As the van, Leaf was in, pulled into the parking lot of the pound, he whined. Faint barking and howling could be heard even from the parking lot, but the dog had no choice but to follow his handlers into the building.
He'd been taken from there four years earlier by Emily, and he had hoped he'd never have to see the wretched building again. As soon as the automobile pulled into the parking lot, Leaf whimpered in anticipation. The cold stone walls, almost completely devoid of windows, reminded Leaf of the first time he had been at the pound.
Leaf stood still as he was washed and his fur was combed. He felt numb with exhaustion by the time he was done with his dinner, and the warm embrace of sleep soothed his aching muscles.
The next morning, Leaf was diagnosed with malignant melanoma. When the doctor looked him over, his soft white fur and happy attitude couldn't mask the black, irritated spots all over his body. The doctor, lowering his eyes in sadness, stated that the dog likely had less than ten months to live.
Leaf stayed in the pound for two weeks. Ratty meals twice a day, as much sleep as he needs, no walks; he fell into the rhythm familiar to him from the first three years of his life.
