The woman redoes her sloppy ponytail and bends down to tie her sneaker. 揑 was worried they抎 pull me over.?She knots the wayward laces and then checks the other shoe. 揑抦 only supposed to walk three at a time, but the other volunteer called in sick this morning卻o here I am.?
揧ou抮e not a dog walker??
揘o. Well.?She stands and smiles. 揑 guess I sort of am. I volunteer at the Loving Paws Rescue. Dog walking is like less than five percent of the job. It抯 mostly feeding and brushing and poop scooping and, well, you get the picture.?
I look down at the dog that抯 stopped licking and settled by my feet. His little tail wags as he rests his head on a tiny paw. 揟hese are all rescues??
揧ep. Our landlord has a strict no-pet policy, and my roommates would kill me if we got kicked out of our shoebox.?She rolls her eyes. 揝o I volunteer and get to spend time with animals that could use some TLC. Most of it抯 great. Some of it sucks.?She studies the dog attached to the leash I抦 holding. 揟his guy is headed to a kill shelter in the morning.?
揥hat? Why??
揝pace. Only so much money and lots more hungry mouths to feed, you know??
揟hey抣l kill him??I look down at the face that looks like it抯 smiling. Lolling tongue. Wagging tail.
揋oldie will have a few weeks there. But if no one adopts him卼hen yeah.?
揟hat抯 so sad. He looks so happy.?
The woman抯 face falls. 揑 know. At least he won抰 know it抯 coming. Not much to worry about when you抮e a dog.?
揧eah. I guess so.?
I抳e never had a pet in my life. When I was younger, I asked for a kitten. An animal that claws furniture and uses the bathroom indoors was my mother抯 worst nightmare梠r so she claimed. I can only imagine asking for a dog would have gone over far worse.
揟hanks for holding him.?The woman smiles and takes Goldie抯 leash back from me. 揌ave a good day.?
揧ou too.?
I watch her walk away, tugged forward by the dogs as they strain and bark. Then shake my head and look back at my phone.
But the furry face stays with me throughout the shoot. As I抦 looking through photos and selecting accessories. Consulting photographers and deciding on angles. By the time the shoot ends, it抯 close to five p.m.
For some reason, I Google Loving Paws Animal Rescue as I walk toward my waiting car. It抯 close, only a few blocks away. I figured it must be, since the woman was walking. Taking six dogs on a miles long trip doesn抰 sound realistic.
I climb into the back of the town car. 揃ack home??my driver today, Eric, asks.
For a few seconds, I deliberate. Leaving work at a reasonable hour is one thing. A living, breathing animal is another. But something possesses me to reply with the animal shelter抯 address. Traffic is heavy. It takes fifteen minutes to make the short trip. The exterior of the building is nondescript. If not for the small, white sign, I wouldn抰 have known I抦 in the right place.
A bell rings above the door as I walk inside, past the five folding chairs and a display of pamphlets on rabies and neutering. The woman behind the counter isn抰 the one I met this morning.
She looks up, her brow creasing. 揅an I help you??
I stride up to the desk and clear my throat. 揑抦 here to adopt a dog. Goldie??
揥e close in ten minutes.?
揌e抯 getting sent to a kill shelter tomorrow. I抣l pay extra. Whatever it takes.?
The woman studies me as she scoops her brown hair up in a ponytail and ties it. She抯 wearing a t-shirt that reads I Brake For Squirrels. I take that as a promising sign she抯 not in favor of the whole kill shelter concept. A brown clipboard gets unearthed from the papers littering the desk. 揊ill this out.?
I exhale, relieved. 揙kay.?
The form is basic. I fill out all the sections, leaving the one on former pets blank. I hand the clipboard back, watching as the woman scans it over. 揟here抯 a two hundred dollar adoption fee,?she informs me.
揧ou take donations??
揧es.?
I pull my checkbook out of my handbag and write a check before handing it to her. The woman抯 eyebrows fly upward as she reads the amount. 揕ucky dog.?Her cheeks flush, making me think she didn抰 mean to say that out loud.
揅an I take him tonight??
揧eah. Let me grab him.?
She disappears into the back, leaving me alone in the small lobby. I panic a little, looking at all the pamphlets. I know absolutely nothing about dogs. Barking sounds from behind the door. The woman reappears, holding Goldie. She sets him down, and he bounds over to me, tail wagging.
I scoop him up, letting him lick my face. That seems to pass muster, because the woman抯 expression is softer when she hands me a folder. 揌ere are all the papers. His medical history. Vaccination schedule. Training tips. Veterinarian suggestions. Any questions, just call here. He抯 already had dinner. Feeding amounts and times are in there as well.?