7. Harrison

7

Harrison

W e tried calling ahead, but no one answered at the shelter, so who knows if this is a fool’s errand or not. Let’s hope not. It’s getting late, and we’re supposed to pick Meggie up from Emily’s in an hour. Her family will all arrive tomorrow and she’s got all kinds of holiday activities planned. We won’t have a chance to go out again.

The shelter is tucked between the fire department and a county history museum. I guess they try to keep all the tax-payer funded buildings together on this side of town. There’s a picture of a cartoon dog and cat on the sign, which gives me hope as we pull in and park.

That hope is strangled to death as we chat with the short beta man staffing the front desk. He’s wearing a nametag that says Oscar. The bloody scratches down his arm and the bottle of antiseptic on the desk are a clear indicator of why he couldn’t answer the phone when we called. Frickin' cats.

“I was really hoping for a Christmas miracle here, man.” Ellis is practically pouting and Dante pulls him into a side hug.

“I’ve never seen a chinchilla here before.” The man, Oscar, shakes his head. “We got some baby squirrels before. Couple of hedgehogs once and a really ornery goose, but I’ve never seen a chinchilla come through here.”

“Well, can we see what you have?” I’m getting desperate.

“Only got one dog left and some cats.”

“No cats,” Nils says.

I’m kinda surprised. I would have taken him for more of a cat person than a dog person. Doesn’t matter, though, cause I don’t want a cat in the house. My parents got me a cat when I was nine, and it was a little devil. I think they got it because my mom was traveling so much, and they thought something warm and cuddly would be good for me. It wasn’t. The beast would hide behind the furniture and wait for me to walk by before pouncing and clawing at my leg. It bit, too.

“No cats,” I second.

“Let’s see the dog,” Ellis says.

“Okay, but– ”

“Show us,” I interrupt the man, my irritation at this whole errand sneaking out in an unintentional bark. It’s not that I don’t want to get a gift for Meggie. I’m just annoyed that we’re doing this so last minute. I don’t like shopping to begin with and last minute, indecisive shopping is my own personal hell.

I want to get her the perfect gift, to give her back half of what she’s given to me. But how do I put a bow on the moon and wrap up the stars for the love of my life? A dog might feel small compared to those ambitions, but if a pet is what she wants, it’s a good start to giving her the world.

Oscar leads us from the front office room, outside through a chain-link fence path, and into a concrete building. The smell is nauseating. The scent of a thousand dogs and cats that have lived here hits me like spoiled eggnog and my stomach turns. We walk right past the smaller pens and cages of cats as I try not to vomit.

“Here she is.” Oscar stops before a large pen and unlocks the chain link door. Do you call it a pen? A cell? I know this is a shelter for animals, but the place has a prison vibe.

The dog is a scraggly mutt in need of a good scrubbing. Her long black hair is the opposite of what I was hoping for. A short-haired dog would have been better, but it’ll get hair all over the place regardless.

“She’s an older girl.” Oscar explains. “Well, not old, just not a puppy. Clearly. People usually want puppies for Christmas. ”

I can’t help but wonder how often the dogs here get outside walks as I notice the mutt’s large belly. What are they feeding her?

“She’s a cutie!” Ellis drops to his knees and whistles the dog over. “Does she have a name?”

“Cinnamon.” Nils reads off the paper zip-tied to the cell door.

“It’s a sign. Our girl does like her fancy cinnamon toothpaste,” McQuinn chuckles as he bends down beside Ellis to pet the dog.

This isn’t what I expected. A puppy is the obvious choice. Something you can train and start off on the right foot. This dog has been who knows where and been through who knows what. Can it even jump up on the couch to snuggle with Meggie? I don’t see any white hair, but there’s no way of knowing how old this dog is.

“She was found near Oakview High School a few weeks ago,” Nils reads off the dog’s little info sheet.

Oakview High. Ice cream and ginger ale punch and Meggie’s first night with us after she moved into our place. The memories swirl of how far we’ve come as a pack since that night at the school sports fundraiser.

Dreams of how far I hope we go move to the forefront of my mind. I want my whole life with Meggie. When she’s ready, I want to make love to her until I get her pregnant. I want to see her gorgeous round belly, and stretch marks, and rub her puffy feet. I want her gray hair and age-spot-speckled hands. I want her to love me when my chiseled abs have long faded and I need glasses more than only at night. I want to be old and happy and out of shape and still wildly blissfully in love.

The dog is past her prime, but she needs love, too.

Oscar clears his throat. “You should know she’s—”

“We’ll take her,” I say after a quick glance around at my pack mates.

Ellis and McQuinn are already covered in dog hair. McQuinn is scratching behind the dog’s ears and she shakes loose fur out as she wriggles around to sniff the rest of the pack. Dante looks at Ellis with blissful love in his gaze, and Nils’s indulgent smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Oz cocks his head in my direction. “Cinnamon Hart. I like it.”

“Merry Christmas, Cinnamon.” Oscar glances down at the dog, who gives him an adorable wag of her tail. “Alright, alright, I’ll get her ready for you. Need anything else?”

“Food bowl. Water bowl. A leash.” Ellis tallies, not taking his eyes off the dog. “She’s had all her shots? You know what food she likes?”

“We don’t need your dog food. We can cook for her.” My dog won’t live off dry kibble kernels and dehydrated corn. Ground turkey. Duck feet. Scrambled eggs. Beef liver. I’ve doom scrolled enough social media videos to know how to nourish this dog better than this under-funded place that’s been taking care of her.

Oatmeal pet shampoo. A plush, cozy dog bed in the front room right where the afternoon sun hits the hardwood floor. The highest recommended vet in the city. If she’s going to be my dog, she gets the best. Just like my Meggie.