She was three, had been in a house with dogs, had her best weapons intact—her claws—and she was a cuddle muffin with lots of purrs to give, which could be a ruse she used to get her out of there, because she’d been there over six months.But I didn’t care if she was faking it.I was getting her out of there.
After handing back the application, I asked Winona, “Am I tempting fate if I go to the feedstore to stock up on pet stuff?”
She smiled.“I’ve seen you with both of them, Mabel.I’ll put in a good word for you.But anyway, it’s rare they turn anyone down.Truly.It’s usually only things like they say they’re going to try to declaw, something no vet in this county does and no cat parent should want, or they’re loading up with pets because their hearts are so big and they’ve never had a pet before.With folks like that, they’ll approve for one animal, not reject in total.You’ve had both cats and dogs.You’ve done your research.You’ve got land for Tonks to roam.They’ll approve.”
I felt my worry lift and said, “Thanks.And thanks so much for your time.”
“My pleasure,” she replied.
I headed out to a misty, cool day, gathering my jean jacket closer at the front, and ducking into my thick scarf, before I saw the big, dark blue GMC truck in the parking lot.
My heart skipped a beat.
It obscured my little Ford pickup.
And then, as I kept hesitantly walking, it didn’t.
I almost tripped when I saw the burnished thick locks of my Post-it Lover over the roof of my truck.
He was leaning against my driver’s side door.
Hearing me approach, he turned and looked at me.
Yep.
There was my Post-it Lover.
What the heck?
After I rounded my hood, I greeted with a tentative, “Hey.”
“Huskies are a lot of work.”
I stopped dead three feet from him.
“They got a lot to say.And grooming is a chore.Especially at the change of seasons.You can’t allow mats.Mats pull at animals’ skin.It’s painful.”
“I—”
“Regular baths, at least weekly full brushes, if not daily.Taking them for a monthly bath and professional groom is optimal.”
It was then it dawned on me.
Except “dawn” was too positive of a term.
So, the better way to put it was, it collapsed on me.
My Post-it Lover was Mr.Grouch.
How I didn’t foresee, with all my history, that my luck was this bad, Idid not know.
But here it was.
More proof I didn’t need that my luck was cataclysmicallybad.
“I looked—” I tried again.
“And they’re high energy.Seriously high.We’re not talking a couple quick walks a day.We’re talking good, solid, get-the-dog-panting workouts daily or she’ll destroy everything in your house if you’re not there.”
