Nora Voss set down her intake pen when she saw the puppy in the woman’s arms. She didn’t need to check the appointment book.
Alder was back.
Beyond the reception window, an April wind worried the last scraps of snow beneath the pines. The woman had parked crookedly in the rescue’s gravel lot, leaving her car door open while she came inside. She held the white German shepherd carefully, one palm spread beneath his belly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We really tried.”
Nora came around the desk. At forty, she had spent enough years managing the little shelter outside Dunleigh, Pennsylvania, to recognize the mixture of embarrassment and lost sleep on a returning adopter’s face. She didn’t make people stand there defending themselves.
“Let’s get him settled. Then you can tell me.”
The account was familiar by now. Alder had eaten his meals, accepted petting, and followed the family around the house. Their children had played with him on the kitchen floor. He hadn’t growled at anyone or spent the day trembling under furniture.
But after the lights went out, he stationed himself at the door.
They had taken him outside. Offered water. Moved his bed beside theirs. He would accept comfort, even doze for a little while, then get up and return to the entrance with a thin, relentless whimper.
“We could handle puppy stuff,” the woman said. “This felt like he was asking for something we couldn’t give him.”
Nora wrote that down.
Alder was nine weeks old. In the week since he had become eligible for adoption, three households had taken him home. Each had lasted about two days. The first had wondered whether he needed a busier family. The second had assumed he was frightened of unfamiliar surroundings. Now the third had tried keeping him within arm’s reach all night, with the same result.
His veterinary examination had found a healthy puppy. In daylight, there was almost nothing to report beyond the ordinary business of feeding, chewing, and learning where to relieve himself.
The woman kissed the top of his head before handing him over.
Nora waited until she had gone, then lowered Alder to the washable mat beside reception. His paws touched down, and his whole posture changed. He stretched his neck toward the kennel hall.
From behind the closed corridor door came an answering scratch.
Otis was waiting at his gate when Nora brought Alder through. The black-and-tan shepherd puppy had one floppy ear folded almost inside out. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to fit his nose through a gap much too narrow for it.
“All right. Give me a second.”
Nora lifted the latch.
The puppies met halfway between her shoes and the enclosure. There was a confusion of noses, shoulders, and wagging hindquarters. Then Otis pushed himself upright, laid both forelegs across Alder’s shoulders, and held on.
Alder stood beneath him, pressing close. After several seconds, Otis’s back feet slipped and both puppies landed in a heap against Nora’s ankle.
She kept her hand on the open gate.
She had watched Otis do that before every departure. The staff had smiled at it, sometimes paused to let the puppies finish. A sweet little farewell, they had called it.
This was the first time she had really watched the greeting afterward.
Otis and Alder had arrived together. Both were healthy, friendly shepherd puppies, but visitors rarely gave them equal attention. Otis might be sniffing an offered hand when Alder came forward, white fur bright against the shelter’s gray floor. People would look up. Their voices would change. Someone would ask whether the white one was available.
Otis never made much effort to recover their attention.
Three times, Nora had fastened a lead to Alder’s collar while Otis crowded close enough to get in her way. Three times, Otis had watched from behind the gate as his companion went down the corridor.
Now the puppies followed her back inside their enclosure, bumping each other as they went.
By lunchtime, they had eaten and worn themselves out. Nora put down two clean beds, leaving a little space between them. Alder climbed into one. Otis immediately climbed in after him.
“There’s another perfectly good one right there,” she told him.
Otis settled his muzzle along Alder’s ribs.
Nora moved him to the vacant bed. He sat blinking at her while she folded a towel. When she turned back, he was stepping over Alder to reclaim his former position.
A volunteer stopped with a stack of bowls against her hip.
“Should I fetch a larger bed?”
“You could fetch a sofa. They’d still use the same cushion.”
Nora left the second bed where it was.
Outside, the pavement dried in irregular patches. Visitors came and went through the afternoon, but no adoption papers were signed. Alder got up whenever somebody approached. Otis usually remained down until he saw whether Alder intended to make a proper occasion of it.
Near closing time, a patrol vehicle rolled into the lot.
Daniel Mercer sat behind the wheel long enough to unclip his radio and put it away. He was forty-three, had worked in and around Dunleigh for most of his adult life, and could have driven home without passing the shelter. He had deliberately taken the longer route.
He hadn’t told anybody he was coming.
His old German shepherd had been gone for several years. Daniel could think about him now without having to stop what he was doing. Still, certain habits had outlasted the dog. Sometimes he stepped over a place by the kitchen doorway where a body no longer lay. Sometimes he reached home and turned on the television before taking off his boots.
Lately, he had begun leaving it on through dinner.
Inside, Nora looked up from a cupboard of folded blankets.
“Here on business?” she asked.
“My own, this time.”
“What are you hoping to find?”
Daniel rubbed a thumb along the seam of his uniform pants. “A dog. Young enough we can learn each other’s bad habits gradually.”
She smiled. “A puppy will provide plenty of those.”
“I remember.”
He explained that he wasn’t looking for a police dog. This would be a companion at home, with all the inconvenient, ordinary work that involved. Nora asked about his schedule, his yard, and his experience. He answered without pretending that a badge qualified him to raise a puppy.
They walked the corridor slowly. Daniel stopped when a dog came forward, letting each investigate his hand. Near the far end, a white puppy hurried to the gate and sat with such concentration that his hindquarters nearly slid out from under him.
Daniel crouched.
“Well, you’re making an effort.”
Alder sniffed his knuckles. Behind him, a black-and-tan puppy got up, considered the visitor, and stopped a pace short.
Nora told Daniel their ages and pointed out Otis. Then she rested her forearm on the gate.
“There’s something you need to know about Alder before you fall too far in love with that face.”
Daniel looked up.
“He’s had three placements already. Every one ended after two nights.”
“Three?” Daniel glanced back at the puppy. “What happens?”
“Once the house is quiet, he waits at the door and cries. They can distract him, but he goes right back. We’ve had him checked. He eats, plays, likes people. Here, he sleeps.”
Alder leaned forward until Daniel’s fingertips disappeared beneath the fur on his chest.
“Has anybody stayed with it longer?”
“No. And I won’t promise you that being patient will fix something we haven’t identified.”
Daniel appreciated that. He stayed crouched a little longer, feeling the puppy breathe against his hand. Otis lay down behind Alder and watched from between his forepaws.
Nora let Daniel remain until the evening cleaning had begun. Before leaving, he asked when she opened the following morning.
He was there a few minutes early.
“I heard everything you said,” he told her while she unlocked the door. “I’d still like to take him home.”
Nora went through the nighttime reports once more as they completed the paperwork. Daniel listened. A frightened young animal keeping him awake did not strike him as a reason to abandon the attempt before it started.
At the enclosure, Alder came forward as soon as Daniel appeared. Otis pressed alongside him.
Nora opened the gate. Before Daniel could lift Alder, Otis rose and hooked his forelegs over the white puppy’s shoulders.
Daniel waited with his hands lowered. From this close, he could see Otis’s toes spread against the thick fur, the effort it took him to remain upright.
When the puppies finally came apart, Daniel gathered Alder against his chest.
“Take your time getting him settled,” Nora said. “Call me about anything.”
Alder twisted around in Daniel’s arms as they walked. At the end of the corridor, Daniel glanced back. Otis stood at the gate, so still that only his ears moved.
Then Daniel carried Alder outside, and the door latched behind them…
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