The kennels stretch down a long hallway, each one holding a dog with a story. A three-legged beagle named Captain. An ancient chihuahua named Duchess who looks like she’s seen things. A pair of bonded pit bulls named Peanut Butter and Jelly who are currently sharing a single dog bed despite having two.
They’re all wonderful. They’re all deserving of homes.
None of them are mine.
I’m about to give up—to admit this was a silly impulse and go home to my empty house and my toast-over-the-sink dinners—when I see him.
He’s at the end of the row, in the corner kennel, lying with his back to the door like he’s given up on being noticed. Big. Fluffy. German Shepherd coloring with a thick mane around his neck that screams Chow Chow. His tail is curled over his back, and even from behind, he radiates a kind of dignified resignation.
I stop walking.
He must hear me, because his ear twitches. But he doesn’t turn around.
“That’s Ruffy,” Barb says, appearing at my elbow. “He’s been with us awhile.”
“How long?”
“Eight months. He’s been returned twice.”
My heart clenches. “Returned? Why?”
“He’s...particular.” Barb chooses her words carefully. “He bonds to one person. Deeply. Everyone else, he just ignores. Won’t engage, won’t play, won’t even look at them. The first family had small kids who wanted a dog that would roughhouseand fetch. Ruffy wanted nothing to do with them—just attached himself to the mom and acted like the rest of the family didn’t exist.”
“And the second time?”
“Single man. Wanted a companion. But Ruffy never warmed up to him. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t come when called. Just sat by the door like he was waiting for someone else.” Barb shakes her head. “He’s not a bad dog. He’s just waiting for his person. And until he finds them, he’s not interested in pretending.”
I look at Ruffy. He still hasn’t turned around.
“Can I meet him?”
Barb looks surprised. “Are you sure? He’s not exactly a first-date kind of dog.”
“I’m sure.”
She unlocks the kennel door and steps back. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
I lower myself to the concrete floor, sitting cross-legged just inside the doorway. Not approaching. Not forcing anything. Just...being here.
Ruffy’s ear twitches again.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I heard you’ve had a rough time.”
Nothing.
“Me too, if it helps. I keep leaving places. People.Running away before anyone can leave me first.” I don’t know why I’m telling a dog my life story, but it feels right. “I’m trying to stop. The running, I mean. I’m trying to stay somewhere. Build something. Be brave enough to let people in.”
Ruffy’s head turns slightly. Not looking at me yet. But listening.
“I’m not going to force you to like me. I know what it’s like when people expect things from you that you’re not ready to give. But I could use a friend. Someone to come home to. Someone who understands that trust takes time.”
I hold out my hand, palm up. An offering.
Ruffy looks at it. Looks at me. Those deep brown eyes, serious and assessing. A black muzzle fading into tan. That ridiculous fluffy mane that makes him look like a lion who got lost on his way to the savanna.
He studies me for a long moment.
Then he turns back to the wall.
