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"Lock, you already had five," I told the whining dog at my feet as I popped the peanut butter and coconut oil treats out of the dog bone shaped molds from the fridge, adding to the already passive tin of them I had close to overflowing.
I had no idea how many dogs the shelter currently had, and I wanted to make sure each of them got a couple treats if they wanted them. On top of the new toys I had gotten little by little over the course of the past several months. I'd even gone online and found a giant box of tennis balls for the dogs that weren't fans of the squeaky and pull type toys.
Crosby had bought new beds for each kennel because he was just that awesome. They were the good ones, too, not just the cage liner ones that weren't soft at all. He'd sprung for the comfy ones that had covers that came off for washing.
That shelter meant a lot to us.
Not just because of Lockjaw and Lillybean, but because through our adoptions of those unwanted dogs, we'd also found each other.
During the year, we both gave to them monetarily to help with the overhead of feeding and vetting strays and surrenders, but at Christmas, we wanted to make it about the dogs, give them a little bit of the cheer we gave our dogs on a daily basis.
"Okay, fine, but this is the last one," I told Lock who let out a pathetic whimper. "And you have to take an extra-long walk before bed. Maybe even a power walk," I told him. But he wasn't listening as he chowed down on the treat. "Are you ready to go see some sweet puppies?" I asked, sealing the treat tin, bringing it over to the door where the toy bags were already set up.
Twenty minutes later, Lock was in the gated yard playing tug with some sort of short-legged Dalmatian mutt while I helped organize donations.
It was on my third trip up into the front lobby when I saw it.
The next love of my life.
A broad-headed, stubby-legged, gray and white pitty mix.
My heart just turned to goo in my chest as I moved forward, a loud squealing noise escaping me as I scooped it up off the ground, getting a face full of wet kisses.
"Oh, oh my God. You have to come home with me," I told him, feeling his tail wiggling so hard his whole body was moving in my arms.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he is already in the process of getting adopted," Lynn, who had facilitated my adoption with Lockjaw, said, wincing.
"No. No. You don't understand. It's love-at-first-sight. Who would steal my second true love from me?" I demanded, pouting, feeling my heart aching at the idea of losing out on him.
I hadn't become dog-crazy after Lockjaw, like I thought I might, wanting to go back to the shelter and getting a second baby within half a year. I was happy with the cutie I had. And I never looked at a dog and felt the same instantaneous connection like I'd felt with Lock.
Until now.
Just as the words left my lips, the man holding her turned.
And there was Crosby.
Really, I should have known it was him sooner, but I was so in puppy-love that I hadn't even noticed the familiar haircut, body shape, even the ugly sweater he'd worn on our first Christmas "date."
"No way," I said, mouth falling open.
"I know," he said, shaking his head. "I just saw him, and I knew. And Lillybean ran right up to him like he was some long-lost friend. I didn't know you wanted him, Dea," he said, looking apologetic.
"I... I didn't either. I just saw him and knew," I said, walking closer, reaching out to pet his big head that was resting on Crosby's strong shoulder.
"His name is Dasher."
"It is not," I said, smiling.
"It is. The staff named the whole litter after reindeer. He's the only one left," Crosby told me, leaning his head into Dasher's back.
"Well, if someone had to steal him from me, I guess it's good that it's you. At least I can spend some time with him," I said, rubbing Dasher's soft ears.
"We can co-parent him," Crosby suggested. "We already practically do that with Lock and Lillybean," he added.
He wasn't wrong. Anytime one of us had plans that would keep us away from the house for any length of time, our first call or text was the other, so that we could organize dog-sitting, so our babies weren't home alone.
It wouldn't be the same as coming home to Dasher every day like I did with Lock, to see two little butt wiggles, two smiling faces, and two buddies to go to sleep with at night. But it was something.
"True," I agreed, only feeling marginally less disappointed. "Can I take him to meet Lock while you finish the forms?" I asked, already reaching to pry the puppy from Crosby's shoulder, putting him up on my own.
