“Is that why he’s here?” Amanda asks.
“No, not at all. Sadly, his owner was a senior citizen, living alone, and she passed away in her sleep. The neighbor heard Oscar howling and found him with her on the bed.”
“Oh, God,” I say, raising my hand to my mouth. “That’s so sad.”
“Yes, and it was difficult for the family because none of them was in a position to take him.” She gives me a look. “Poor Oscar’s been quite brokenhearted. He’s been crying a lot, especially at night.”
Amanda turns to me, and we exchange a look of shared understanding.
“Can we meet him?” I ask.
Dolly glances at the clock on the wall, and I know it’s time for her to finish her shift and go home. Nevertheless, she speaks cheerfully. “Of course you can. He’s out back. Come this way.”
Amanda and I follow her through a glass door to a long narrow room with cages on either side. Oscar is inside a crate on the right. When we reach him, he’s sitting up, with a plastic cone fastened around his neck. His glossy coat is gold and black with gray highlights, and his ears are perky. His short tail wags vigorously.
“This is why we don’t have him on the website yet,” Dolly says. “We need to wait for his stitches to heal.”
At the sight of him, Amanda melts. “Oh, my goodness,” she coos. “What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s a Yorkshire terrier,” Dolly replies.
I turn to her. “I thought Yorkies were small.”
“You’re thinking of the teacup size,” Dolly replies. “Oscar is a giant Yorkie. He weighs sixteen pounds.”
I kneel beside Amanda in front of the crate, and Dolly stands back to give us a moment to say hello to Oscar, who sniffs the backs of our hands through the cage door.
“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” I say lovingly, because I’m falling fast for this little guy, who peers up at me with sad, chocolate brown eyes. I feel like I might dissolve into a sticky puddle of pity for this poor creature who has lost his beloved person and was removed from his home, taken to a shelter, and operated on. I want desperately to take him into my arms and hug him.
“We can bring him out if you’d like,” Dolly says.
“Yes, please,” Amanda replies.
Dolly unlatches the door and pulls it open. Oscar slowly, hesitatingly, ambles out.
“He’s a very special boy,” Dolly says. “He’s loyal and sociable, and he has the bladder of a heavyweight champ. I really want him to find a good home.”
“He deserves nothing less.” I run my hand down his smooth, glossy coat and give him a good scratch. He looks up at me with gleaming eyes and whimpers, and my heart throbs agonizingly in my chest because I swear I can feel his grief.
I glance up at Dolly. “When will he be ready to leave the shelter?”
“Any time after the vet sees him tomorrow,” she says, “as long as there are no surprises. Though he’ll need some follow-up care.”
“And how does the adoption process work?” I ask.
There are no other questions in my mind because I already know that this is our dog. I wish we could take him home right now. I hate that he has to spend another night in the shelter alone, without us.
“First, you’ll need to fill out an application online,” Dolly explains, “and if you’re approved, you can come and get him right away.”
“We’ll do that tonight,” I reply.
“Wonderful. My supervisor will be here at eight thirty tomorrow morning, and I’ll let her know you’ve already met Oscar, and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
Amanda, while scratching behind Oscar’s ears inside the cone, looks up at Dolly with tears and laughter in her eyes. “Thank you so much. I really love him.”
After that, it’s not easy to leave, but it’s past five o’clock. We get up off the floor, back away, and watch Dolly guide Oscar back into his cage. As soon as the cage door swings shut, he begins to whimper, and it breaks me in half.
“Don’t worry—he’ll be okay,” Dolly assures us as we return to the reception area. “We have a volunteer who comes in at six, and she stays until nine. She’s wonderful, and she’ll take him out and spend time with him in the playroom. She’ll tire him out, and he’ll sleep well until morning.”
