Inebriated, not with alcohol, but excitement, I stepped inside Battersea. Sounds of hope were the first thing I heard. As I walked by each poor animal it was like they were begging me to take them home.
No good with cats, or children, one sign said. All I saw was a dog wishing for a happy home. A home I could give them. My last dog died a few years ago. Now I was in a new flat, a canine friend would bring me joy.
At the last cage I saw him. Black, and white, with flecks of yellow. It was obviously a mongrel, but as he stared at me, there was a connection. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew he was going to be my dog.
Maybe not today, paperwork was the least of my worries. I had to prove my home was a good one. That was only to be expected. I had everything on my side. A big garden, I only worked part time, and I was trustworthy.
‘One day,’ I said, as I left him behind. ‘I will take you home.’