I didn’t start out owning it. I started here cleaning kennels for a woman named Miss Eleanor who ran this place like it was a calling and a full-time battle. She was well into her seventies when I met her, stubborn as anything and twice as determined. She knew every animal by name, every vet in the county, every donor who meant well, and every one who needed reminding twice.
I was nineteen, showing up after classes with more heart than sense, and she put a mop in my hand before I could finish telling her I just wanted to help.
“You can help by workin’,”she told me, ending the conversation.
I stayed through long days and longer nights, through the ones we saved and the ones we couldn’t, through leaky roofs and busted AC units, and months where we stretched every dollar until it nearly snapped. I learned how to read a scared dog before it moved, how to bottle-feed kittens at two in the morning, how to stay calm when things went sideways, and there wasn’t time to think about it.
Miss Eleanor started letting me take on more before I even realized it was happening. Paperwork, calls, adoptions, decisions, responsibility. When she finally said she was ready to step back, she didn’t make a big speech about it. Just handed me a set of keys one evening like she’d already decided weeks before.
“You’re not here for a job,”she said.“You’re here for them.”
I didn’t argue and didn’t hesitate either. I took the keys, and I never left.
I stack the blankets on the counter and grab a fresh towel to mop up the mess. “Did Mrs. Campbell confirm for noon?”
“Mm-hm.” Jules flips through the paperwork in his hand without even looking down, which is annoying and impressive at the same time. “Still interested in Buttercup.”
“She better be,” I say, pushing the water toward the drain with slow strokes. “Buttercup deserves a screened porch and a woman who talks to her like she’s people.”
“She is people,” Jules replies. “She just happens to shed.”
I huff a quiet laugh and toss the towel into the laundry bin. “What else?”
“Two owner surrenders this afternoon, one donor who will absolutely say the words ‘I just love what you’re doing here’ without writing a check, and—” he glances up, his eyes darting toward the front door “—a walk-in at eleven. Man called yesterday. Wants a dog for his daughter.”
I rinse my hands in the sink. “Any details?”
“Not many.” He tilts his head a touch to the left. “Said he was bringin’ his daughter. Asked if we had any dogs good with children. Sounded rich.”
“That’s not a detail.”
“It is in Savannah,” he answers, pursing his lips.
I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my mouth. “You decide that from a phone call?”
“Honey, I decide that from breathing patterns.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And gifted.”
I huff under my breath and reach for the treat jar out of habit. As soon as I twist the lid, three dogs down the kennel row jump to their feet.
“I hear y’all,” I murmur, already moving.
My voice gets softer and slower without me even thinking about it, like everything here deserves calm, even if the rest of the world doesn’t offer it.
Duke presses his graying muzzle into my palm. Rosie spins in a full circle before I even unlatch her kennel. Junebug whines until I crouch and touch two fingers to the top of her head.
“You’re so dramatic,” I tell her quietly.
“Pot, kettle,” Jules calls from behind me.
A volunteer slips in through the side door carrying bags of donated food. The phone rings up front. A cat starts yowling from the clinic room, as if it has just discovered betrayal for the first time in its life.
By ten-thirty, I’ve cleaned one accident, approved two foster pickups, talked a teenager out of adopting a dog based solely on “vibes,” and promised myself I’m going to eat lunch today.
I won’t. I know I won’t.
