Page 43 of Accidentally Engaged
“An I—”
“A family dog,” I cut Jared off. “A dog perfect for a young family, good with other dogs. Good with kids and babies. And cats!”
“All right then. I’m going to steer you away from old Mr. Slingshot. Retired from the greyhound track at only two, and the sweetest boy ever, but not good with cats,” Mrs. Fiorenza says as she leads us in. A fawn-colored greyhound gets up and headbutts our knees until we pet him. Romeo and the beagle puppy join the parade of dogs that follows us into a big, empty room attached to a sun porch.
When I say empty, I mean empty of furniture. There are puppy playpens galore, old towels, big troughs of dog food, and little bowls of puppy chow. It smells like a kennel, but not a dirty one.
“Ohhhh. Oh, my gosh. Jared. These are the sweetest little fluffballs!” I cry when Mrs. Fiorenza gestures for us to look around. There are little white dogs that look like they’re held together with silk and feathers, so fluffy and soft. There are wriggly little pitbull types who lie with a thin mama dog, nursing as she pants up, her wide mouth friendly.
“Oh, no. She’s going to want them all,” Jared says, but his eyes are roving endlessly. Looking for something that’s not there.
“Don’t you?” I hold up one of the tiny, fluffy white pups. “Look at this baby!”
“I love dogs. I’d take them all.”
“Well, my limit is two, especially if you live in a smaller home.” Mrs. Fiorenza sits down next to the mama pittie and strokes her head while giving her some liver snaps.
“Two is a great number. We have a dog. Jared’s dog,” I say, putting the puppy into his arms. “We’re looking for his sibling.”
THEY’RE ALL SO SWEET. I play tug of war with one of the little black pittie pups, cuddle an armful of what I find out are Malti-Poos, and let a mini goldendoodle sleep on my lap while Chloe and Mrs. Fiorenza talk.
It was silly to think that the dog of my dreams would be here, especially since visions and dreams change. Kep wasn’t in the first vision I had. I don’t even know if these are legit visions. Maybe they’re just wishes. Daydreams.
Does that mean my little girl with her little pigtails is a dream, too? What if it won’t come true?
Don’t be such an ungrateful ass. You have a wife. You have cut ties with your ex-wife. You’re going to get Kep back. You have a cat by marriage! I smile at that. You have a whole new world to explore, the world of paranormal-friendly Pine Ridge, and you have new friends, like Alban and Liam. People who would easily put the jerks at work in their place if they acted up.
And I can do that myself, now. I have confidence again. I have Chloe. I have hope. I have—
“Sorry, I’m late, but I brought you a client!” A woman calls into the house, distracting my attention.
“Jen! In here, Nurse Chambers!” Mrs. Fiorenza struggles to her feet.
“None of that ‘Nurse Chambers’ stuff. I’m just Jen, visiting vet angel extraordinaire!”
When Jen Chambers enters the room, she has a big satchel with patches sewn on it over one shoulder—and a little silky-coated red dog over her other.
Chloe’s gasp is audible.
“That’s him! That’s my dog!” I gasp.
“Huh?” Mrs. Fiorenza looks startled.
“Sir?” Chambers looks at me in confusion.
“I wanted an Irish Setter puppy. I told Chloe that I was hoping we’d find one here!” I cry. It’s all I can do not to take the little guy out of Chambers’ arms and yank him to my chest.
“Well, if you want him, good, because he’s going to come with vet bills. He’s a mill reject. Setter and miniature poodle cross. He got none of the poodle’s characteristics other than size, but he can’t be sold as a purebred now. He needs all of his shots, he’s the runt of the litter, and he has a heart murmur. There’s a good chance he’ll grow out of that, but he’ll need to be monitored. I was bringing him here because I didn’t think he’d last long in a kill shelter.”
Chloe is standing beside me now, and she hugs my arm, jumping in place. “We have money! Okay, not a lot of money, but enough money to get his shots and vet bills! More than Mrs. Fiorenza—oh! No, not like you don’t have money, I just mean you take care of all these puppies, and we can take care of this one. Please.”
“Please,” I echo.
“Well, you don’t have to sell me! I’ve given him his first round of shots and anti-parasitics.”
“I have a good vet. Dr. Peters.”
“And I’m a member of PR NYU staff, too.” I point to the lanyard I spot swinging from her neck. “You can check up on me whenever you want!”
