When I stop outside his kennel, hanging with his paperwork is a slip of red paper that reads Adoption Pending.

I give it nothing more than a passing glance even as every inch of me begins to ache with loss. It's a good thing, isn't it? He's been out here less than twenty-four hours and he already has someone who's fallen in love with him, who wants to take him home and make him part of their family. Maybe someone who will put forth the money to get his leg operated on and fixed.

(I refuse to let it sink in. Not just yet.)

Dog bounces around, pausing only long enough for me to hook on his leash, then he darts out the gate, circling around my legs and nearly tripping us both. I reel him in, guiding him to walk beside me like I've seen the other employees do, and lead him for the exit.

Outside the shelter is a public dog park, but in the back are the runs only we use. I shut the fence behind us, unhook him, and watch. Dog sniffs at the grass around his feet, stops, and looks back at me, questioning.

"It's grass, genius." I fold my arms. "Go on. You're supposed to run."

Dog's tongue lolls out of his mouth.

"Run. Be free. Roll around. Whatever it is dogs do." I grab a Frisbee from a plastic tub of dog toys, wave it in Dog's face, and fling it. The Frisbee goes a measly six feet and hits the ground. The very first time I've ever thrown a Frisbee, and it's an epic fail. Awesome.

But Dog hobbles over and sniffs at it, so I pick it up and try again.

This time I must've done something right, because the Frisbee tears across the dog run. Dog's ears prick straight up, and he takes off after it.

He doesn't run well. In fact, he mostly pulls his crippled leg up and runs with only his other three. But it's still something watching him tear across the grass. He hops up, manages to snag the Frisbee in his mouth, and crashes down with a resounding thud. I jog over to make sure he's okay. By the time I reach him, he's already rolling back to his feet and chomping happily on the disc. I take a seat and scratch behind his ears, rub his stomach, let him occasionally abandon the Frisbee in favor of licking my hands and arms.

I want to cry because he's going away, and I am so torn because he'll be happy and that's important, but I had so much else going on that I didn't prepare myself for him to leave so soon. Even if I knew it was inevitable.

When I take him back to his kennel for the day, I wrap my arms around his neck in a tight hug. "You'll make your new family really happy."

I want to think that, somehow, I was able to help him while he was here. Maybe I helped him be a little less afraid.