We reach my car and Sydney gets distracted by putting on a playlist as I pull out of my spot and join the long line of cars waiting to leave the high school’s parking lot.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the local animal shelter from the Pembrooke High campus. I volunteer here as often as I can. Sydney is not as much of an animal lover as I am, but she comes with me whenever she can. The shelter is always understaffed for the amount of work to be done. She usually helps with filing paperwork and cleaning, while I focus more on assisting with the animals.

Susan, a middle-aged woman who also volunteers, is out in the fenced run that juts off from the right side of the shingled building when I park in the small lot. The three puppies that were brought in last week are running around her ankles in circles, yapping playfully. I wave at her as Sydney and I head into the shelter.

There’s no one at the front desk when we enter. I walk through the lobby and down the hallway, passing the rooms where potential adopters can play with the animals available for adoption.

The rest of the building is dedicated to housing the cats and dogs living here. I peek into the cat room first. All but one of the twenty cages are filled. The bowls are neatly stacked on the table for feeding later and the play area in the center room looks freshly cleaned.

Sydney follows me across the hall, into the dog room. Eileen, who manages the shelter, is sitting in the center of the room, cross-legged. Patch, the shelter’s longest resident, is lying next to her, wagging his bushy tail as he gets brushed.

Eileen looks up and smiles, the corners of her eyes creasing as some gray hair falls out of the perpetually messy ponytail she has it pulled back in.

She’s been in charge of everything for as long as I’ve been coming here. Now a retired veterinarian, she left a practice a few towns over to open up a shelter instead. Rumors around Pembrooke suggest she left a messy divorce behind, but I’ve never pried into her past and she’s never offered any details. Her life is the animals, and she’s been the largest inspiration for my planned path.

I walk over and crouch down beside Patch, rubbing his head and setting off a fresh wave of wags. Eileen always says the point of the shelter is to find new homes for the pets, not to have them all end up in her house, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Patch ends up a permanent resident.