“I’m here to meet the golden one,” I told the volunteer at the front desk.
I’d seen Lucy online. She was a stunning golden retriever pup with a bright smile, the kind of dog that instantly grabs attention. She already had 15 applications. Everyone wanted her. She was the kind of puppy people imagined posting everywhere.
But when I reached Kennel 42, Lucy wasn’t pressed against the gate, tail wagging. Instead, she was tucked into the far corner, hidden behind a solid block of black fur.
That fur belonged to her brother, Diesel.
The volunteer let out a tired breath. “No one even notices him,” she said. “Black Dog Syndrome is real. People scroll past him to get to her. We’re separating them tomorrow. Lucy already has a home waiting. Diesel doesn’t.”
I stood there and watched Diesel gently lick Lucy’s tears away. He had placed himself between her and everything else, standing guard so she didn’t have to. He was her shield, her comfort, her sense of safety. And we were about to take her from the only protection she’d ever known.
I turned back to the volunteer. “You can throw out the other applications.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m not adopting Lucy,” I said as I reached for the double leash. “I’m adopting both of them.”
Yesterday, they celebrated their first birthday stretched out on my couch. Diesel is still the one wrapped around her, holding her close like always.
Credit: angle with paws
