“I’m so sorry about all of this!” I tell Amy. “Maybe we can just stage a few photos right away, so the camera people can all get their first shots in instead of fighting over them.”
“Of course,” Amy says.
We decide to have the media photograph us walking through the kennel first, putting on our happiest faces as we visit all the most photogenic labs, chihuahuas, and beagle mixes.
Then Amy introduces us to a pair of brindle Staffy mixes, brother and sister, their brown eyes watching us with a spark of deep intelligence. My pulse leaps for a second, but after licking our fingers through the chain link, they go back to playing with each other, seeming uninterested in me or Luka. We move along after offering a round of ear scratches.
We meet a mini-Pinscher, a plump dog with curly white fur, and a few more small-size mutts who are ecstatic to run around chasing the tennis balls and chew toys we throw for them.
My stomach flutters each time we meet a new dog, my heart going out to each of them. I want to take them all home. How can they sit here all day behind bars and still be so happy?
Finally, Amy leads us to a room with a gated playpen where pets can meet (and play with) prospective owners.
“Before I bring in any likely candidates, have you considered what type of dog you’re looking for?” she asks us. “Taking into account your own energy levels, the amount of space you have, how many hours you’re at work every day…”
I look at Luka, caught off guard. We’re supposed to be the fully connected couple who’d given this enormous thought, instead of two people who barely tolerate each other and only learned about this business a matter of hours ago.
“I think something small,” Luka says. “That doesn’t bark a lot or need a lot of attention. You know, the kind of dog that’s okay having some time alone and is kind of independent.”
Amy’s smile goes a little tight. “So, you’re saying that you really want a cat?”
I laugh quickly and playfully tap Luka’s arm. “You jokester,” I say, then turn to the director. “He’s kidding. Smaller would be preferable, though. And we’re very active, so we’d be happy with a younger dog who loves to take walks and play frisbee in the park. Right, babe?”
Luka chuckles, as if he suddenly remembers he’s supposed to be in character mode here.
“I’ll be right back,” Amy says with a nod. “You can have a seat in the playpen.”
We step over the gate and Luka looks at me like the floor is made of lava, but when I sit, he follows. As he settles beside me, I realize I’m anxious. But is it all the cameras pointed at us, capturing our every move, or because we’re about to adopt a sweet, needy animal?
“Here we go!” Amy chirps, bustling back in with a volunteer helper, both of them carrying an armload of squirming puppies.
They set them in the pen, and the first little plump-ball comes ambling over, goes right to Luka, and tries to tongue kiss him on the mouth. He frowns and turns his head away. The puppy tries harder. The reporters love it, and it just goes from there.
Luka goes stiff as four more puppies jump on his legs, licking and yapping away. But then a smile tugs at his mouth, and grows, until he’s grinning from ear to ear.
He pats as many on the head as he can. We both start picking up random puppies and those sticky-sweet little sounds that people use on baby animals start coming out of our mouths. Even my husband coos a little as he pets the puppies.
I had no idea I was a pet person, but I can’t imagine walking out of here without a dog.
Maybe more than one. I’m LOVING this. And the press seems to be loving my enthusiasm for them, a few even dropping their cameras to get in on the puppy play themselves.
Suddenly, a smaller pup with the same curly fur as a dog I saw earlier plops into my lap.
“That’s a Doodle puppy,” Amy tells me. “A very good family breed.”
My eyes light up as I look at Luka. “Let’s get a Doodle!”
“What the hell is a Doodle?” His voice is low so the reporters can’t hear.
I frown at him. “Weren’t you listening?Thisis a Doodle.” I can feel my eyes getting teary as I pat him on his round pink tummy.
“If we’re getting a dog, it has to be a real dog,” Luka hisses.
“But he’s so soft,” I choke out, overwhelmed with cuteness. “Look at his wiggly tail!”
Luka’s trying to tug his shoelace out of the mouth of one of the tiniest puppies, a little spaniel. “How do we choose? They’re all so adorably destructive,” he deadpans.
The puppy Luka’s playing tug-of-war with lets out the tiniest growl as he holds on tight. I can’t help laughing, and soon Luka is joining in. Cameras flash like crazy in our direction. But ultimately, we decide we aren’t looking for a puppy.
