The pads of my paws pressed against the cold floor as I pulled my human by the leash into the strange, brand-new place he had brought me to.

My tail worked overtime and I simply could not contain my excitement anymore. We rarely left the house. Not since I accidentally ran away to chase a squirrel on our walk a long time ago. Can you blame me? The dreaded thing was getting far too close to my human for comfort. I had to show it who was boss. But when I turned around to tell my humans the threat had been neutralized, they were gone. After I finally found my way home, they were not happy; they were the opposite of happy. I never figured out if they were angry at me for running or for coming back.

So imagine my excitement when Human Dad pulled out my leash and put me in the car... the car! With a new place and so many intriguing smells to sniff, my excitement burst from tail to snout.

In all honesty, this new place was a little bit frightening. But my human seemed okay with it, so I was, too. After all, part of a dog's responsibility was to protect their human. How could I protect him against hidden danger and squirrels if I wasn't bouncing around everywhere, sniffing every suspicious rock and blade of grass? Thankfully, there were no squirrels in sight, but I detected plenty of other dogs like myself.

Inside the new building, Dad stopped in front of a tall counter. Too tall for my paws, but I could at least try to reach the top.

"I'm dropping him off," Dad said. He jerked at the leash attached to my collar to keep me from inspecting what was over the counter. My claws scratched at the smooth surface and, even though I was not sure how or what, I immediately knew I'd done something wrong. My tall, pointy ears pulled back and I sank to the floor, but I could not stop that confounded tail from wagging at a rabbit's pace.

"Are you sure?" The human behind the counter asked. He sounded sad, like he needed a good dog kiss to cheer him up. Remembering to keep all four paws on the cold, hard ground, I stared up at him from behind the counter, my head tilted. "We offer training classes. He's still young."

"Just take him," Dad said. The human behind the counter sighed the way Human Mom did when I found hidden treasure in the trash.

"If you could just fill out these forms—"

"I don't have time." Dad's sharp tone sent my ears back again. "We have a dinner reservation in twenty minutes. Just take him."

Dad shoved the end of my leash into the other human's hand—which pulled at my collar again—and disappeared outside.

I wondered where he was going. When I tried to leave with him, the human who held my leash urged me to follow in the opposite direction with a gentle tug. At first, I did not want to, but the smell of peanut butter filled my snout. Turning around, my claws clicking against the floor, it took no time at all to spot the irresistible treat the new human held out towards me.

"Yeah, you want the treat, boy?"

My paws reached as far up the counter as they could go and I stretched my neck towards the crunchy bone-shaped delicacy, which I devoured effortlessly.

The new human led me around the counter. I hesitated, weary of what lurked behind it. But a few air sniffs told me there was not much to be afraid of, so I pulled us towards the door behind him. My nails skittered across the floor as I tried to get us to our destination as quickly as possible. Maybe there were more peanut butter treats.

The new human told me he was sorry, but I did not know why he needed to apologize. My family would come back for me. But when he walked me through a door behind him and into a new room lined with fences even taller than the counter, I put on the brakes. There were no treats behind the fences. Only other dogs like the ones I smelled outside. They all barked at me as we walked by, causing my fur to stand on end.

The new human urged me forward with a gentle voice.

"It's okay, buddy. We're just going right here."

He opened the fence, and then I realized it was not a fence. It was a large cage. I crouched onto the floor, my ears as far back as they could go. My tail tucked itself underneath my belly.

Peanut butter filled my nose again. I darted forward when I spotted the treat, bigger and better than the previous one. The human dropped the treat and I went to work immediately. It was so big, it could not possibly fit in one bite, so I held it between my paws on the floor and started crunching.

Only after the human removed my leash and snuck out did I realize I'd been tricked.

The cage door clicked shut behind the human. I was alone.

I whined for him to come back, which got some of the other dogs that I could not see whimpering and howling, too. But he was gone.

My legs shook so much that I did not even think to finish my oversized peanut butter treat. I had never been so scared. Not even when Dad yelled at me for tearing up his shoes.

It's not my fault the shoe looked like a toy... right? They never told me it wasn't.

I waited for my humans. My family. The sun went away and came back too many times to count. Every night, I laid on the cold, hard ground and wondered what my family was doing that had made them forget about me. All I had to fall asleep to was the howling and whining of the other unfortunate souls whose families also forgot about them. Sometimes the whining came from me.

On occasion, new humans came through to look at all of us and would take one lucky dog with them. My paws, tail, and voice could hardly contain their excitement when I saw a new human. But they always gave one look at me and moved on. When I tried to calm one part of myself, my excitement transferred to another unexpected part of my body.

So the humans always said I was too much and moved on. Until one day, when she walked through the door for the first time.

She was the kindest human I had ever met. Crouched at the door to my cage, her human voice was soft and kind.

"Aww, who's this little guy?" She asked.

The human who locked me in the cage stood next to her, his arms folded over his chest.

"He's a surrender. Don't get attached. He's on the schedule for tomorrow."

The kind human woman looked up at him and stuck her hand through the holes in the cage. I did not need to sniff her to tell that she was friendly, so I licked her hand while her outstretched fingers scratched the fur beneath my ears.

She giggled as my tongue tickled her palm, then asked, "The schedule?"

"You know... the schedule."

She pulled her hand away before I was finished giving her all the kisses I had stored up. She stood and lowered her voice. Sticking my nose through the fence, I nudged at the hand she pulled away so she could resume her scratching, to which she obliged.

"You can't," she said to the other human. She sounded angry, but her pets remained soft. "He's barely even a year old!"

"We're at capacity and I don't make the rules. I'm sorry, but..."

"Screw you, Zach. You know Mom hated these types of places. Look at all these empty cages! There's more than enough room to spare this poor baby."

"It's not about space, Bay. It's food, staffing, resources..."

Bay. Her name is Bay.

"Fine. I'll take him."

The humans continued their bickering, but I got so lost in the ear scratches that I forgot to listen. My hind leg gave a little kick. Not even my family could make me do that, and I was loving every second of it.

But the humans' conversation came to an abrupt end and the scratches stopped.

"Good boy," she said as she pulled her hand away. I whined as the humans walked away. When the door closed behind them, I barked.

Bay! Bay! Come back!

She could not hear me behind the door. Another human had come and gone, leaving me alone in my cage. Again.

Defeated, I circled my usual spot on the floor. The cold floor pressed against my fur and I tucked my nose under my tail. Maybe the next time a human came around, I would control myself better. Make myself more likable.

Maybe I was too much for humans. Maybe I was doomed to live my life in solitude. No humans ever seemed to want me. One look at how I could not control my tail or my voice sent them running the other way.

The click and creak of the door pulled my head up and my ears back. I watched the front of my cage as quick footsteps approached. When the kind human woman with the good ear scratches undid the lock on the gate, my voice, legs, and tail exploded into minds of their own.

"Hi, boy. You ready to go home?" The human's shrill voice was like smooth peanut butter music to my ears. I ran in circles and jumped up and down as she approached me with a leash. "I'm sorry my brother locked you in here. But once you leave, you'll never have to come back."

I panted so hard that I barely felt the collar buckle click around my neck. As soon as I realized the leash was attached, I pulled us away from the cage.

The other dogs barked in congratulations. Or jealousy. I was too busy hightailing it out of there to decipher their howling.

Bay laughed behind me as I dragged her towards the door, panting against the collar straining around my neck. But I did not care. I was about to taste and smell freedom again.

We bypassed the human at the front desk and waited at the door that showed the relieving sights of the outdoors.

"Ready?" Bay asked as her feet stopped next to my paws. My tail erupted in wags that took my hind legs with it.

The door opened and I pulled us towards the grass as fast as I could. Bay didn't seem to mind as she dragged behind me.

My paws skittered and scratched over the pavement. New and familiar smells filled the air and littered the ground. I wanted to inspect every single one. Make sure there were no squirrels around to encroach on Bay.

As I followed my nose for a good spot to mark, Bay knelt beside me and ran her hand along the fur on my back.

"You're a good boy, Hugo," she said. I buried my nose into a particularly smelly patch of grass. "We're going to live a long, happy life together."