Page 16 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

“They’re not creepy!” I call after him as he lets himself out of the enclosure. Then I make a face at his back like a five-year-old and I murmur, “You are.”

But he’s not. He’s really not.

Chloe, who escorts a family into the meet and greet pen, snags my attention. The pen is a separate chain link area where they can spend one-on-one time with the dog they are interested in adopting to see if they get along.

“Can you bring Olive Oyl, Ava?”

I nod, but my heart squeezes. Olive Oyl has been at the shelter for over a month. She’s the sweetest old dog. As tall as Popeye, but gentle as can be. Of course, I want Olive to get a new ‘furever’ home, but I will miss her so much. I grab a collar and leash from the supply closet and slip into kennel Y.

“Hey girl! You have some visitors.” I laugh when Olive wiggles against me. She wags and rubs so hard against my legs, I have a difficult time standing, let alone getting a collar and leash on her. I adjust the collar, making it larger, then use a fist to instruct Olive to sit.

She plops her huge rump down. Her head is still waist-high, so I don’t even need to bend over to slip the collar on. “That’s a good girl. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

Olive pants up at me. Her muzzle and the fur around her eyes are white with age.

I clip the leash into place and Olive hoists herself up. Her movements are slow but sure. I lead her out of the kennel. The dogs I’d let out to clean their kennels run over to us and, seeing the leash, start leaping and barking excitedly. “Not this time, guys. It’s Olive’s turn. But extra play time for you.”

I open the gate for Olive without letting the other dogs out. Olive is good on the leash. She’s trained to heel and not pull at the end of the leash. We cross to the back of the yard to the meet and greet pen. I can’t help but grin at the little girl waiting anxiously within. She’s maybe four or five years old. Her little fingers are wrapped through the chain link, and her forehead is pressed to the fence to watch Olive approach.

“Here she is.” Chloe opens the gate for us, and I lead Olive in.

As soon as I stop, the dog sits beside me. I feel like a proud parent.

“You might have seen from her information card that we think Olive is a Great Dane and Mastiff mix,” Chloe says. “She’s a whopping 120 pounds. And she’s about eight years old.” Chloe levels a significant look at the parents. “You know large dogs don’t live as long.”

The parents both nod. The wife answers. “Yes, we’ve just always made a point of adopting the old dogs. They deserve a loving family at the end of their lives.”

I blink down at Olive who sits perfectly still next to me. She’s watching the little girl with her ears turned forward and her head cocked at an endearing angle. The girl is half-hidden behind her father but keeps peeking out at Olive. I give a little tug on the leash to let Olive know it’s okay to explore. I glance at the parents. “She’s excellent on a leash.”

Olive stands and inches slowly forward until she’s directly in front of the little girl. She hangs her head low in front of the child. When the girl doesn’t respond, Olive plops her large rump on the ground and waits. Her long tongue hangs out of her mouth as she pants.

“Go ahead and pet Olive, Cece,” the father urges. “Remember we taught you to let the dog sniff you first.”

The girl reaches out a tentative hand. It looks like a snack hanging in front of Olive’s huge muzzle, but I know the old dog is as gentle as they come. Olive arches her head forward and sniffs twice before licking the girl’s hand. Just a single lick. A squeal of delight erupts from the child. Olive doesn’t even blink over the shrill noise.

Cece steps out from behind her father and rubs her tiny hand over the dog’s head. When Olive doesn’t react, Cece steps closer and runs a hand all the way down the dog’s long, black back. She repeats it a couple times while her father reaches down to scratch Olive’s gray muzzle.

Chloe explains Olive’s history. “Her previous owner took extremely good care of her. Olive came to the shelter after he passed away and there was no other family who wanted to take in such a large animal.”

The wife reaches out and scratches Olive’s head. “I’m so sorry, girl.”

“Her vaccinations are all current and she has no additional medical needs.”

Cece is now yammering nonstop to Olive. “I like to play dress up. You can be my noble steed. Unless you want to be the princess. I think my crown will fit you. We can go for walks around the neighborhood together.”

“With your mother,” the wife interrupts, making me smile.

I can tell they are going to take Olive. Tears prickle behind my eyes. I try hard not to get attached to the animals. The whole idea of the shelter is for it to be a temporary stop, but sometimes an animal, like Olive, simply steals my heart at first sight. I was a goner from the first time she trained her big doleful eyes on me.

When Cece throws her arms around Olive’s neck and Olive leans her head against the little girl, I hand the leash to the father. Olive is going to have a wonderful new home. My voice shakes when I speak. “Can you please send a picture of Princess Olive Oyl?”

The mother, who appears as emotional over her daughter’s instant bond with the dog as I am, nods. “We will.”

I step next to the little girl who is chattering to Olive again. “Can I say goodbye to her?”

The girl nods.

I take in the big canine grin splitting the huge face, and tears pool in my eyes. “You’re going to have so much fun, Olive. But I will miss you a lot.”

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