A worker walks past with a bucket of water and I notice a small brown dog pressing its nose through the fence, whining softly.
“Why are there so many?”
“People can’t afford to keep them,” Jax says, his eyes sweeping over the dogs. “They lose a job, they get evicted, suddenly the dog food is too expensive. It’s all the same shit in the end.”
I swallow.
In one cage, three puppies are curled together as if trying to stay warm, while the cage next to it sits empty except for a broken leash.
“Most of them get a week,” Jax says quietly.
“A week to get lucky?”
He nods toward the back row. “Come on.”
We walk past cage after cage. A big shepherd barks like it’s begging us not to keep walking. A skinny pit mix just watches us with quiet, patient eyes. My chest tightens.
“Jax…”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
He stops. “You said we needed a dog.”
“I said you needed a dog.”
“Okay, friend,” he says, the word dripping with sarcasm as he gestures down the row of cages. “Help me pick a dog.”
We walk past many barking cages, and at the end of the row, Jax stops suddenly and I almost walk into him. He’s staring at one cage in particular. The dog inside is a massive mountain of fur. It lifts its head slowly when it sees us.
“Why him?” I ask Jax.
Jax studies the paper clipped to the cage for a moment. “Because this one’s out of time tomorrow.”
The dog pushes itself to its feet slowly.
Jax scratches the back of his neck thinking.
The volunteer steps closer. “This one bit a guy last week.”
“Well that seems… relevant,” I say, instinctively taking a step back.
“He was beating it with a broom handle,” she says, her eyes on the dog.
My heart gives a painful lurch.
I kneel slowly and the dog watches my hand carefully. It inches forward, its movements stiff and pained. After a long moment, it presses its giant, wet nose into my palm.
Behind me, Jax lets out a breath. “Guess that settles it.”
I glance over my shoulder, my hand still resting on the dog’s head. “He’s huge.”
“He’s coming home with us,” Jax says, his voice leaving no room for argument.
I blink. “Us?”
Jax coughs, looking away. “Me.”
