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Me and Chance: Our Story

Intro
This is the story of an old dog and an older woman.

Chance was not my first Husky. Dakota held that title. And while she was not always dog friendly, she loved her own kind and was gracious whenever Chance came around. Huskies are characters; they are fun, athletic, strong willed, and have a mind of their own. They can’t be owned unless they want to be. Being the caretaker of a Husky is a distinction; being their friend is a privilege.

How It All Began
I met Chance while trudging up the School Street hill one quiet Sunday morning with Dakota. He was stealthy and I never heard him coming. Neither did Dakota. He came from behind; this lively, handsome, young Husky boy, running circles around us as we walked. He was fascinated by Dakota, as I was by him. He was stunning; grey and white, long legs and brown eyes that looked right into your soul. He stayed with us for a bit and then he shot off. At that time, I had no idea who his person was.

I found out later his person was a fella who lived nearby and whose former dog was recently run over by a vehicle because this dog was always running loose. I like dogs, no, I love dogs but I don’t believe in letting them run the streets, for obvious reasons. There is so much open land in Lubec, it’s not necessary. There are lots of safe places to let a dog run. Our daily morning walks took us by Chance’s house. I noticed he was always tied out; nobody around, often times no water. He had no shelter or bed or anything to lay on. He would sit straight up, with his ears perked as we got closer to his house. I would call to him. He’d be straining at the end of his rope, jumping to get near, running as far as the tether would let him. As we got to know him better, I would stop to pet him – if he stood still long enough! I would talk to him and ask him if he was okay. Where was your water? Don’t you have a bed?

On nasty weather days he would be curled up in a tight Husky ball, no place to get away from the rain and winds. I learned later on how frightened he was of wind and fireworks. Conversely, on hot sunny days I would sometimes see him tucked under the three steps to the house. That’s about the best he could do to get some shade. It made me sad.

Chance became a very good escape artist. That’s because he would chew through anything that was not metal. Rope, nylon fishing cable, car tow straps. Everything. I guess if I was tied out in all kinds of nasty weather, I’d find a way to escape too.

Chance would often show up on our walks. I would unhook one of Dakota’s leads and take him walking with us before I brought him back to his house. I fantasized about having my own sled dog team to race in the snow, but who was I kidding. I was barely making ends meet in those days. My budget didn’t allow for adventures. But, no matter, I did get to walk the two best looking Huskies in Lubec! Increasingly it pained me to return him to his house. I told him how sorry I was and that someday I would be back for him. I always told him I would be back and I knew he heard me.

As time went by, I noticed a sadness began to settle in those beautiful brown eyes. I wanted to take him home so badly but knew I couldn’t. His person professed to love him -- a very poor way of showing it.

So me, Chance and Dakota made the best we could of a sad situation. Chance began to show up at my house. I guess he figured out where I lived. I’d be sipping a cup of coffee on the back deck and all of a sudden, he’d be up those steps in two leaps! He didn’t stay long in the beginning; long enough for some water and a biscuit. Sometimes he would bury his biscuit for later. I learned I wasn’t the only person he visited.

There was a pattern to Chance’s visits too. On the crappiest weather days, I would see him next door with my neighbors’ dogs who were also tied out. Sometimes I found him sitting on the front porch, under cover. One time he showed up late at night in the middle of a rain storm in a blowing gale. I was getting ready for bed and there he was at the front door, soaked on through. I put my rain gear on and led him to the backyard and Dakota’s dog house, hoping he would settle down there for the night. There was no way I was going to return him that night. He just sat there and stared at the basement door. He knew I was watching. I felt so sorry for him I had to let him in the basement, dried him off and got him some blankets. I couldn’t bring him into the house since I wasn’t sure of his house manners. I knew he’d be safe for the night. I put some music on for him and went to bed.

The next morning, I went to check on him. He had relieved himself, drank all of his water, but hadn’t eaten. We went for a walk and then, reluctantly, I took him home. By this time, I had grown accustomed to letting him in his house on bad weather days. Up the stairs he bolted. To this day, I don’t think anyone knew or cared that he had been gone. How could they not?

My favorite Chance visits were when he would stand on his hind legs and slam his two front paws on my front door, as if to announce his arrival. Sometimes I would be on the phone with my Mom when he appeared. I’d tell her, “Gotta go Ma, Chance is here.” Even my family knew who he was. One time my nephew was visiting in the winter. We had big piles of snow in the dooryard and Matt was sitting on top of one when, all of a sudden, Chance showed up out of nowhere. Jumps right to the top of the snow pile – face to face with Matt. Needless to say, he was a little intimidated by Chance’s surprise visit. I’m pretty sure he said something about a wolf. They quickly became buds.

As the years passed, I would hear stories of Chance’s mistreatment. He was shot at with BB guns, hit, abused and ignored. His living conditions never improved, despite the fact that I (and others) would bring blankets, water bowls and food to this dog.

I walked by his house every day for eight years. After a while, I stopped returning him home when he came calling. I just let him visit. I thought the risk of his getting hit by a car was worth not returning to those deplorable conditions. These impromptu visits continued until Chance was ten years old.

Then one day in 2016, word got back to me that his person was leaving town and that Chance needed a new home. Well, what do you know? I contacted the person who was facilitating his adoption and told her who I was and that I wanted him. I basically had to interview in order to get him! I didn’t care, this was my chance for Chance!