In his hand, he clutched a slip of paper with the address—already damp from the fine November drizzle. A worn-out sign that read «Tail-Wagging Friend» hung crookedly, as if it too were tired. His soaked jacket clung to his back, but he paid it no mind.
The door creaked open, letting him into the warmth inside—a warmth laced with the scent of dogs and bleach. A strange, melancholy combination.
“Good afternoon!” greeted a young woman with a bright name tag: Marina, Volunteer. “How can I help you?”
“For a puppy,” Alexey managed, his voice tense. “I want to adopt a small dog.”
“Wonderful!” Marina lit up. “We just got some new arrivals! Some are tiny babies, and others are about three months old—very clever and playful!”
