A door creaks open and an older man and woman enter the lobby area, a small dog with wiry white hair dragging them by its leash. Clearly, they have no control over the animal, but they don’t seem to mind. The woman laughs as the man tries to calm the dog down by kneeling and speaking low. But the dog won’t have any of it, leaping up so its front paws are on the man’s knee. The dog licks the man’s cheek, making him laugh as well, and I can’t help but smile.
“You want a dog like that?” Katie murmurs as she leans in close.
So close, I can smell her. Feel her. I want to take her hand in mine. Pull her even closer and kiss her.
But I don’t. Instead, I just smile and stare into her pretty blue eyes. “I don’t know if I want one that hyper.”
She nudges my knee with her own. “Well, hurry up so we can go search for your future dog.”
I finish up the application and then we’re led to the area where the dogs are kept. It’s a cavernous room with row after row of dog runs, the fenced-off areas holding one, sometimes two dogs within. Katie keeps by my side as we slowly walk down the first aisle, scanning each dog carefully. Some are bold and come right up to us, barking playfully. Others cower in the back, too scared to approach. There are even a few that bark ferociously, looking ready to tear our heads off.
A little sigh escapes Katie when we finish walking down one aisle. “This is so depressing. All of these unwanted animals,” she murmurs.
Yeah. It is depressing. If I could take all of them home, I would. But that would be impossible.
The next aisle over, I come to a stop about halfway down. The dog is medium-sized, with black and brown longish fur, a white spot on the chest. I kneel down, keeping my distance but still wanting to get close. The dog sticks its nose against the fencing and I reach out with tentative fingers, letting it smell me first.
“Her name is Molly,” Katie reads from the sign that’s posted. “They estimate her age at around a year.”
“She’s sweet.” Molly licks my fingers, then sits on her haunches and pants at me. Her warm brown eyes are expressive and I feel like she’s talking to me.
Take me home with you, she says.
“I think I want her,” I say as I rise to my full height, spotting one of the shelter employees and waving him over.
“They don’t know exactly what type of dog she is,” Katie says. She’s still squinting at the information sign as the employee unlocks the gate and allows me inside the dog run.
Molly hops around my feet when I enter, offering a little bark in greeting. I pet her head, scratch behind her ears, and feel her warm, solid weight press against my legs. Kneeling once more, I hold her face and stare into her eyes as the employee reassures me that she’s gentle and friendly.
Yeah. She’s definitely friendly. Her tongue lolls out the right side of her mouth as she pants at me and I scrub her beneath the chin, drifting my fingers down to scratch along the white scruff of fur at the center of her chest.
“She’d be great with kids,” the employee continues, and I glance up at him.
“I don’t have kids.”
“Oh. Well. Someday, when you have them. I bet she’d be great with them.” The guy, who appears around my age, maybe a little older, seems embarrassed.
“Can I come in and pet her?” Katie asks, standing at the partially cracked-open gate.
“Sure,” the employee encourages, and Katie does, shutting the gate behind her before she comes over to where I am, and kneels beside me.
Molly turns her attention to Katie, coming at her with enthusiasm. Katie pets her, running her hand over the length of her back just before Molly sneaks a lick on her face.
“Oh God,” Katie laughs, holding Molly away from her face. “That was gross.”
“It just means she likes you,” I tell her.
She smiles, her gaze still on Molly as the dog comes back my way and practically tries to climb into my lap. “I think she likes you more.”
I pet the dog, my hands lingering, feeling her size. She’s not too big, but I wouldn’t consider her a little dog. She’s solid, but trim, and kinda wiggly. Her tail won’t stop whipping around, like her excitement level is at warp speed, and she continually nuzzles my hands, forcing me to keep petting her. “What do you think?” I ask Katie.
Her eyes widen the slightest bit, as if she’s shocked that I want her opinion. “I think she’s sweet. She has a good disposition.”
Molly looks up at me with those deep brown eyes and I’m a goner. “I always wanted a dog,” I admit, my voice low, only for Katie.
“You never had one?” she asks just as quietly.
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t let me have any pets.”
The sadness on her face makes me feel bad, like maybe I shouldn’t have made that confession. I even feel a little angry. I don’t want her pity, and I can tell in this moment that she feels sorry for me. Hell, I’m feeling sorry for me. I didn’t have what anyone would consider a normal childhood. I’d watch shows on TV about a mom and dad, brothers and sisters and maybe an annoying grandma who’s hanging around, putting her nose in their business. Plus there was always the rowdy dog that won’t stop chasing the cat or whatever, and I remember eating it up. That shit was just pure fantasy for me.
I couldn’t imagine a life like that. I had the furthest thing from it. A mom who ditched me, a fucked-up dad who was hardly ever around—and when he was, I didn’t want to be around him—and a shitty, dark, and decrepit house. I found a kitten once. Out in the backyard, wandering aimlessly through the overgrown grass and weeds, meowing nonstop. It was soft and cute and cuddly, and I wanted to keep it. I brought the gray kitten into the house, tried to give it some milk, but my father found me in the kitchen, yelling and carrying on about how that kitten caused too much fucking racket.