Speak

She walked through the noisy aisles of the shelter slowly, weaving her way through the Saturday crowd as non-invasively as possible while still trying to peruse all of the dogs on display. Wherever possible, she knelt down to offer pats, smiling and cooing at the eager occupants wagging their tails. Heartbreak leaked through her smile, meeting the eyes of every dog as though to say, I'd take you all with me if I could.

But she kept on walking, urging herself to be realistic with her needs and her lifestyle. She had a goal, and while it was clear that her heart yearned to save them all, she knew rationality had a different opinion on the matter. So she kept on moving, hushing the rationalizing voice that screamed from deep down in her chest. "You have room for just one," she whispered to herself. "No more."

Turning the corner, she moved down the aisles towards those poor souls who garnered little attention. The seniors. The chronically sick. The stigmatized. Her aching smile returned as she stopped outside the kennel of an old mutt, sad eyes locked on the bars as he laid on his pillow. She flipped up the name card and smiled. "Hello Hank."

Good old Hank wagged his tail obligingly, but remained on his bed. She crouched down and beckoned him closer, her voice calm and reassuring as she coaxed him away from the comfort of his pillow with the prospect of a tender touch.

"What are you doing here, Old Man?" she asked, scratching him behind the ear once he'd finally waddled over to the bars.

"Hank here's a good old boy," a voice offered softly from behind.

She offered a cursory glance back at the trousered figure standing behind her, having not noticed the shelter volunteer's approach, and quickly turned her attention back to the dog.

"But he's here on account of the greatest sin a dog can make."

"What's that?"

"Old age. Family decided taking care of a senior dog was just too much and brought him here. Been here about a month now. Never leaves that pillow much, but I reckon he's got a lot of life left in him. Just needs a warm bed, a loving hand, and the chance to prove how good a boy he really is."

A tender smile spread across her lips as she continued petting old Hank through the bars. The aged hound leaned into her arm, panting softly as though to prove he wasn't desperate for the attention. But when she started to rise, old Hank quickly locked his moping gaze on hers, begging her not to stop, and pressed himself harder against the bars. She chuckled softly, then quickly obliged his request for connection, her smile spreading from ear to ear as Hank wriggled his way into her heart.

"Alright then, Hank," she said resolutely, "how about we get you outta here, huh? You're coming home with me."

Hank woofed his assent and quickly perked up as she flagged down the shelter volunteer to finalize the adoption. In less than twenty minutes, she walked old Hank out those solemn doors, ones he never should have entered in the first place, and off on his next adventure.

As they left, a single pair of eyes watched them from the opposite kennel, willing them on as he panted softly. A look of pride and a bit of mischief flickered across the old dog's face. "So long Hank," he said softly, his voice identical to that which had stirred her heart to make room for the old hound. Then he laid back down with a gentle sigh and closed his eyes, proving even an old dog like him had his tricks.