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“Looks like the green one likes you, and the purple one likes her,” the breeder chuckled.
Poppy sat down, and the purple collar puppy immediately crawled into her lap, seeking affection.
“Yarder,” Poppy called out, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “How are you going to decide between these two?”
I scooped up the green-collar pup, feeling its weight against my chest as it gazed up at me with curious eyes. “Is it going to be you or your sister, bud?” I murmured to the puppy.
“Are you sure this is the best time to get a puppy?” Poppy asked, her gaze shifting from the dog in my arms to me. We both understood the unspoken concern—the responsibility of caring for a puppy while living at the clubhouse with all the chaos happening.
“I think it’s the best time to get a puppy,” I replied, meeting her eyes. “We’re all here together, and we can take turns looking after him.”
Poppy’s brow furrowed slightly. “I just can’t picture you doing midnight potty runs and soothing a crying puppy.”
“It’s a club dog,” I chuckled. “We’re all going to share the responsibility—midnight potty breaks and crying puppies.”
Poppy tilted her head, a hint of skepticism in her expression. “Puppies?”
I glanced between the two pups in our arms, considering her words. “We can’t split them up, can we?”
Chapter Eleven
Poppy
Olive handed me back my phone with a chuckle. “I still can’t believe it,” she laughed.
I couldn’t believe it either.
We had pulled up to the farmhouse and were swarmed by a litter of puppies which was shocking enough. But Yarder’s decision to get both of them had left me utterly baffled. “The purple collar is my favorite,” I sighed, reminiscing about the sweet and snuggly pup that had stolen my heart.
After Yarder made the decision to get both puppies, he headed inside to handle the paperwork while I stayed behind, surrounded by the playful puppies. It was a moment of pure bliss—a five-puppy pile-up that felt like heaven.
“What are we going to name them?” Sloane asked, breaking the silence.
“Mickey and Minnie,” Dove suggested.
Sloane wrinkled her nose. “I like Daisy and Donald better.”
“Let’s go with something German,” Rocky suggested, considering the breed of the puppies.
“Hans and Greta?” Sloane proposed.
“It’s Hansel and Gretel,” I corrected her.
Sloane tilted her head. “It is? How did I not know that?”
I shrugged, slipping my phone into my pocket. “It’s a common mistake.”
“I don’t like it,” Olive interjected, “so I don’t care if it’s Hans or Hansel.”
Rocky jumped in. “What about PB and J?”
Olive’s eyes lit up. “Oh, what about Salt and Pepper?”
“Pea and Nut,” Sloane rattled off.
I shook my head. “Tator and Tot.”
Dove raised her hand, signaling for silence. “Ham and Cheese,” she declared.
