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I jump at Eli’s question, realizing I’ve been simply standing here, staring into space while thinking about kissing his centaur-unicorn counterpart.
I give my head a little shake. “Sorry. I’m just, um, thinking.”
About you shirtless and with a purple horse body.
“Must be some good thoughts.” Eli grins and, for the second time in the last few minutes, I blush. “Verygood thoughts.”
I’ve never been more grateful that mindreading powers only exist in fiction. I’m sure if Eli knew about my dream version of him, he’d run screaming from the room. I’m worse than Beth and her snack comments and overt objectification!
Needing a breather—and to get on with what I’m supposed to be doing—I open the door leading to the back room, which connects to the kennels. “Any special requests today?”
Eli hesitates for a moment, and then the same lost look returns. The one he had in the lobby a few minutes ago. “Maybe ... a dog who looks like they need a hug?”
If I didn’t already harbor a crush the size of the Appalachians, this comment would be enough to send me over the edge. I give him a quick nod and duck back into the kennels before I can do something like ... well. I don't know what I’d do.
Kiss him like the centaur-unicorn of my dreams, perhaps? Definitely a bad idea.
Ugh. Someone as good looking as Eli should really possess the personality of a cave troll just to balance out the scales. It’s a travesty of justice for someone so attractive to also be so kind.Completely unfair. Especially when I have no good defenses against him.
My crush didn’t even start because of Eli’s looks, though they certainly add to the whole package. It’s his energy that draws me. Aside from today, there’s a brightness to him, a sort of vibrant energy that emanates from him like each cell in his body is a tiny sun.
In this analogy, I’m a planet stuck in his orbit.
Whenever he comes in, just being near him lightens my mood. Not that I’m a super melancholy person. I’ve actually been accused of being too optimistic and believing the best about people—neither of which are bad things, in my opinion. But … there aren’t a lot of joys in my life right now. Eli coming in is pretty much the highlight of any week or month.
I realize this makes me sound super sad. Like my life issoempty that a random guy cheers me up when he comes in to see the dogs.
Let me emphasize this: when he comes to see thedogs. Not to seeme.
I take a few moments in the kennels to collect myself. To give my twitterpated heart and overactive imagination a stern talking to.
Once I feel a little more grounded in reality, I walk past the kennels, looking for the dog who most needs a hug. The ones who have been here for a while and know the drill practically throw themselves at the door.Pick me! Pick me!their barks and effusive tail wags say.
In truth, all of them could use a hug. Our facility is a no-kill shelter, and it’s pretty great as far as shelters go. But it is old. And, like any nonprofit, funds are stretched thin. The facility would be much better if we had outdoor runs attached to the kennels so the dogs wouldn’t be cooped up inside except for twice daily walks.
“Which of you needs a hug from a hottie today?” I ask and am rewarded with a lot of enthusiastic butt wiggles and shrill, desperate barks.
But as I pace, my mind keeps circling back to one dog in particular. The one dog I probablyshouldn’tbring out to meet someone. Still.
I leave the kennel for the main back room, where a small black dog trembles in the single row of small kennels. The latest stray Animal Control picked up isn’t adjusting well to the shelter. To put it mildly.
The vet had to sedate her so we could shave off the clumps of matted fur covering her body. She’s trembling, and every time a door slams or a dog barks from the kennel room, she jolts. I’ve grown so used to the steady barking, I almost don’t hear it anymore. But Doris practically had a panic attack when we walked her in there, so for the time being, we’re keeping her out here in the row of small kennels usually reserved for dogs recovering from surgery.
I’ve been talking to Doris all morning, attempting to win her over with kind words, which have been ignored, and dog treats, which have been left untouched in a small pile near the front of her kennel.
The look she gives me is pitiful. “Hey, girl,” I say. She gives the tiniest thump of her tail. Progress? “You definitely look like you need a hug. Do youwanta hug? That’s the question.”
Her pointy ears flick back, almost like she's saying,A hug, you say? Hard pass.
But I can’t shake this feeling. The same instinct that often helps me pair the right person with the right dog. Beth says I have a gift. I think it’s more that, after so many years of being the quiet person who’s hardly seenorheard, I have keenly developed powers of observation. I can quickly get a good senseabout both humansanddogs. When people or families come in to adopt, often, I justknow.
I bite my lip, debating as I look at Doris. Finally, I get one of our slip-on leashes and open her kennel, coaxing her out with a treat. Not one of the crunchy dog biscuits Doris has ignored, but one of the soft and chewy treats that stink like high heaven but must taste like doggy delicacy.
It works. Doris gingerly accepts this one from my fingers and allows me to slip the leash over her head—a good sign.
Slowly, giving her time to smell anything she wants to smell, I walk Doris toward the door, talking her through what we’re doing. I have a habit of talking to the dogs as though they have a very good grasp of English and at least a high school vocabulary.
“You’re a lucky girl today,” I tell her. “You’re going to meet Eli. Don’t tell anyone, but he’s my favorite. He said he wants a dog who looks like she needs a hug, but you know what? I thinkheneeds a hug, Doris. I have this weird feeling like you two need to meet today. Just be yourself, okay? He can’t adopt a dog, so there’s no pressure to perform. It’s not a rejection when he doesn’t take you home. But also … don’t get too attached for the same reason.”
