Chapter 20
PIP
Aunt Vivian loved pets, but she was allergic. So I would watch my friends play with their pets with longing, swearing that when I was all grown up, I’d finally get the pet of my dreams.
But weirdly, whenever I tried to picture my ideal dog’s breed, the image was always a blur.
The same thing happened whenever my girlfriends and I got to talking about the men we would one day marry.
I knew he’d be tall, dark, and handsome—but his face was always as indistinct as his personality.
“Let me get a good look at you, Miss Fletcher,” says Clare, once we all exit the van.
"Please call me..." I'm about to say Pollyanna, but since Snickers and Kit have been calling me Pip, what's the point. "Pip."
Clare nods as she adjusts my cashmere scarf. “You look perfect, Pip. And if you’re nervous about the dogs, don’t worry. I’ve spoken to the shelter director. We want a dog that photographs well, so she’s pre-selected some marvelous candidates. I’ll go look at them now.”
A dog that photographs well? Well, I guess that’s to be expected. This campaign is all about appearances.
Kit rushes up to me. "Excited for the big day?"
"As much as I can be."
"Good. Now you must 'make nice' to all the tabloid hacks and camera wielding paparazzi, but let me introduce you to our Snickerdoodle representative. Treat her like a VIP. She'll be focusing mostly on Snickers for her coverage. But we want her to like you as well."
"Why wouldn't she like me?"
"You're adorable, but you must know all the Snickerdoodles are madly jealous of you for taking Snickers 'off the market.'"
"But it's all fake..."
"They don't know that. And they can't know that. Now follow me."
Taking me by the hand, Kit leads me to a small girl even shorter and slimmer than myself with long brown hair. Before Kit introduces me to her, I note that she has a 'deer frozen in the headlights' startled look in her eyes.
"Sara Smith, I'd like you to meet Pip Fletcher. Pip, this is Sara. I've seen her photos. Excellent! Even better than my own."
Sara nods, and mutters something that sounds like the words 'thank you.'
I moisten my lips with my tongue, trying to think of something friendly to say. I can't even recall speaking to someone so painfully shy.
"I'd love to see your pictures," I finally say. "Will you show me?"
Sara comes to life with this request, taking out her camera and showing me shots she's recently taken.
"Wow, Kit wasn't kidding," I say, genuinely impressed.
"Okay, ladies, glad you met," says Kit. "Now if you'll excuse us," she says, sweeping me away.
Once we're out of earshot, Kit turns to me. "You did a good job back there, but be careful around that girl. Still waters run deep."
"What do you mean?"
Kit shrugs. "She's a great photographer. We're lucky there. But... well, just don't run your mouth. Don't speak to her unless absolutely necessary."
"Why not?"
"She's a Snickerdoodle," she says with a shrug. "She has alliance to only one 'God'—Snickers."
I let that sink in.
"But the warning applies to all of them too," she says, flinging her arm in the direction of the tabloid reporters and paparazzi, sipping coffee near the parking lot.
"I hired this motley crew because they're cheap and they're good. But I'm under no illusion here, they have zero scruples. If they find some good 'dirt' in the course of taking their pictures and writing their stories they'll sell it to the highest bidder."
"They don't know we're a fake couple?"
Kit widens her eyes at me. "Are you?" From her tone, it's unclear if she's facetious or not.
Catching the expression on my face, she breaks into a smile.
"Just relax. Sorry I spooked you. And the campaign's getting off to a great start. By the time this tour is finished, everyone will know the Snickers and Pip romance,” Kit says. “And we’ll have re-invigorated the Woodward & Co brand name and story. Excuse me.”
As Kit walks over to instruct the paparazzi and tabloid writers, I look over the scene. It's my first photoshoot, but I see them all the time walking the streets of New York. I never thought I'd 'perform' in one.
A few minutes later, Kit calls for me and Snickers to come forward.
"Okay, you guys. Just act on your instincts. You're in love. You're about to pick out a gorgeous pet. Clare had the shelter manager pre-select the most suitable dogs, so be certain to choose from that section. Be natural."
“Come, darling. Time to go choose our fur baby,” Snickers announces loudly for the press’ benefit.
He offers me his arm and I take it.
Snickers’ grip tightens as we walk into the small beige building.
The shelter’s interior smells of disinfectant, dry kibble, and wet dog. A chorus of barks echoes from somewhere deep inside.
The director, a blonde woman in crisp khakis and a shelter-logo polo, greets us with practiced enthusiasm.
“I’m Angel. We’re so honored you’ve chosen our facility,” she says in an unnatural, high-pitched voice that makes it clear she knows the cameras are on her.
She leads us down a corridor lined with kennels. “We have several dazzling dogs that would suit your lifestyle.”
How does she even know my lifestyle?
From Clare's dossier, obviously.
From the looks of it, Angel and her team have done their best to make the shelter look bright and friendly for the media. A handmade sign welcomes Snickers and I by name. And the “selected dogs” on offer have bright eyes, glossy fur, and loopy doggy smiles.
“Folks, I’d like you to meet Tucker,” Angel says.
As if on cue, a large Golden Retriever paws at his kennel gate, giant tail wagging.
“Tucker’s very popular. Quite a few families want to adopt him. We’re trying to select the best fit between dog and family.”
“Want to come out and meet the nice people, Tucker?” Angel says to Tucker, unlocking his kennel.
Tucker shoots out, slobbering over Snickers with pure canine enthusiasm.
“Ha! I bet those Snickerdoodles of yours will love this!” I say. I put my hand over my mouth when I realize that Snickerdoodle Sara must be among us. But oddly, she's nowhere to be found.
Snickers just laughs as Tucker plants massive paws on his shoulders.
“Now this is a real CEO’s dog,” Snickers says, scratching behind Tucker’s ears. The retriever flops onto his back, shamelessly offering his belly.
“Perfect!” Kit circles them, her camera clicking.
I smile at the way Snickers and Tucker roughhouse with one another. They're both so enchanted with each other, they don’t give me a single glance.
I step away, wandering off to the dark recesses of the adoption center.
Without realizing it, I've accidentally left the area featuring the freshly bathed “pre-selected” dogs and entered a new area at the rear of the facility.
The air feels heavier here. The kennels are closer together, and the lighting is dimmer.
A faint drip of water echoes somewhere distant.
Then—a sound. A footstep. Human.
I freeze as goosebumps rise across my arms.
“Hello?” My voice is too loud in the silence. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
A sharp yip breaks the quiet. Not a bark—more like a small, insistent demand for attention.
I move forward into the shadowy space. The dogs here look smaller, more timid. Most scurry to the backs of their cages as I approach.
But something draws me to the last cage on the left.
That’s when I see him.
A tiny French Bulldog puppy, sitting upright like he’s posing for a royal portrait. His pink, triangular-shaped ears stand at attention.
The nameplate reads Piglet.
“Piglet?” I whisper as I approach.
His ears twitch.
Then he lets forth that same high-pitched, demanding yip I heard before.
“Ah, so I’ve found you!” says Angel, rushing up to me. “You had us all worried. Come, Snickers is ready to sign the adoption papers. The photographers need you there.”
“No. Wait. Tell me about this dog.”
“Meet Piglet. He was named by a family’s three-year-old. I think it had to do with his snoring.”
Upon hearing this, Piglet lets out a rude snort, as if deeply offended by this explanation.
“He’s a good pup at heart, but he’s been returned twice,” says Angel, lowering her voice as if she’s afraid the dog might somehow understand her.
“From all reports, he has very specific ideas about how he should be treated. I’m told he demands attention. Too much attention, according to the folks who returned him.”
“Returned?” My heart squeezes as I gaze down at Piglet. He’s now sitting perfectly still, his round eyes locked onto mine like he can see straight into my soul.
"Of course, he has positive qualities. Though he only spent a short time with his adoptive families, they commented on his exceptional sense of smell."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, one former owner said that Piglet became lost in an enormous shopping mall. It was his first visit, but he was able to smell his owner out."
"Impressive," I say, looking down at the Frenchie. For a flicker of a moment, I think I spot a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
"He also has something of a sweet tooth. Especially birthday cake," Angel says with a sigh. "One of the adoptive families threw a splashy party for their child. Piglet smelled the cake out, then tugged on the tablecloth, so he could have at it."
I laugh. "Sounds like his sweet tooth is as intense as mine."
But Angel doesn't seem to appreciate the joke.
She smiles sadly. “I like the little guy. But he’s been in and out of the shelter twice now. If he’s not adopted in the next few days, I’m afraid his time is up.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine. “What does that mean?”
Angel just looks at me, shaking her head.
I understand instantly.
“I’ll take him.”
“Don’t you have to ask your fiancé?”
“No. He’ll listen to reason. Can you put him in my arms?”
“Sure… but let me give you a blanket. He might pee on you.”
Piglet's warm little body presses against me as I walk to meet Snickers.
I see Sara has returned, and as Kit predicted, her camera is firmly trained on Snickers as he plays with his Golden Retriever.
Snickers approaches me with Tucker faithfully at his heels.
“Honey. Look here," I say, holding Piglet up for the cameras. "I’ve found our new fur baby.”
“What is that?” he says, spotting Piglet.
“This is our new dog."
Snickers stares at the Frenchie. Piglet stares back.
“That is not a dog. That’s a pygmy gargoyle.”
Piglet squirms out of my arms. As soon as his long toenails hit the floor, he pees on Snickers’ shoes.
“Oh no,” Snickers says. “Absolutely not. We’re adopting Tucker. Tucker fetches. Tucker plays. Tucker doesn’t wage psychological warfare.”
Kit’s camera catches us as we 'playfully' spar. I catch her turn to her phone, then grab Sara and quickly exit the room.
Where did they go? I wonder. Why?
“The Snickerdoodles are split! Team Tucker versus Team Piglet is trending already!” Kit says as she returns with Sara in tow. "Let's thank Sara for posting the survey. And those gorgeous pictures of Snickers and Tucker."
"Kudos to Sara," says Snickers, smiling at the shy Snickerdoodle. But then he looks at his phone. "What? Now the gargoyle's ahead by seventy percent. Why?”
“They think Piglet matches your bad-boy image,” Kit says, reading off a few of the social media comments from her phone. “And your arrogance. One Snickerdoodle commented that Piglet has Snickers’ smirk. Looks like your favored dog won, Pip.”
Piglet releases a rude-sounding victory snort.
“Come into the office and sign the adoption papers,” Angel says to us. "We'll also make him a dog tag for his collar with both your phone numbers in case of an emergency."
“Great! We’ll follow,” says Kit, waving her paparazzi toward us.
It takes nearly a half hour to sign all the adoption papers, and even longer to pose for never-ending pictures.
Finally, Angel hands me a leash, a fresh blanket, and then places baby Piglet in my arms.
“Next stop, Central Park,” Kit says.
As I follow the others back to the van, I have the odd feeling someone’s watching me.
But when I turn, no one’s there.
Odd.
I tickle Piglet under his chin. He lets forth a doggy giggle. “We better keep our smiles up, Piglet. It’s going to be a long day.”