THIRTY-FIVE.
Tobias
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Dale and Sally.
I find Ever by the tent the animal shelter has set up—because of course they’re here on the exact day we decide to come to the market.
She’s standing in front of the wide pen of puppies, smiling down at them as they jump and nip at her fingertips through the wire.
I slide my hands into my pockets and brush lightly against her arm, just enough to get her attention without startling her.
“You wanna get a dog?” I ask, keeping my tone casual even though the question feels bigger than it sounds.
She scoffs under her breath and glances up at me, suspicion flickering in her eyes.
“Do you actually mean that?” I shrug, trying to play it off. “You do realize it wouldn’t just be my dog at this point, right? It would be ours.”
She’s teasing—I know she’s throwing those old words back at me from months ago—but damn if “our dog” doesn’t sound better now than it did back then. Suddenly I want one.
“To be honest,” she says, dragging her gaze across the pen, “I’m not sure I can handle all this puppy energy.”
I turn my eyes to the row of larger crates under the tent. The older dogs. The ones who sit quietly, watching with tired hope instead of frantic excitement. The ones who don’t get nearly as much attention.
“What about one of them?”
She turns her head, follows my gaze, and then steps forward like her body is moving before her mind catches up.
I fall in beside her easily, staying close and steady, but I don’t say a word.
She walks slowly past each crate, glancing at the paperwork clipped to the top of every kennel.
Then she stops. Her fingers slip through the wire toward a large brown-and-black mix curled tight in the corner of his crate, head resting on his paws.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even move much.
She just holds her hand steady. The dog lifts his eyes to her—slow, cautious—and then his tail gives a soft wag.
It builds quickly into heavy thuds that rattle the crate.
He stands slowly—almost achingly—like he’s been in the same position too long, and hobbles over to the gate.
He sniffs her fingers, then licks them quickly.
His whole body shakes with excitement now, loosening up, and he lets out a soft whine.
I pick up the paperwork chained to the gate and scan it quickly. “His name is Dale,” I tell her, huffing out a breath because it’s such a perfect name for her dog. “Three years old. German Shepherd-Labrador mix. Been in the shelter five months. Surrendered by owner.”
“Does it say if he’s friendly with other animals?” she asks.
“Friendly with dogs and cats,” I read. “Needs a big yard.” I flip through the rest—vaccines, health updates, all current. He’s healthy. Ready.
“Hi, Dale,” she says softly to him, tender. He shakes even harder, tail thumping against the side of the crate.
She drops to a crouch and sticks her hand farther in, rubbing his head, scratching under his chin. She chuckles when he won’t stop spinning.
“You’re gonna have to convince Mr. Grump over here to take you home,” she whispers to him, like they’re already plotting against me.
I set the papers down and turn on my heel. Three women sit together a few yards away, talking among themselves but glancing our direction every few seconds.
“Excuse me,” I say, and all three snap their attention to me like they’ve been holding their breath for this exact moment. “What does it take to adopt a dog?” I ask.
“A simple form and a few questions,” one answers, already shifting to pull out a clipboard with papers and a pen attached. “Is there a dog you’re interested in?”
I turn my shoulders and point. “Dale. That black-and-brown one over there.”
They all let out a soft, collective “aww.”
“He’s the best dog ever,” one explains. “He just always gets overlooked because he doesn’t like small spaces.” She’s already moving to hand me the clipboard.
“We do ask that you have a big yard,” the third adds. “He loves to run and play.”
“That’s not a problem,” I take the clipboard and scan the form—name, address, contact information, past pets. I fill it out with Ever’s details and hand it back to the older woman, who looks it over quickly.
“Oh,” she says softly, then her eyes widen. “Oh!” Her smile blooms. “The Rose and Thorn Ranch. Is that where you work or live?”
“Uhh…” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Both, I guess.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” she says, cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, I think we can all agree you’re auto-approved. If you can take care of a few dozen farm animals, I’m sure you can handle a dog. He’ll love it there with the two of you.”
“Do you guys have an extra leash?” I ask gently. “I can drop it back off when I’m in town next, but this wasn’t exactly on our list of things to do today.”
Two of them are already on their feet, reaching for supplies. “We have leashes for every adoption.”
“Oh, perfect,” I reply, fishing my wallet from my back pocket. “What’s the adoption fee?”
“Twenty dollars.”
My hand freezes mid-motion. There’s no way they’re asking twenty dollar for a dog. I glance up with narrowed eyes, and they catch it immediately.
“We’re running a special this weekend,” the older woman explains quickly. “Our kennels are really full, and a lot of the dogs are struggling to find homes.”
“I see,” I mutter. I pull out a twenty but feel guilt settle low in my gut. I glance back at Ever—she’s at another crate now, but the spark from Dale isn’t quite there. “Is there a dog Dale gets along with? Or likes to play with?”
“Oh, that would be Sally,” she says, pointing. I look over to see a white medium-sized dog standing eagerly at the gate, staring at Ever like she’s ready for the attention. “She’s about five years old, great temperament, good with kids and animals.”
“Dale and Sally,” I say low under my breath, shaking my head as a slow grin spreads across my face. I pull out a few more twenty-dollar bills, fold them together, and hand them over. “I wanna cover the adoption fees for the others. As long as they qualify and provide a good home.”
“Oh my gosh, really?” Her hand flies to her heart. I nod, and she exchanges the money for two leashes, eyes shining. “You have no idea how much this means to our shelter. Thank you so much. ”
“Hey,” Ever’s voice rings out beside me. I instinctively wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close as I hold out the two leashes. She looks at me curiously, then takes them hesitantly.
“What are these for?”
“Dale, and Sally,” I say, pointing to each crate in turn.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and her face lights up with pure happiness—eyes wide, mouth curving into a smile she can’t quite contain.
“Are you serious?” I nod, fighting my own grin. “You didn’t think to run this by me?” she says laughing, not a trace of hesitation in her voice.
“We both know there was no way you were leaving without Dale,” I tell her.
She laughs again—fuller this time—and turns in my arms. “Which one’s Sally?”
“The white one,” I say, pointing. Her eyes find the dog immediately.
“Oh, I was just with her. She’s such a sweet dog.” She twists back toward me, still smiling but now with a hint of uncertainty. “Are you sure about this?”
“It’s not the first time I’ve thought about getting you a dog,” I admit, the truth slipping out easy and honest. Because ever since I joked that she couldn’t get a dog, I’ve felt a pang of regret about it. “And their names are Dale and Sally. It’s like it’s meant to be.”
“They’re perfect names, aren’t they?”
“I don’t know about perfect,” I say, smirking, “but perfect for you, sure.” She smacks me lightly on the chest, but her fingers linger there, twisting the leashes gently in her other hand. “We’ll make it work. It’ll be fun. Something for us to learn together.”
“Our dogs,” she says softly.
I nod, sure and steady. “Ours.”
The word settles between us. Ours. The way I want everything in our lives to be—from the ranch to the quiet mornings to the future we’re building step by step.
She looks up at me fully now, eyes gleaming with a brightness that steals the air from my lungs. I would do anything—literally anything—just to keep that look on her face. To see her this happy.