have good reason to suck up to me.”
Danny explained that Tremble was different from most shelters. Dogs and cats were not put to death. They stayed until a home was found for them. “That’s where I come in,” he said. “Top specialist in placing the hardest of the hard.”
He needed to do a few more placements before he could sit and talk. “I try to do twenty-five before break,” he said. “I don’t have to; it’s just a personal goal.” He said they could hang out in the cage room or follow him into the central adoption arena and watch him do matches.
Jennifer was making all kinds of
ooh
s and
aah
s and stopping at every cage, but Adam tugged her sleeve. “You’ve got to see Danny in action,” he said. “A wizard.”
Before Danny could get to his next placement, two coworkers in green shirts rushed up, nearly trampling Adam and Jennifer. “I need advice, Danny,” said the first. “I have a seventy-five-year-old woman who wants to adopt a six-week-old puppy. For a puppy, this is a mangy mutt, so it would be great to find a home. But I’m afraid I can’t do it. You know the rules.”
The rules said a puppy shouldn’t be matched with an old person, because in a few years the result could be a deceased old person and an orphaned dog right back at the shelter.
“Let me see the woman’s application,” said Danny. “A nonsmoker,” he murmured. “Had a dog for a long time that recently died. . . . Lots of activities and clubs. . . .” He looked up from the paper. “Uh-huh,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.
“What?” said the coworker.
“Uh-huh,” said Danny.
“What?” said Adam and Jennifer.
“Bring me to meet this woman now!” bellowed Danny. She was in a far corner, on the floor, playing with the puppy. When the coworker introduced Danny, the woman jumped to her feet. As they talked, Danny dropped her application on the floor.
She bent right over and picked it up.
“Thanks so much,” said Danny. “Would you excuse us?”
He took the coworker aside and said, “Do it.”
“But the puppy rule?”
“Made to be broken in this case,” said Danny. “Old people are changing their habits — they don’t smoke; they join walking clubs; they live salt-free lives. Now, if this woman came in wheezing and spitting blood, it would be different. But, hey — she looks like she can run a four-minute mile. You see her scoop up that application?”
“One more,” said the second coworker. “I have a woman looking for a surprise birthday gift for her sister-in-law.”
“Stop,” said Danny. “Cannot do. We need to see this sister-in-law in person. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. There are a million kinds of sisters-in-law.”
A small, slight, middle-aged woman was waiting. Danny apologized for the delay, then took her application and read quickly. “I see you live alone,” he said. “No children or pets . . . Personal traits? Ah, you’re a ‘neatnik.’
“OK,” he said. “I know a perfect dog.” He disappeared into the cage room and, to Adam’s amazement, was back in a minute with a match, a miniature mixed breed no more than a foot long.
“Oh, he’s precious,” said the woman.
“And not a shedder,” said Danny.
“You read my mind,” said the woman.
“Always,” said Danny. “Let me go on. I’m not going to pretend that everything has been peaches and cream for our little friend here. His previous placement did not work. That family had a cat. The cat was as big as our little friend. That family had a couple of young kids. What do kids do best? Grow. A big cat. Two kids getting taller by the minute. What does that do to our little friend? Every morning he wakes up feeling smaller.” At this point Danny knelt down, rolled the dog on his back, and scratched his belly. The way that dog was panting and his eyes were shining made Adam wish someone would roll him over and scratch his belly.
“What a silly little precious,” said the
Danny explained that Tremble was different from most shelters. Dogs and cats were not put to death. They stayed until a home was found for them. “That’s where I come in,” he said. “Top specialist in placing the hardest of the hard.”
He needed to do a few more placements before he could sit and talk. “I try to do twenty-five before break,” he said. “I don’t have to; it’s just a personal goal.” He said they could hang out in the cage room or follow him into the central adoption arena and watch him do matches.
Jennifer was making all kinds of
ooh
s and
aah
s and stopping at every cage, but Adam tugged her sleeve. “You’ve got to see Danny in action,” he said. “A wizard.”
Before Danny could get to his next placement, two coworkers in green shirts rushed up, nearly trampling Adam and Jennifer. “I need advice, Danny,” said the first. “I have a seventy-five-year-old woman who wants to adopt a six-week-old puppy. For a puppy, this is a mangy mutt, so it would be great to find a home. But I’m afraid I can’t do it. You know the rules.”
The rules said a puppy shouldn’t be matched with an old person, because in a few years the result could be a deceased old person and an orphaned dog right back at the shelter.
“Let me see the woman’s application,” said Danny. “A nonsmoker,” he murmured. “Had a dog for a long time that recently died. . . . Lots of activities and clubs. . . .” He looked up from the paper. “Uh-huh,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.
“What?” said the coworker.
“Uh-huh,” said Danny.
“What?” said Adam and Jennifer.
“Bring me to meet this woman now!” bellowed Danny. She was in a far corner, on the floor, playing with the puppy. When the coworker introduced Danny, the woman jumped to her feet. As they talked, Danny dropped her application on the floor.
She bent right over and picked it up.
“Thanks so much,” said Danny. “Would you excuse us?”
He took the coworker aside and said, “Do it.”
“But the puppy rule?”
“Made to be broken in this case,” said Danny. “Old people are changing their habits — they don’t smoke; they join walking clubs; they live salt-free lives. Now, if this woman came in wheezing and spitting blood, it would be different. But, hey — she looks like she can run a four-minute mile. You see her scoop up that application?”
“One more,” said the second coworker. “I have a woman looking for a surprise birthday gift for her sister-in-law.”
“Stop,” said Danny. “Cannot do. We need to see this sister-in-law in person. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. There are a million kinds of sisters-in-law.”
A small, slight, middle-aged woman was waiting. Danny apologized for the delay, then took her application and read quickly. “I see you live alone,” he said. “No children or pets . . . Personal traits? Ah, you’re a ‘neatnik.’
“OK,” he said. “I know a perfect dog.” He disappeared into the cage room and, to Adam’s amazement, was back in a minute with a match, a miniature mixed breed no more than a foot long.
“Oh, he’s precious,” said the woman.
“And not a shedder,” said Danny.
“You read my mind,” said the woman.
“Always,” said Danny. “Let me go on. I’m not going to pretend that everything has been peaches and cream for our little friend here. His previous placement did not work. That family had a cat. The cat was as big as our little friend. That family had a couple of young kids. What do kids do best? Grow. A big cat. Two kids getting taller by the minute. What does that do to our little friend? Every morning he wakes up feeling smaller.” At this point Danny knelt down, rolled the dog on his back, and scratched his belly. The way that dog was panting and his eyes were shining made Adam wish someone would roll him over and scratch his belly.
“What a silly little precious,” said the
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