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Peyton gives the woman the list and explains our lifestyles, stressing how a skittish pup wouldn’t be best due to extensive traveling.
“What breed?”
Peyton shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, really. Something medium size, unless you have an Irish Wolfhound. Apparently, my husband has always wanted one.”
The woman’s eyes go wide. “We actually got one in the other day. I just listed her on the website. She’s about six months old.”
“Can we see her?” I ask instantly.
“Yes, come this way.”
We follow the woman through the door, down a hall, and into a large room with more cages. I hate the cages.
“Here she is.”
In the back corner this predominantly gray fluff ball sleeps. I crouch down and let out a low whistle. “Hey, girl.” She picks her head up. “Come here.” I look at the employee. “Can I go in?”
She nods and undoes the latch. Peyton and I walk in just as the pup stands.
“She’s huge, Noah.”
“She’s perfect, Peyton. She’s still a pup and we can train her. Their temperament is perfect for a family. They’re non-aggressive, loyal, and very smart.”
“I won’t be able to walk her on my own when you’re working.”
I scratch under her chin. “I’ll train her to stay at your side. If that doesn’t work, we’ll hire someone, but everything in me says she’s going to be perfect.”
“How do we get her?” Peyton asks the woman.
“We run a full background check on you before we agree to adoption.”
“How long does that take?”
“A day or two. Sometimes three.”
My heart sinks. I continue to focus on this girl and the way she’s loving the attention she’s receiving from me.
“How can we make one happen within the next thirty minutes?”
“Um . . .”
“A sizable donation?” Peyton suggests. “Your adoption fee is three hundred. I’ll add a zero if you run the background checks on us now so my husband can take that little girl home.”
“Did you just tell me you’d give me three-thousand dollars?”
“We’ll double it,” I say, without looking over my shoulder. “My wife has all my personal information to get this started.”
“Okay. Well, in that case, follow me right this way.”
Peyton and the woman leave. I stay in the cage with this sweet angel. She hasn’t jumped on me once, nor has she bitten me. While sitting there, I look in her mouth at her teeth and gums, check her paws and belly, pushing on spots I’ve seen other vets do on television.
“Well, you look healthy, but we’ll take you to the vet anyway.”
She sighs and leans into me.
“You need a name,” I tell her. “Not sure how we’re going to come up with one since your new mom has asked me to come up with a list of names for our new baby.”
At the word, baby, her ears perk.
