Some People Do

4: New Baby Bear

SOOKIE

The first thing I do is put a collar on Artis. I special ordered one from Etsy that lets anyone who finds her know that her mom is ugly crying because she's lost. Her name and my cell number are engraved on the tag, along with my Instagram username. It's the one form of social media that doesn't piss me off on the regular. Artis walks great on leash so there's no issues with me clipping one to her collar. As soon as I get home I'm going to update the information on her microchip so if she does somehow get loose, the company will be contacting the right person.

All it takes is a few signatures and Artis is officially mine. I discover that she's made some friends in her time at the shelter. The workers there are all happy for her, yet sad to see her go because she's been such a sweet girl to have around. That makes me happy. I feel good about giving this little dog a home of her own. I've been a stray before and I know how it feels to be passed by or left feeling unwanted.

"You ready for a car ride?" I ask once we're out of the shelter. I hope that Aurelia coming to life won't scare her. This is something I didn't consider and maybe I should have.

Yet there is zero hesitation on Artis' part when I open the passenger door for her. She jumps right in like that bucket seat was made to hold that furry little butt. All forty-two pounds of her fit just right, if I'm being honest. She sits pretty and I swear I see her smiling like she knows this is the last time she'll ever be at the shelter. I close the door and walk around to the driver's side of the car. When I sink down beside my new dog, she looks around curiously. She's been in a car before, but I don't know if she's ever had the chance to stick her head out the window and be a real dog about it. I guess we'll find out soon.

I roll my window down and she tries to climb over, which makes me glad I did not open her window all the way. The last thing I need is her jumping out at a red light. That would be a disaster. I've already got food bowls at home for her, but I wanted to wait until speaking with the people at the shelter to find out what sort of food she's accustomed to. I would rather not mess with her diet too much if she's good on what she's been getting. However, there is a Kong in her future for her peanut butter treatos, because I've been informed that this is a girl who lives for peanut butter.

A girl after my own heart, you might say.

I pull into the parking lot of a smaller pet store that I like, as opposed to PetSmart or one of the equivalents. If I can support small or local businesses, I like to. I'm a small business. I get how important every customer through the door is. I have to parallel park, which is a bummer, but I've gotten better at it since leaving Louisiana. Shit, back there it's a lot of gravel lots and no one gives a fuck. The same cannot be said for downtown Portland. I get out of the car and go around to let Artis out on the other side. I don't want her walking in the busy street if I can help it.

Into the shop we walk and immediately I'm smacked in the face by the smell of doggy treats that are on display like it's a canine bakery. There are even cupcakes for dogs in there.

"Girl, you just hit the jackpot," I tell Artis, who has made a beeline for the peanut butter section. A girl behind the counter comes over to help us and I ask, "Can she eat one of these in the store? It's her adoption day."

"Oh, how exciting," the girl grins. "What's her name?"

"Artis," I answer.

"What a pretty name for a pretty girl. She can absolutely have a treat in the store. What's her favorite kind, do you know? I have peanut butter, bacon, and oatmeal."

"I suspect she'll take any of them but I've been told that peanut butter is her weakness."

"You got it." The girl turns around to get a treat for Artis. She comes back with a small "doggy bag" and a separate treat that's shaped like a bone. She hands me both and says, "The doggy bag is a variety pack, special for babies that find forever homes. It's on the house."