32
The beagle lets out a low, anxious whine the second I push open the door to the vet clinic.
“I get it, buddy,” I murmur, bending to scratch the soft spot behind his long ears. “Doctors aren’t my favorite either.”
I give my name to the receptionist and take a seat in the waiting room. The beagle nudges his head into my hand, then lets out another whine. I rub slow circles between his shoulder blades, feeling each nervous breath under my hand.
“You’re okay,” I tell him. “It’s just a quick checkup, and then we’ll try to find your owner.”
He looks up at me, his big brown eyes full of worry.
He has one of those earnest little faces that make you want to protect him from the world.
I smile, even as my heart aches a little at the thought of saying goodbye to him.
He slept at the edge of my bed like a perfect gentleman last night, only fussing at dawn to go outside.
A few minutes later, the vet calls us in.
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.”
Sofia is silent. She’s a harder sell.
“Does he need anything?” Tess asks, biting her lip. “He’s got water, kibble, his bed. What about chew toys? Should I pop out and get him chew toys?”
From the second I walked in with the beagle, Tess has been fluttering around like a GPS rerouting every five seconds, making sure he has everything he needs. But all he really needs is his bed. The vet visit wiped him out, and sleep is all he wants.
“He doesn’t need chew toys,” I reassure her.
Tess drops to her knees and nuzzles the beagle’s nose with her own. “Aren’t you the cutest, handsomest, sweetest little creature that ever walked the earth,” she croons.
“Better not let Uno overhear you,” Sofia mutters, referring to Gideon’s reading therapy greyhound, whom we all adore.
“I tell Uno exactly the same thing,” Tess retorts, unperturbed.
Sofia studies me from head to toe. “This feels impulsive, Kenzie. Not like you at all. It took you three weeks to pick towel colors. You even made a mood board.” She pauses. “I’m going to say the quiet part out loud. A lot of what you’re doing lately is out of character. We’re a little worried.”
“I’m fine,” I say, too quickly. “I’m not in the middle of a life crisis or anything.
I didn’t choose a dog because there’s no one in my life to cuddle up with.
And I’m not afraid of growing old and dying alone, because, hello, now I have a dog.
” I pause, my eyes widening. “Except dogs don’t live as long as people.
So I won’t have him when I’m old, will I?
Oh my goodness, he’s going to die and then I’ll have to cope with that loss.
What have I done?” My hands fly up to cover my mouth in horror.
They both stare at me, jaws slack.
“Breathe,” Sofia orders.
“Okay.” I take in a breath. Then another. And another.
“Slow it down,” she instructs me. “You’ll make yourself dizzy.”
I do feel a little dizzy. But that’s probably my life choices lately, not my breathing.
“I feel like I’m in a snow globe that’s been shaken too hard,” I whisper. “Everything’s upside down lately.”
Tess slides an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, if you’re in a snow globe, we’re there with you. Always and forever.”
Sofia grins. “Just for the record, we’re cool with the whole Kenzie multiverse—the version who sobs after a movie, the one who rescues strays, and my personal favorite, Kenzie, Breaker of Windows.” Her voice gentles. “You’re allowed to change shape and still be you.”
Tess tilts her head toward the beagle snoring softly in his bed. “You chose to love something knowing it won’t last forever. That’s not chaos, that’s courage. Love is a risk, and still we choose it.”
I blink back tears. I have a feeling she’s not only talking about dogs, but people too. Without warning, Joel’s face comes to mind. “I love you guys.”
“We love you too,” they say together.
I still feel overwhelmed, but when I look at the trusting face of the beagle I’m now responsible for, fast asleep because he knows he’s safe, everything in me calms. I didn’t plan for this.
I wasn’t looking. But somehow he fond me.
And maybe that’s the point. Sometimes the right things arrive before you feel ready.
Sofia steps back and pulls a face. “Now that you’re a dog mom, please don’t feel compelled to show me photos of what your fur baby’s been up to.”
I think of the five adorable pics I snapped of the beagle on the way from the vet to the studio. Too late, I’m already that dog mom. Just not when Sofia’s around.
“Have you named him?” Tess asks
I shake my head. “Not yet. My parents named all our dogs after Greek philosophers, but he doesn’t look like a Socrates or an Aristotle.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Sofia agrees.
Tess snaps her fingers. “Hey, remember that lovely couple we worked with? They commissioned a line of animal rescue greeting cards.”
“Heather and Justin,” Sofia says.
I do remember them. A beautiful couple. And the animal rescue cards had been so fun and creative to do. We ended up giving them a huge discount because the work they were doing was so meaningful.
“They told us the story of a rescue beagle they had for a short time,” Tess says. “A really sweet beagle. What was his name again?”
“Turbo,” I say softly.
“That’s it,” Tess exclaims. “Turbo.”
The three of us look down at the beagle sleeping peacefully in his bed. “Turbo,” I say, testing it out.
His ears prick, his tail gives a lazy thump, and one eye opens to stare sleepily at us before closing again.
“Turbo it is,” I say with a smile.