Page 76 of The Weight Of Falling
The beagle presses against my shin as we walk into the exam room. I lift him onto the metal table, and he immediately tries to climb back into my arms.
“He’s a sweet one,” the vet says. Her straight black hair is cut in a sleek bob and her green eyes radiate sharp intelligence.
“A sweet nature to match,” I say, keeping a reassuring hand on his back.
She smiles as she checks him over. “He’s in good shape, all things considered.” She ruffles his ears. “Beautiful coloring.”
I nod, feeling an unexpected lump in my throat. He is beautiful. And his owner will be lucky to get him back.
She scans him for a microchip, and the reader beeps.
“Let me give the owner a call,” she says quietly, heading for the door. “Hang tight.”
As soon as she leaves, I press a kiss to his soft head. “This is good,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You’re going home.”
From the hallway, I hear the vet’s voice. I can’t make out what she’s saying, but when she returns, her expression has changed. Less businesslike and more frustrated.
“The owner picked up,” she tells me. “But he’s not interested. He doesn’t want him back.”
I shake my head, looking down at the beagle. How could anyone not want him? “What did he say?”
“I believe his exact words were, ‘That animal’s more trouble than he’s worth.’”
“What happens now?” I ask.
“If the owner has relinquished him, he can be signed over. You could take him home.” The vet hesitates, her eyes weary. “Or I can call the shelter.”
At the word shelter, the beagle stares up at me with pleading, hopeful eyes, as if begging me not to take that route.
And in that second, before logic or practicality can catch up, I make my decision.
“I’ll take him,” I say softly.
His tail immediately starts wagging, like he can’t contain his joy. Then he lifts his paws onto my shoulders and I burst out laughing as he licks my jaw and my neck. A flurry of warm and sloppy puppy kisses. Every single one feels like a thank you.
Thank you for seeing me.
Thank you for choosing me.
Sofia and Tess stare at me, dumbfounded, then glance at the beagle lying in his bed in the corner of the studio.
“You adopted a dog,” Tess says, over-gesturing like she always does.
“I did.”
“But you’re in a rental,” Sofia points out.
“I checked with my landlord. They’re okay with me having a dog.”
Sofia wrinkles her nose at the beagle. “Does it have fleas?”
“It is a he,” I say. “And the vet checked him over. He’s in good health. No fleas.”
“I can’t believe his no-good, terrible owner didn’t want him back,” Tess says, scowling.
I clasp my hands tightly in front of me. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought him to work today. I didn’t want to leave him at home alone.”
“Of course we don’t mind,” Tess reassures me. “He’s a cutie pie.”
