called “home”. At night we would talk about what home was. To me, home sounded like heaven. A few days ago, I was told that I was growing up and it was time I had my own cage. I became really excited, running and bouncing around like a ball. “A place of my own”, I barked. “Wow!” Maybe I get a “home”. If this one stretch by three stretch stone and wire room is “home” then I have no clue as to why anyone would be so excited to have one. It is nice to have quiet and my own space, but at night I get lonely and cold. I miss my friends. I curl up on my small blanket and shiver, more from fear than cold. Last night, I whimpered so loudly that I woke the dog next to me: A cranky old fella called Mister. His bark was deep and cracked with age. “Suck it up, Kid. Close your eyes and think of sunshine and juicy bones. Keep the noise down and I’ll teach you how to get a “home” of your own.” I sigh and hide my nose deep within my blanket and slowly drifted off to sleep. A bright ray of sunshine lands about midway up the cage close to the door. It has become my favorite place to pass the time. I had just settled down to enjoy the sunshine when Mister’s voice drifted over. “Mornin’ there Pup.” “Mister,” I replied, “I am sorry for crying like a puppy. It is just so different here. I am so….” “OK, enough,” he interrupted. “I can fix all that, but you gotta listen. Soon, the keepers are gonna take us outside. After you burn off some of that energy, come and find me under the tree.” “Outside” is the best part of the day. The keepers, as Mister calls them, take a group of us outside. There is soft, fragrant grass we can run around and roll in. Outside also has trees and dirt. Occasionally, a random animal foolishly wanders in, giving us something to chase and scurry after. After too short of a time, we are taken one by one to the tub, a small room that clicks when we walk. Warm water, sweet soap and fluffy towels clean off all of our outside fun. Then someone will brush our fur until we shine. Then, we go into that bright room. Sometimes that room hurts, but mostly we are looked over and given a quick pat on the head. Finally, we are then taken back to our cages, which are clean, but smell slightly too clean. After our group are all back in their places, we get visitors. New people, all different, walk past the cages. They might stop, look, ask questions. Some call us by name to tempt us over towards them. Fingers poke through the wire trying to stroke our soft fur. I have learned that these visitors are almost the same as the “families” who would take the puppies “home”. It is the dream of “home” that calmed me last night and now pulls me over to Mister as he lays in the shade under a tree. “Hello, Kid,” he says to me. “It is Lucky, right? By the looks of you, the name sounds about right.” He sighed deeply. “OK, get up and wander around close by. I want to see all of you.” I got up and started to sniff around; making sure that Mister could see both sides of my body. I began feeling awkward. I have seen the pale, puckered skin on my skin on my legs and remember hearing the doctor mention the scars on my face. I desperately want to flee Mister’s intense stare. His eyes pierce straight into me, seeing every memory I had forgotten. “OK, Lucky, get over here and lay down. I’m gonna take a closer look.” I find a silky patch of grass and stretch out, not too close. Mister slowly eased himself off the ground. I swear I could hear his bones creak and feel his muscles burn from that small action. I lay there quietly, trembling from embarrassment as I was examined. I felt ashamed at the evidence of the abuse my mind has wisely hidden away. I begin to twinge with awareness that I am different from the other dogs. Maybe there is something wrong with me, something unlovable. All of the sudden, I just want to run and hide. “Kid,” he says, finally, “you look like I feel most days. I don’t know what happened to you as a pup, but your body tells a story longer than my tail. We can actually use that to your advantage. People are, for the most part, soft-hearted. They want to help. All of our keepers are here to help, not because they have to, but because they want to. Seeing all those scars makes humans feel bad, almost guilty.” Wandering back to the tree, he says, “The point you gotta get across is that even though you went through all of this garbage, you are still a loving, gentle dog.” He lays back down, groaning in pain. “OK, let me tell you about humans. Humans think before they act, most of them. They have to decide the right thing to do. So, when those visitors walk past our cages, they are always thinking. Oh , they want a dog. Heck, they may even know what type of dog they want. But you see, us dogs, we react. Most get so excited for any amount of attention and even the slightest possibility of a “family” and a “home”. So what do we do; we wig out. We jump and bark and carry on. For most of those mutts over there, it makes them lovable. But for you; looking like death, your carrying on usually scares those families right on out the door. They worry about your temperament and obedience. And no matter how much the keepers try to reassure them of just what kinda dog you are, your looks spook them. So in order to get you your own family, you gotta think human. Before you can find a family, you have to figure out just what type of family they are. Notice things about these humans. Even before you see them, pay attention. Listen to their voices, their footsteps. Feel the tempo of their movements and speech. Inhale their odor, go ahead and use that sniffer of yours. Figure out everything you can. We are all the way at the end of the row. By the time they get to us, you should know exactly who they are and what they are looking for. And once they are standing in front of your cage, you better become that dog. So think before you act, use everything I am gonna teach you, and show off that sweet little heart of yours, and well Lucky, you will be out of here in no time” For the rest of our time outside, I sat at attention and was mesmerized by Mister and everything he knew. I soaked in each word and focused on them more than anything ever before. I knew I had a lot to learn and not long to learn it. We sat quietly under the tree and tried to avoid everything else. Mister made me practice sitting still, but still look playful. I did perfect the head cock, even getting one ear to perk up while keeping the other relaxed. But my biggest lesson was what Mister called “the puppy dog eyes.” I was still working on it when I got called inside. As I went to the tub, I happily went through each lesson in my head. I tried to encourage the keepers to wash me especially well. My good behavior was rewarded by extra attention and a few sneaked treats. When I finally got back to my cage, my head hurt. With all the information pounding in my brain, I walked up to my patch of sunshine. Amazingly, I feel asleep as soon as I placed my head in my paws. I awoke to the sound of voices and the click of the door handle. Quickly I sat up and tried to remember what I was supposed to do. But only one thought came to mind. It was Mister’s final shot of wisdom. “Hey Lucky, remember this. You will know the right family as soon as they walk through that door. Either they fit of they don’t. But either way, you’ll just know”. As the newest family walks closer to my cage, I decide I have been given enough luck. Now it was time to make my own, starting right now. |
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| © Copyright 2010 Amy Stashluk - All Rights Reserved | |||
Ringo 
since 2003-02-20
Posts 3684Saluting with misty eyes |
quote: GREAT line. I look forward to reading more of your writing. Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, "WHAT A RIDE |
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