“I’m very involved with pug rescue,” she said.

“I see.”

One of the pugs approached, and she knelt to scratch under his chin. “Hello, Harry, you gorgeous dog. You’re gorgeous, aren’t you? So gorgeous!”

Harry was not gorgeous. And Furry Tails was a lame thing to call a shelter. The pugs’ tails weren’t even very furry. They reminded him of pigs’ tails.

“Do the dogs . . . get along okay?” It couldn’t be a good idea to put a lot of rescue dogs in a yard together, could it?

“We can accommodate sixteen animals here at the shelter. The animals who stay here all have the ability to play nicely with others. We release half of them to the playground at a time. We know from experience that these eight, and the eight who are inside and will have the next turn, get along great.” Harry reached his nose upward to give her better access. Based on Harry’s breathing, it sounded like he suffered from allergies. “The large majority of the dogs in our program don’t stay here.”

“Where do they stay?”

“Foster homes. We have a wonderful network of foster parent volunteers who support our primary mission.”

“Which is?”

“To place every dog in a loving forever home.”

An old dog waddled over and put her paw on Luke’s shin. Awkwardly, he gave her a couple of head pats.

“Our secondary mission,” she continued, “is to stop the needless killing of animals. We do everything we can to keep them out of the pound. We offer a food pantry for owners struggling to afford the cost of dog food. We also organize spay and neutering clinics.” Harry and the old dog lay down near their feet. Finley straightened, rattling off statistics about how many dogs and cats were euthanized each year.

Luke crossed his arms. Expressionless, he watched her cheeks turn pink as she got riled up about her topic. She moved her hands to underscore what she was saying. Clearly, it made her furious that senior, special needs, shy, stray, and aggressive animals didn’t stand a chance at the pound.

“We rescue as many as we can off death row.”

He’d always thought bleeding-heart animal activists were eccentric, and Finley was proving him right. She was odd. Probably entitled, if her dad had handed her everything in life. Soft. Idealistic and naïve. A dreamer.

She finally paused long enough to take a deep breath. “Do you have any questions about our mission?”

“No.”

“Well, when questions occur to you, feel free to ask.” She met his eyes. “My dad really wanted you to work here while you’re getting back on your feet. It’s fulfilling to see his plan come to fruition.”