Second Chances (Open)

And I'm some sick hound, digging for bones

It doesn't matter how much you love something. It doesn't matter how much you care about something. In an instant, it can be taken from you. It can be ripped from your grasp. And you can kick and scream. Growl and struggle. But once it's being drug away from your sight, it is a guarantee that it isn't coming back. It is a guarantee that you will never see it again. That is just how things worked.

His feet made contact with the hard surface of the dock. The ripples of wood formed into his pads. A weight hung in his chest at the site of the fishing vessel. Something heavy. Something that most described as fear. The feeling wrapped around his throat, threatening to suffocate him.

But he pressed on.

If it weren't for second chances, we'd all be alone

His ears caught the sound of the water. A soft splash against the support beams to the dock. Almost playful sounding. A great contrast to the feeling he kept bottled up. This dog had survived a war. And not the way that these other dogs had. This dog had fought and survived. He had lost everything near and dear to him but, he still breathed. And with that thought crossing his mind, he took in a deep breath. Something that his partner no longer could do. Something he wasn't sure if his love could still do. His human was long gone. And as far as he knew, so was the one that held his heart from the day he was deployed. His lungs reached their brim. He paused for a moment.

And he exhaled.

And I'm a ghost in the garden, scaring the crows

The smell of sealife bit at his nose. His eyes traced over each detail of the wooden boards he crossed over. The rust colored pair flitted up ahead, trailing over the boat looming over him. He closed the distance between him and the water monster. The stirring in his chest twisted harder. His lungs seemed to shrivel up as if they were dying off. The decreased capacity forced his breathing to pick up its pace as the organs tried their best to capture oxygen for his body.

And he entered.

If it weren't for second chances, we'd all be alone

His nose nudged open the door that led to the below deck area. The scent of fish was almost overpowered by the smell of rust and mold. His nose rose to the occasion, taking in a deep breath and releasing it before taking a couple short quick sniffs. It seemed as though no one's was here. And his honed sense of smell said that no one ever really ventured out here. He took a few steps across the hard floor. The gentle rocking of the boat threw his balance off only slightly. He had been in worse moving vehicles than this but, as with any dog, a simple car ride generally proves to be a challenge. His wandering led him to a set of metal stairs. The hand railings coated in chipping white paint that fell victim to corrosive metal cancer.

Up he went.

And I'm all bloody knuckles, longing for home

His tall ears poked out first. The ocean breeze caught them and tried to lay them down with little success. The rest of his body emerged from the dimly lit cabin to stand on the open deck. Padding over, he stood at the edge of the deck. His eyes staring out across the open water opposite the city. There was nothing. Just vast amounts of blue water. Everything was open. Completely free.

If it weren't for second chances, we'd all be alone