“Good plan.”
I click on the first page, which shows headshots of each dog with their age, gender, and location. From there we click on “View Details” for more pictures and to read a description of the dog’s breed and personality.
“I’m going to look at all of them before I express an opinion,” Amanda says, but as soon as we click on the first dog and read the description, she melts and thinks he’s the one. This happens again for the next dog, and the one after that, so I quickly become immune to her decision-making and wait until we’ve seen all sixteen dogs.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She runs her middle finger over the touch pad and calls up a dog named Sniper. “I kind of like this guy,” she says.
“He was my choice too!”
Sniper is a five-year-old cane corso mix weighing sixty-six pounds, described as calm and friendly, playful, and great on a leash.
“He looks like he always has a smile on his face,” I add. “And it says he does a happy dance when he hears his name.”
“Mom, he’s at the Dartmouth shelter,” she says. “We could go see him right now.”
I check my watch and feel a rush of excitement. “They’re open until five. Let’s do it.”
I shut my laptop, and we both vacate our stools, dash to the foyer, and grab our coats and purses.
“We’re coming, Sniper!” Amanda says as we hurry out the front door.
“I’m so sorry,” the volunteer at the front desk says to us when we burst through the shelter doors at 4:45 p.m. “Sniper was adopted today, and the new owners just picked him up.”
Amanda seems unwilling to accept this. “But he was on the website a half hour ago. And we hit all green lights coming here.”
The volunteer grimaces. “I’m sorry that you came all this way, but I didn’t have time to update the website until ten minutes ago.”
Amanda turns to me. “I’m so disappointed.”
“Me too.”
We just spent the entire car ride talking about Sniper and how he was perfect for us. We discussed sleeping arrangements and who would walk him at different times of the day.
“What kind of dog are you looking for?” the volunteer asks.
Her badge says Dolly, which strikes a chord in me because that was the name of Nate’s dog when we first met. “We don’t have any particular breed in mind. We’re just looking for a dog that we feel a connection to.”
Dolly comes around the front desk to talk to us. “It’s hard to get a sense of that from a website,” she says. “You really have to meet the dog in person.”
I nod because I believe that’s true.
“We do have another little guy who hasn’t been added to the website yet, if you’d like to meet him,” Dolly says.
I look at Amanda, and she shrugs a shoulder. “We might as well.” She turns to Dolly. “What’s his name?”
“Oscar. But I have to be up front with you. He has some health issues.”
Amanda inclines her head. “What kind?”
I’m happy to let my daughter do the talking because this is supposed to be her dog. I want her to have the same sense of companionship and devotion that I’d had with Scooter, who had eased so much of my pain when I was younger.
“He just had surgery to remove a tumor in his abdomen,” Dolly tells us. “But the good news is that it wasn’t cancerous, so he’s on the mend. But he’s ten years old, and he has a heart murmur.”
Amanda shakes her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means he has some abnormal blood flow in his heart. It could be caused by a few things—a leaky valve, or an enlarged ventricle. He’ll need to be monitored, and he may eventually require daily medication. That can get pricey, and not everyone is up for that kind of commitment.”
