We’re all in agreement on that topic here.
The brays of the older dogs mingle with the happy, sweet barks of the small and tiny pups.
“I know, my lovelies, it’s almost playtime.”
My last playtime with them. Even if I come back to visit, some of the pups will have found their forever home.
God willing.
Midway, I pass the one cage that rarely sees any play time. Bruno’s.
He lowers as I move past, a growl slipping through his teeth.
“Okay, boy. I remember, not a people person.”
After Donna ended up with seven stitches in her hand, poor old fella hasn’t seen much love. It’s sad, but it is what it is.
Safety first.
For the staff and the other dogs.
I stride for the back door and slip through. The small room is home to two panels. One side releases the doors to the large dogs, or you can flick the levers individually should you need to. The other side, the small dogs. Each of their back doors opens out to the large play space that—thanks to city funding after hella rallying on Donna’s part—is set up with toys and obstacle courses to keep the babes occupied and happy.
The other side, for the larger dogs, is the same but on a grander scale.
Leaving Bruno’s lever down, I flick up all the others and the barking starts, extracting a giggle from me. Like it does every single time I’m on playground duty. Hearts and Paws runs on an ethos of love and care. I would be lying if I didn’t get as much out of this job as the doggos do by us being here taking care of them.
I can only hope my next job is as rewarding.
It has to be.
I have a hunger to sink my teeth into a career I can give my all to. That I can succeed in and promote up as much as possible. The chip on my shoulder Wayne put there is probably visible from damn space.
My inferiority complex almost stopped me from applying.
But I did it anyway.
And I’m so thankful I did. Mom makes good money working from home as an accountant. Her social anxiety prevents her from having a normal office job with a commute, coworkers, long days at the office, and all that.
Now, after Wayne fucked that up for her, she has long days at our kitchen table. Meetings via Zoom.
Groceries are always a two-person outing or a delivery service, and I know she hates every minute of it.
She just needs . . .
“London!” Kel calls from the far end of the kennel.
“Yeah, be out in a second, just getting the babies sorted out.”
“Come on, we have a potential adoption!” He’s practically jumping on the spot. He’s one thousand percent empath. A big-hearted guy who puts the needs of others, especially the pups, over all else.
“Will you hurry up? I don’t want to miss this. And nor should you, it’s a potential match for Bruno.”
“Hey, wait, what?”
My grip over the small dog lever, mid-pull, stalls out.
Kel sighs, hands snapping to his hips. “We both know his days are numbered if it doesn’t work out. Good vibes! Or bust!”
