The puppies exhausted themselves at the park, sleeping in my car until we arrived at Costco to buy batteries and a few new cat trees for the shelter. They slept again on the short drive back and were so knocked out they didn’t wake when I carried them inside.
Kerry had her hands on her hips and a smile plastered on her face when I set the puppies in their crate in the office. “Wow. Did you drug them? If so, with what? I want some for myself.”
“Running around with the big dogs all morning doesn’t work for you?”
“It works at the exhausting-me part but not the sleeping part.”
I patted her on the shoulder. “Could be worse.”
“Really? How?”
“You could have night sweats too.”
“Are those a thing?”
“Just one of the many things you’ve got to look forward to.” The bell rang on the shelter’s main door. “I’ve got it.”
Kerry closed the door to the kennels behind her.
A woman in blue jeans ripped at the knees and a Georgia Bulldog sweatshirt smiled through the window. “I’m looking for a dog.”
I handed her a clipboard with the application and a pen already attached. “Great! Here’s our application. Go ahead and fill it out, and we’ll chat when you’re finished.”
Princess yelped in the crate behind me. Bubba and Little Harry joined in, and we were blessed with high-pitched ahwooing echoing in the small office. Apparently, their energy had returned from their power nap.
“Excuse them,” I said to the woman. “They’re a little on the sassy side.”
“They’re adorable. Can I get one of them?”
“Oh, well.” I turned toward the pups. “They’re not quite ready for adoption.”
“How long ‘til they are?”
“We were thinking a few weeks, but that could change.” It wouldn’t change, but my protective dog momma hairs went up again, and I blurted that out without meaning to. “I can keep your number and call you once they’re ready.”
She shrugged. “I would like a dog before then.”
She completed the three-page application and pushed it back through the hole in the window. “Can I see the dogs now?”
I checked her paperwork. “Sure, Ms. Meyer.” I held up my finger and disappeared around the desk. A moment later I walked through the lobby door and escorted her into the kennel. Normally, I handle the process differently. They fill out the form and I talk with them before going to the kennel, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt for her to see the dogs first. Regardless of her choice, she wasn’t bringing any of the dogs home then anyway. “Once you’ve found a dog you like, we’ll give you some time with him or her, and if you want to move forward with the adoption, we’ll check your references, call your previous vet, and set up a home review. If everything clears, you should have your dog by the end of the week.”
“It takes that long? I thought I could come in, fill out the paperwork, and take one home. Told my kids I’d be doing that.”
“Ms. Meyer, we are a privately funded shelter, and therefore our process is similar to a rescue program. There is a county shelter in Cherokee County that will allow you to take a dog the same day, but we invest a lot of time, training, and care into our dogs, and because of that, we must follow our process.”
She nodded. “Can I at least still look?”
“Of course.”
When I opened the kennel door, the twenty dogs under our care went into bark mode. I opened the small metal cabinet by the door and removed a box of treats. As we walked down the aisle, I gave one to each dog, breaking some in half for the smaller dogs and giving halves to the ones who needed a little help in the weight gain department.
“What about that one?” She pointed to a seven-month-old beige-and-white pit bull mix we’d named Leroy.
He was already a big, stocky boy. Kerry insisted he had some Boxer in him, but I wasn’t sure. We’d considered doing a DNA test, but he’d been viewed several times, and we figured he’d be adopted quickly. But he’d now been with us a little over two months, and I was beginning to think that wasn’t going to happen after all. I loved Leroy. If someone didn’t take him soon, he’d come home with me.
Leroy’s back end wiggled with fierce excitement, his long whip of a tail pointing up with pride. I handed him a treat, which he took gently from my hand.
“Leroy’s about seven months, so he’s still got some growing and a whole lot of filling out to do. As you can probably tell, he’s mostly pit bull, but given his squarish head, taller legs, and broad chest, he might have some Boxer in him too.” I patted his head, and he swiped my hand with kisses.
“I’ll take him.”
She hadn’t even touched the dog.
“Wouldn’t you like some time with him in a room or outside?”
She shook her head. “I need to get one as soon as possible so my kids don’t pitch a fit.”
“Okay then.” I patted Leroy again and closed his gate behind us. “I’ll get started on your references right away. Let’s schedule a home visit for Wednesday.”
“Okay.”
After she left, Kerry popped into the office for an update. Little Harry was so excited to see her that he peed on Bubba.
Kerry laughed. “Toss me the wipes, will you?”
We kept containers of baby wipes around the shelter for emergencies like that.
“So, what’s the verdict?”
“Why does everyone rub me the wrong way lately? Am I cranky?” I stared at Nancy Meyer’s application. “I feel cranky, and I think that’s impacting my intuition.”
“Missy, I’ve known you for a few years now, and aside from your sweet disposition, your intuition is the one thing that’s stayed consistent.”
“Thanks, but I still think I’m cranky.”
She cleared her throat. “Could this possibly be about a specific someone in your life?”
I made a check mark next to Nancy Meyer’s home address and then typed it into Google Earth on the computer. “I don’t have a specific someone in my life.”
“That’s my point.”
I enlarged the shot of the applicant’s home. “She’s got a fenced-in backyard.”
“That’s good.”
I pursed my lips. “She didn’t put down a vet, so I don’t think she’s had a dog.”
“Did you ask?”
“I didn’t, and she left the answer blank.” I pushed her application to the side. “I think I need an attitude adjustment.” I smiled at the puppies in the crate. “Can you hang with the babies for a bit?”
“Of course.”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s after noon? That’s crazy! The day’s flown by, and I haven’t even eaten. I’m buying lunch. I’ll text you in a bit and give you the choices, okay?”
“I already ate.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just go do your thing, and I’ll keep the puppies for the night. You seem like you need some space.”
“It’s my turn.”
“I want them, and you don’t get a say in this.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and then closed down my computer.
* * *
I decided to drive out to Nancy Meyer’s home on the far end of the county. I entered Highway 400 off exit fourteen after running through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru. In a pinch, their chicken sandwich curbed a hunger pain, and was reasonably healthy if I got it grilled. I drove and ate, getting stuck in traffic on the highway near the light at Browns Bridge Road. The light turned green, moving the backup forward toward the outlet mall. I contemplated a trip to the mall for some shopping therapy, but I didn’t need anything, and didn’t like spending money just because I could. I understood my blessings, and I appreciated Sam for keeping me housed, fed, and clothed, but I’d much rather have my husband than money any day.
I took the next left and pulled onto the second street. The area wasn’t as developed as the rest of the county, but it would catch up. The Atlanta suburbs had begun to stretch far and wide, and my area was the most recent addition to the list. We’d become a popular spot for data hubs and medical facilities, and the local news stations reported on our traffic and weather. Those were big steps for a once small town. Being on the local morning and evening news was akin to being famous.
The Meyers’ home was the typical one-story ranch with a detached garage. The front door was a walk-up without a porch, and most of the backyard was visible from the road. The area was a community of homes, not a subdivision, which meant the owners weren’t required to follow any harsh home association rules. I assumed that was the reason for the neighbor’s blue house with yellow trim. Someone was a big Georgia Tech fan.
I parked down the street a bit so I could snoop on the Meyers without being caught. It was probably inappropriate, but I did what I had to do for the dogs, and it just felt necessary.
Three pit bulls jumped on the old chain-link fence on my side of the large lot. When one of them jumped again, the bigger of the three pounced on it, growling and attacking until the dog cried and ran away. Heat immediately lit up my stomach, and I had the answer I was looking for. I climbed out of my car and skirted toward the lot, keeping a safe enough distance and hiding behind a row of trees.
A large, beat-up wooden doghouse sat in the back of the lot, and on the back porch were three barrels. I couldn’t say for sure, but they looked to be filled with water. She at least got a point for that, but the rest of the situation dropped her right into the sorry, not sorry box on the adoption application. What person owned three dogs and had no vet? Or if she did have a vet, why didn’t she list it? And why hadn’t she listed her other dogs?
I rushed back to my car, pulled the application from the folder, and grabbed my phone to dial the first reference.
“Who?” the woman who answered asked.
“Nancy Meyer. She’s looking to adopt a dog from us.”
“Another one? She’s already got a few, and those’ll be gone before you know it. Woman can’t make up her mind to save her life.”
“Gone?”
A white van came barreling around the corner and almost smacked into me. It slowed as it passed the Meyers’ house, but when I started my car, it took off down the street again.
The woman on the other end of the line coughed so intensely I worried she might pass out. “Yeah, she’s had a bunch of them stocky dogs, the kind people say are mean. One day she’s got ’em, and the next, she’s shipped them off to a farm.”
“Do you know why?”
“Says they’re good for rounding up farm animals and she can get a good penny for ’em.”
Pitties don’t herd dogs. They’re people dogs. So much so, they were used as nannies for children, not to organize animals. “Okay, thank you for your time.”
I didn’t bother calling her other references. Nancy Meyer got a big X through her application, and a call to animal services for a wellness check. Thankfully, the team knew me, and we’d made arrangements for any dogs I reported to come to Angels on Earth. I owed that mostly to my friend Max Hoover, a city councilman and big supporter of the rescue.
* * *
Kerry called my cell. “Hey, Ms. Wishard came back. She wants to know if she can still adopt Leroy. Are you keeping him on hold?”
Shelly Wishard had been approved for an adoption last month. She was interested in Leroy and Scooter, another pittie mix, and spent time with both of them. She’d wanted to keep them both on hold until she could decide if she could handle two dogs, but that went against our policy, and we were strict on policy. It was in the dogs’ best interests. She ended up picking Scooter, but she cried as she left Leroy behind.
“I stopped by the Meyer house and it’s a definitive no, so Ms. Wishard can most definitely have Leroy.”
“You did the home visit already? I thought that was Wednesday?”
“I just felt compelled to do a drive-by. She said she didn’t have any dogs, but there are three in the backyard. All pitties.”
“That’s a heck no, then.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Okay. We had another applicant just walk in. I’ll get her to fill out the paperwork. You on your way back?”
“I am now.”
“I’ll take care of Shelly Wishard, then.”
“Thanks, Kerry, you’re the best.”
I arrived back at the shelter and met another potential adopter named Tammy Simpson and her daughter Shanda. Shanda was a sweet little girl in desperate need of a bottle of hair detangler. I smiled at the memories of five-year-old Hayden’s knotted mess of hair and the hours and hours of bawling we struggled through trying to keep it under control. I felt for Tammy Simpson, knowing she was probably going through that phase with her child. The time would fly by even though it felt like it took forever. Life was that way. One day you’re young and happy, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and the next you’re begging your dead husband to wake up on the ground in front of your house.
Tammy Simpson already had two dogs, so while she and her daughter picked an animal, I mapped her home. Google had become a lifesaver for the shelter, allowing me to make an educated guess on the chances of the applicant passing a home visit.
Unfortunately, Tammy Simpson’s home wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “With two dogs already and no fence, we’re going to have to decline your request.”
Shanda tugged on her mom’s shirt. “But Momma, the dogs are goin’ away soon. Tell her.”
Tammy swatted at her kid, and I had to stop myself from saying something. “My dogs do fine outside without a fence. I don’t live in a crowded area, and the street ain’t busy.”
“It’s our policy, ma’am.” Sort of.
“That’s three in a day.” Kerry leaned against the kennel door. “And it’s only Tuesday, so we’ve got the rest of the week for intakes. Either we’re going to need more crates, or you need to build a big shoe to live in.”
“Three?”
“I declined one while you were gone.”
“Really? Why?”
“She said dogs are good for keeping people safe, and when they’re old and can’t do their job, you just shoot them.”
My eyes popped open. “That’s horrible.”
“I sent her info to the other shelters. She won’t get a dog anywhere this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
“Good.”
“So, what was the problem with Tammy?” she asked.
“She’s got two dogs and no fence, and she lives on a main road. I don’t care what part of town she’s in, a fenceless yard on a main road is a no.” My raised voice surprised both of us.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Maybe it’s menopause.” I lifted the collar of my sweater. “It’s hot in here.”
“You’re not in menopause. You’re just doing your job and it makes you extremely emotional.”
I sighed. “I sure hope so. She actually said she lived in an area without a lot of traffic. When you have no fence, one car is a lot of traffic.”
“Definitely.”
The front bell rang again, and I smiled when I saw the man from the park.
Kerry noticed my immediate change in attitude. “Yeah. You’re definitely not in menopause.”