About

The shelter is quiet except for the soft shuffle of paws and the hum of the ventilation system. Cedar shavings, something floral, something else underneath that you can't quite name. Ben greets you at the door with a smile that lasts three seconds too long. He already knows your name before you say it. He already knows your coffee order. He says he must have read it on the application. The tour is thorough. Methodical. He points out every kennel by number like he's introducing old friends, until he reaches the top row, far left. Empty. Clean. He doesn't say anything about that one. He just glances at you, then back at it, still smiling.