Three and a half weeks later

Rosie was right in the middle of a hearty rendition of ABBA’s Super Trouper as she dusted her living room when her mobile phone rang—cutting out the music, since it was being played through her iPhone. She jumped and gasped, then retrieved the device from the docking station. She looked at the number on the screen and frowned. It had a local area code, but other than that, she didn’t recognize it. With a shrug, she pressed the green button.
“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Rosie?”

“Speaking.”

“Oh, hi. This is Janice, from the rescue center. We spoke a few weeks ago, about Scruffy?”

Rosie’s eyes widened and her stomach flipped. “Y-yes, that’s right. Is he…?” Is he what? She didn’t really know what she wanted to ask—mainly because she had a million questions—so she didn’t continue.

“He’s fine,” Janice said warmly, clearly picking up on Rosie’s concern. “I’m just calling with an update, as promised. Since we last spoke, we’ve been trying hard to find his owners, but no one has come forward. He’s also had a health check—which he passed with flying colors—and has now been immunized and micro-chipped. So basically, what I’m saying is, are you still interested in adopting him?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” The woman raised her eyebrows. “You might fall for him even more, and if we then find his owners…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Rosie knew exactly what she was getting at. She pulled in and released a deep breath, then said with a wry smile, “I’m a big girl—I’ll be fine. I just have to go and tell him that if you don’t find his owners, I’ll wait for him.”

With eyes full of empathy, the woman replied kindly, “You go ahead, sweetheart. Just make sure to leave your details here before you go so we can contact you if no one claims him. It sounds like he’d have an incredibly loving home with you.”
“Great, thank you!”

With a shrug, the woman replied, “It’s difficult to say. Not right now, certainly. The dog warden found him early this morning in some local woodland. He put him on a lead then looked for his owner, but found no one. When he couldn’t find a micro-chip, he brought him here. So now we have to make every effort we can to locate Scruffy’s owner. Only once a certain period of time has passed can we actually allow anyone to start the process of adopting him. I’m sure you can appreciate that if we just handed a dog over to an interested party, the owner could then show up, completely devastated and furious that we’d let their pet go home with someone else. I’m sorry to be so vague. On the one hand, Scruffy’s owner could be found and he could be reunited with them, but on the other, we might not find them. In that case, yes, we’d be looking for a new home for him.”

Rosie frowned. “Can I… put my name on some kind of waiting list for him? I’m really, really keen to adopt a dog, but I’m trying to be sensible about the whole thing. I can’t have one that’s too big as my house and garden just aren’t spacious enough—it wouldn’t be fair. Scruffy is perfect, size-wise, and we get along great. I tried really hard not to, and I know it’s silly of me, but I’ve already started falling for him.”

The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully, then said, “Trust me, I know it’s easy to do. I’ve worked here long enough to be the expert on that! I can definitely take your details down and contact you once we’ve found out one way or the other what’s happening with Scruffy, but you could be in for a long wait. Are you sure you’re okay with that? You don’t want to carry on looking and see if one of the other dogs might be suitable? If you only got to kennel fourteen, you’ve still got over thirty to go.”

Rosie sighed and let her shoulders slump. “I don’t know. I just don’t think my heart would be in it now. Can I… go and see him again?”

“Good. Be back soon. Hopefully.” She gave the dog a smile, coming to the conclusion she was already losing her heart to it. Bugger. So much for being detached. She hurried to the reception area of the rescue center and went up to the desk. The woman behind it was just ending a telephone call, so Rosie waited.

The woman hung up, made a quick note on the pad in front of her, then looked up at Rosie with a smile. “Hello. How can I help you?”

Rosie returned the woman’s smile. “Hi. I’m looking for a dog to adopt. I’ve been and had a look in a few of your kennels and found one that I think could be a good fit for me, but there’s no information card. It’s the…” she paused to do some quick mental arithmetic, “fourteenth kennel from the door. A black and white Collie-looking thing with some tan markings and mad eyebrows. He or she is gorgeous—and so friendly.”

The woman chuckled. “Yeah, I know the one you mean. The dog warden just dropped him off today, actually. Unfortunately, other than his sex, we don’t know anything about him. We’ve nicknamed him Scruffy for now, but he’s certainly an enigma.”

“Oh?” Rosie frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but since 2016 there’s been a law in place that says owners must have their dog micro-chipped and ensure the associated contact details are kept up to date. This has meant that almost every dog that’s been brought to us since has been chipped. Obviously some dogs are handed over voluntarily, but for those that have been lost or have escaped by accident, we’ve been able to scan their micro-chips, contact the owners and get them reunited really quickly. It’s been amazing. But this boy, Scruffy, is healthy and happy, definitely not your typical neglected stray and yet… no chip. Hence we know next to nothing about him. The vet hasn’t even seen him yet.”

Rosie nodded slowly as she tried to process this information. “So… what exactly are you saying? He’s not up for adoption?” Her heart sank. Typical—she’d found a dog she thought might be a good match, and he wasn’t available!

With patience. You look at them all objectively at first, and if there’s a cutie that’s right, you go from there. If there isn’t, you leave and try again in a couple of weeks.

She gave a firm nod. Objectively—that’s how she had to play this. She’d have to disengage her emotions altogether and glance over each animal as though it was a piece of fruit or a vegetable in the supermarket. Assess its shape and size, its suitability for her requirements. Then, and only then, could she let her emotions be involved. It was a weird and kind of heartless way of going about things, but it was also responsible. Better that than falling head over heels for a Great Dane or an Irish Wolfhound.

This tactic lasted for precisely eleven further enclosures. Too big, too big, need to be re-homed together, needs to be in a house with other dogs, reactive, needs extensive training… each one was quickly checked out, then passed by for whatever reason.

But when Rosie arrived at the twelfth kennel, everything changed. The scruffy beast in front of her was perfectly suitable size-wise, and it rushed towards her, panting happily, tongue lolling and tail wagging so fast it was a blur. She tentatively put her fingers to the wire and was treated to a volley of enthusiastic doggy kisses. With a chuckle, she pulled her hand back and wiped it on her jeans. “Well, you’re friendly and affectionate enough, aren’t you?” She glanced to the side. “But where’s your information card, sweetie? I don’t know your name, if you’re a boy or a girl, or anything.”

Like Aidan before it, the dog tilted its head to one side at the sound of her voice. It really was cute. It was some kind of mixed breed—a Collie with something smaller, she suspected, and the result was a lively, unkempt-looking creature which appeared to have a lovely nature. Its scruffiness wasn’t due to its situation, though—it actually looked incredibly healthy; bright eyes, shiny coat, wet nose.

Rosie’s heart sunk. That probably wasn’t a good thing. If the dog looked healthy, it likely hadn’t been missing for long—meaning its owners were probably looking for it and would arrive to claim him or her very soon, or there was a particular reason the creature had been handed in to the rescue center. Maybe it wasn’t good with children, or other dogs, or was terribly destructive.

The dog sat there, continuing to watch her from beneath its bushy eyebrows as its tail wagged nineteen to the dozen. She couldn’t resist poking her fingers into the enclosure again. Once more, she got lots of friendly licks. Hmm—seems nice enough with me. And he or she is the right kind of size. Maybe the information card hasn’t been put up yet, or has got lost? Guess it can’t hurt to go and find out.

Wiping her slobber-covered hand on her jeans again, Rosie said, “Right, don’t get your hopes up, but I’m going to go and enquire about you. There’s a chance we could become friends, but I need to know more about you first, okay?”

Yet more head tilting and tail wagging ensued, followed by a funny growl that sounded awfully like agreement.