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“Are you thinking about a puppy or an older dog?” she asks.
I look up at her from where I’m kneeling by a cage, studying a pair of yippy little chihuahuas. A sign on the cage says they’re a pair, which lets me off the hook as I’m only looking for one dog. “Something in between, maybe? A young dog, but not a puppy.”
I didn’t have any specific idea in mind when I left the house about what kind of dog I wanted, except large and outdoorsy, but I was full of enthusiasm, sure that I’d know the right one as soon as I laid my eye on it.
But none of them feel exactly right. The pitbull mix is too old, the border collie too jumpy, and the chihuahuas too nervous, even if they didn’t come as a pair.
Part of me wants to bring all the dogs home, even if they’re not perfect, but I can really only handle one. Even that might be a bit of a stretch, given the hours I put in at the station, but I’m hoping for a dog I can bring to work with me, at least some of the time. Kind of a part-time mascot for the firehouse as well as a buddy for me.
“Hoping I can find a dog I can take hiking and camping,” I tell her. There’s lots of great hiking in the area and I love the idea of long days spent outside with a loyal dog to keep my company. “Housebroken for sure,” I add, thinking of my security deposit.
“Any other pets? Or children?” the girl asks. “This one here—” she gestures to the border collie mix, “would love a house full of children.”
I wonder if a station full of firefighters would count and reluctantly decide it wouldn’t. It’s one thing to bring a pet to work; it’s another if it needs a lot of running around and attention. “No. No kids, no other pets. Looking for something kind of… placid, I guess.” I picture a big, solid labrador.
“A companion animal.” The girl gazes thoughtfully around the cages.
I think the term “companion animal” is sort of ridiculous, but I nod along anyway. A “companion” would be nice. I moved to Welkins Ridge six months ago not knowing anyone here. The guys at the station have been great, taking me out for drinks and inviting me over for barbeques. I don’t need a big social life, and what I have now is pretty good.
But it would be nice to have someone to come home to.
Out of nowhere, an image of the fiery librarian pops into my head.
Why her, of all people? Sure, she’s gorgeous, but I’ve had it with women who think they can walk all over me—
A sharp bark from the end of the aisle brings me back to myself. When I say it would be nice to have someone to come home to, I mean a dog, of course.
“That’s Jackie,” says the volunteer as I walk toward the sound of the bark. She trots along after me, clipboard in hand. “He’s a rescue from a farm a few miles away. He broke a leg and the owner didn’t do anything about it. A neighbor saw him limping around. They thought he looked awfully thin and called the police.”
Jackie’s cage is on the upper level and I find myself eye to eye with a Jack Russell terrier. He’s sitting upright and alert and staring at me. There’s something about his expression that’s more expectant than pleading. It’s like he’s telling me, All right, you found me. Time to take me home.
“Hey, boy…” My heart twists at the sight of the scar on his chest where his left front leg should be. “I guess you couldn’t save the leg.”
The volunteer shakes her head sadly. “Unfortunately not. It had gone without treatment for too long. The vet had to amputate. But he’s recovering beautifully and adjusting really well,” she adds quickly. “He’s got a great attitude. He’s a real favorite around here. Even missing a leg, I think he’ll find a home soon.” She looks at me hopefully.
I think about the long hikes and camping trips I’d planned for my days off. The little guy looks game, but I’m not sure he’s up for a serious workout. I’d pictured a bigger dog, one that could walk for miles without getting tired.
I turn away from Jackie’s cage, trying to ignore the little whine he makes. It’s more exasperated than pathetic, and against my will, my heart warms toward the little guy. He’s not a beggar; he knows his worth.
I turn back and look into a pair of intelligent dark eyes. “Think maybe we could let him out of the cage for a moment?”
Twenty minutes later, I’m filling out the adoption paperwork. Nessa’s agreed to let me pick him up from the pound on Sunday when I move into the house. He looked so disappointed when she popped him back into his cage that I almost took him with me now, but I’m not supposed to have pets at my current place. I told him I’d be back for him soon and hope he understands.
As I’m filling out the forms, I happen to glance at the bulletin board behind Nessa’s desk, and I don’t miss the location that’s printed prominently on it.
“What’s the Dog Days at the Library event?” I ask.
Nessa glances over her shoulder at the flyer then back at me with a bright smile. “Oh, it’s something we do every few months. We take the best-behaved dogs to the library and have kids read their favorite stories to them. It helps socialize the dogs, gets the kids excited about reading, and it’s a great promotion for the shelter.”
“At the library,” I confirm.
“It was the head librarian’s idea. She came up with it about a year ago. She’s amazing, she’s done so much for the library. The next Dog Days is coming up in a couple of weeks. You should go. It’s open to the public. I mean, mostly it’s kids who read to the dogs, but sometimes grown-ups do too. It’s really fun.”
“Sounds like a… nice idea,” I say diplomatically, neither confirming nor denying my interest in actually going.
I bet it’s cute, watching a bunch of little kids read to dogs.
And it’s possible—probable, even—that Blaze Wilder will be there, overseeing the event. Would I get under her skin if I showed up?
