Chapter 2

The shelter girl acted like she didn't hear me.

She kept pushing other dogs my way.

Seeing that I was dead set on the Golden Retriever, she let out a heavy sigh.

"Look, I'm going to be completely honest with you," she said, lowering her voice. "This dog has been returned three times."

Buddy was a total angel at the shelter, she explained.

He never had an accident inside, never chewed up the kennels. He was perfect.

But for some reason, the second he got adopted, everything went wrong.

The first adopter took him home, and Buddy peed on her couch on day one.

Thinking he was just stressed about the new environment, the shelter advised her to be patient and guide him.

Three days later, Buddy was back.

The adopter had walked him outside for a solid hour, but he absolutely refused to poop.

Yet, just five minutes after walking through the front door, he pooped right in the middle of her living room rug.

When the second adopter came along, the shelter girl politely warned him.

The guy just brushed it off.

"Dogs mark their territory, it's totally normal. A little patience and training will fix it."

But a few days later, Buddy was returned again.

That day, the man was furious. His face and neck were beet red. And Buddy was limping.

While the guy was at work, Buddy had destroyed his brand-new couch.

"I can handle the pee, but do you know how much that couch cost me? Two grand! Two thousand dollars!" The man had yelled.

He had even kicked Buddy on his way out.

It took a long time of healing before Buddy finally dared to put weight on that leg again.

By the time the third adopter came, the shelter girl tried hard to talk her out of it.

But the young girl said her apartment was mostly empty anyway. She didn't have any expensive furniture.

She bought Buddy tons of chew toys.

For a while, Buddy seemed genuinely happy.

Then, two weeks ago, a middle-aged man dragged Buddy back into the shelter on a leash.

He showed a deep bite mark on his calf and demanded the shelter cover his medical bills.

When the shelter hesitated, the man threw a massive fit. He screamed at anyone walking by, claiming they were adopting out "defective, vicious dogs."

Left with no choice, the shelter paid his bills, gave a full refund, and took Buddy back.

I crouched down and looked at Buddy's leg—the one that had been injured.

"He probably had his own reasons, didn't he?" I murmured.

Buddy obviously didn't expect me to say that. His head snapped up.

A tiny spark of hope flashed in his eyes, but it faded just as quickly.

He turned his head away and let out a disdainful huff.

"Humans. Hipo-crits."

I couldn't hold it back. A soft laugh slipped out of me as I reached over and rubbed his head.

"It's pronounced hypocrites."

"You can understand dog?"

I nodded.

Luckily the shelter girl just charged me a flat twenty-dollar donation, handed over his leash, and even threw in a free bag of dry kibble.

She only had one condition.

Absolutely no returns.

I nodded quickly, promising I would never bring him back.

After loading the bag of kibble into the back of my car, I turned to Buddy.

"So, are you going to tell me why you did all those bad things?"

Buddy turned his head and stared out the window.

His lips were tightly zipped. He looked like he'd rather die than talk.

I reached over and ruffled his fluffy ears.

"Whenever you feel like talking, I'm here to listen."

"But just one thing," I said, pointing directly at the seat beneath him.

"This car is an Uber rental. Your food money relies entirely on this vehicle."

"If you accidentally pee on these seats, we both starve."

Buddy looked down at the upholstery, thought for a second, and quietly pulled his paw away from the edge.

Since this was a spur-of-the-moment adoption, I didn't even have a dog bed ready at home.

I dropped the bag of kibble in the corner of the room and called out to Buddy to come inside.

Buddy froze in the doorway like he had just seen a ghost.

I turned around and took a good look at my apartment.

I couldn't really blame him for being in shock.

My entire living room consisted of one busted folding chair and a wobbly, mismatched table I had dragged in from the curb on trash day.

But didn't people always say, a dog never judges a poor home?

Buddy let out a long whine.

"But it shouldn't be this poor, woof! Just euthanize me already, woof!"

Despite his complaints, Buddy's paws didn't stop moving.

He trotted right in.

He had just found a relatively comfortable spot on the floor to lie down when a loud crash echoed from the ceiling.

Someone was smashing things upstairs.

Buddy jumped to his feet, trembling, his ears perked up in high alert.

I patted his head gently to soothe him.

"It's okay! It's okay. Just the couple upstairs fighting again."

Buddy's fur along his spine bristled, and he stared rigidly at the ceiling.

Assuming he was just spooked by a strange environment, I didn't think much of it and gave him a quick pat.

"I need to go drive a few more fares to earn your wet food money. Be a good boy and wait here for me, okay?"

I left out two bowls with kibble and fresh water, grabbed my keys, and walked out the door.

That twenty dollars was my entire life savings.

If I wanted to keep Buddy alive, I had no choice but to keep driving.

Because I started my shift late today, once I paid the rental agency their daily cut, I only had enough left for a single can of wet dog food and a cheap pack of instant ramen.

I carried the can and the ramen up the dim stairwell of my apartment building.

My mind kept wandering back to Buddy's fuzzy face.

Just the thought of opening the door and having a furry dog run up to greet me gave me a sudden sense of hope.

My footsteps actually felt light for the first time in months.

But the exact second I unlocked my door and pushed it open, a large hand grabbed me from behind and snatched the food right out of my grip!