Page 109 of Pucking Wild

Camera crew?

I groan audibly this time, following after her with a slight hitch in my step. I’m feeling my morning PT already. Doc says I’m doing great, and I’ll be back on the ice soon. Not soon enough for me.

“What are we doing?” I say as we clear the end of the bleachers and exit the rink.

“We’ve partnered with the Jacksonville Humane Society to shoot a pet adoption promo,” Poppy replies, leading the way through into the other smaller ice rink.

Mars, Davidson, and Coach Tomlin are out on the ice now. It looks like they’re finishing up. Mars already has his mask and gloves off, leaning against the boards as he watches Davidson scramble in the net. Tomlin is merciless, shooting pucks at him left, right, and center.

“Good,” Tomlin shouts. “Recover.”

At the other end of the rink, a Jax Rays media display has been set up on the ice. The cameras are ready, the crew just standing around.

“I found one,” Poppy calls with a wave, hurrying her steps.

I glance around at the scene. Novy and Morrow are on the ice in their street clothes. Morrow is beside himself, laughing like a kid as a tiny yellow puppy licks his chin.

“Nov, look,” he says. “Look, I think he likes me.”

Novy just glares at him. He’s holding something that looks like an alien in a frizzy wig. I get closer and see that it’s a dog. A tiny, hideous, hairless dog with a poof of white fluff on its head.

“Come on, this is bullshit,” he says as Poppy passes. “You know I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Which is why I gave you the hypoallergenic one,” she replies dismissively.

“Dude, I told you, that’s not a dog,” says Morrow. “It looks like that thing that sits on Jabba the Hutt inReturn of the Jedi.”

I choke on a laugh. It totally does.

“Ryan, come take your pick,” Poppy calls. “We’ve got a cute little bulldog over here, a few kitties—Oh, sweet heavens—look at the way she’s looking at me,” she coos, bending over to stick her finger in the front of a cat carrier. “Claribel, tell me I don’t need a cat,” she whines, clearly lost to the little grey and white kitten sniffing her finger.

“You don’t need a cat,” Claribel deadpans, her eyes still on her phone.

The bulldog with an underbite peers up at me with watery eyes.

“Can we hurry this up?” Novy shouts. “This thing is hairless, and this is an ice rink. I think it’s getting frostbite.”

“Hold your horses,” Poppy huffs, flicking her long blonde ponytail off her shoulder. “And it’s not athing, Lukas. It’s a dog. A very rare breed of dog called a Chinese crested.”

“It’s shivering, and it can smell my fear,” Novy snaps.

She huffs and turns away.

“So, uhh, what’s the deal here?” I say, glancing around at the smiling volunteers and the camera crew.

“We’re shooting a short commercial for the Humane Society,” Poppy replies. “It will go on all our socials too. Just pick an animal and take the card on top of their cage. Then you read out what’s on the card in front of the camera,” she says, gesturing to the little white cards attached to each cage and carrier.

My heart stops. “You, uhh…you want me to read what’s on the card?”

“Mhmm.” She snatches one off the top of the bulldog’s cage. “So, this one says her name is Gracie and she’s a five-year-old American bulldog. She’s house-trained, loves kids, blah, blah, blah. Just read the card.”

She foists it at me, and I feel my hand reach out and take it.

“Colton, you’re up first,” she calls, spinning away from me.

“Dude, I swear, I’m gonna adopt this little guy myself,” Morrow says, still laughing as the puppy squirms in his arms.

“At least yours has fur,” Novy replies. “I feel like I’m holding a raw chicken.”

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