My children, like both their parents, tend to be softies. So I was quite prepared for at least one of them to come and appeal to me to take half a dozen dogs home. Sure enough, when the visit was over, my second oldest son disappeared. I knew he hadn’t gone past me to exit the building so he was somewhere still inside. I retreated into the back of the building to find him in the doorway, with a look that he was borrowing from some of the tenants of the shelter.
“Puppy dog eyes” stared into mine. His mouth, normally a cheerful smile, was bent downwards in a sorrowful frown.
“Can’t we take at least one home?” he pled, his genuinely anguished countenance mirroring his voice. I looked at him a moment, aware of other eyes and ears watching and listening.
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