“Ouch.” She winced with empathy. “I heard that you took in stray dogs?” Her voice rose with the question, frantic but hopeful. “I found this one running around the neighborhood and I wasn’t sure what else to do with her.”

Not again! This would make dog number four if I brought her home. The kids would be ecstatic, but Oliver would be livid. Somehow the kids always won, because even Oliver couldn’t resist puppy-dog kisses.

“Technically we don’t take strays, but if the animal shelter is full, sometimes we’re able to place a stray with a home. Did you check with the shelter to see if she’s got a microchip?”

“Yeah, I stopped by our local shelter and she wasn’t chipped. They ran an online search to see if anyone had posted looking for a dog that matched her description but found no hits. Unfortunately, their kennels are full so they said right now they don’t have room for her and told me to take her to another county shelter. That’s when I posted on social media about her and someone told me to bring her here.”

Oliver would kill me. Absolutely freak out. One by one, as each of our three dogs was brought home with the promise that I’d find homes for them, I gave up after a week (or a day, if I was being honest) and let the kids name them. Never name a pet you don’t intend to keep. Thus the bond was formed, the kids got attached, and our fur family grew. What else could I do? Like I said, I didn’t know the word no when it came to animals.

I swung the door open wide and took the leash. “Okay, I’ll take her and try to find a home for her. She’s beautiful. Certainly someone will fall in love with her.”

The woman thanked me two, three times before rushing down the sidewalk before I could change my mind. After guiding the husky pup into the waiting area, I let her run loose around the store while I finished closing the register and wiping the counters. Bowing to my OCD, a trait Marin and I shared, I took a moment to straighten the pictures on the wall of some of Barkalicious Boutique’s satisfied customers: a chow-chow modeling a lion’s mane. A bow-bedecked Pomeranian. A shiny golden retriever wearing a classic red paisley bandana.

I grabbed the dog’s leash and the keys to Oliver’s car. Although my car had a shockingly minimal amount of damage, the vehicle was officially ruined for me as even sitting in the leather seats caused a PTSD-level panic. As I pulled the front door open, the landline phone rang. The machine picked up.